Our historic neighborhood of tiny homes squished close together leaves little hidden spaces that only we see. Behind the houses and little fenced yards are old wooden garages in all colors with mossy patches in the gravelly road and small wild flowers that spring up in the warmer months. Neighborhood dogs trot along during the day and foxes and raccoons skitter around at night, making Bernie, the neighbor's dog absolutely lose his mind.
Our alley is a treasure hunting ground too. Some neighbors pop open the garage on weekends and sell antiques and vintage, some open their gates to come pick from their fruit trees with buckets for the kids to fill and return later. The guy next door opens his garage to my husband to do car repairs and borrow tools when its too cold to do otherwise. Boys play basketball in the summer and guys around the block have an open invitation for cold beers and watching baseball when the garage is open and a light is on.
Someday when we move, I hope I have an alley again like this one. Although its a spot where we park our trash cans, its our little unspoken community. And no one seems to mind the girl with the tripod hanging around their garages in the mornings.
t-strap shoes from Mudd- thrifted
Pendleton wool pencil skirt- thirfted
polka dot peasant blouse- Walmart, last year
gray wool beret- estate sale