When I was apartment-hunting, I had a small list of requirements that had to be met for me to consider calling a place “home”. First, underground parking because scraping my car in the morning sucks. Second, in-suite laundry because hauling your clothes up and down the hallway to a laundry room sucks. Third, no carpet and lastly, I wanted a dishwasher. Those were my requirements, and when I realized a building I had often dreamed of living in would soon be my home address, I was thrilled.

Except for one thing: the balcony was a total dud.

Small. Concrete. High up. Loud.

Our old apartment had a big, beautiful balcony and we spent hours upon hours out there enjoying the sunshine and one another’s company. Then we had the house, with a big back deck and a yard. And now, we have this little rectangle five floors above a busy intersection, a few hundred metres from the business park. Womp womp, right?

WRONG.

I decided it was high time we enjoy the balcony, so I set out to make the most of it. A few plants, two bright chairs, the old benches my Papa made and a sunny morning turned our grey space into a little oasis for us.

In fact, I’m writing this post under a soft blanket on the balcony – this is the first time we’ve sat out here together, ever. Our tomato plant is flowering. Our herbs are growing quickly. I’m crossing my fingers for the snap peas.

I can’t believe I’m saying it, but I can’t wait to spend evenings out here this year.