Getting into the abandoned building wasn’t hard. It was at the edge of Fishtown, which was nearly on the edge of the city, on the bank of the river, where the bridge seemed much closer than it actually was. Climbing the eleven flights of stairs was the hard part, but eventually, we reached the roof. It felt like we were back in grade school (minus the shards of broken glass and graffiti) as we climb down ladders, cross platforms, walk among metal chimneys and brick peaks standing between us and the edge; but, after recess, we finally made it out the other side.
Waiting for us was one of the few unaltered views of the sun setting perfectly in between the iconic concrete giants of Philadelphia. Golden rays bounced between the hundreds of thousands of glass windows to create the glow around the city that I always saw, and I watched in ethereal silence as the sun dipped all too quickly in the sky. Sitting there for what felt like hours, I watched the golden horizon slowly turn to a deep purple and thought back to the year before; a year of sunsets on Lake Champlain, where the sky eventually camouflaged itself behind mountains instead of skyscrapers.
Moving to Vermont for four years of college felt antithetical to the industrial life I'd always known but managed to find small natural beauty within. But within my first visit there, I knew that part of me did crave the mountain views and untouched nature and stunning seasons and swimming holes and incredible hikes that Philadelphia couldn't give me. I felt the consideration of my decision from my peers at home- "Isn't that in the middle of nowhere? What's there to do there?" just as equally as my new peers at school- "I can tell you're from the city."
But for four years, my stance to myself and all of my peers remained the same: the city and nature aren't antithetical. That night, as I watched the clouds in the sky separate and twist together to mourn the sun, I saw that simple truth that so many consider to be antonymous. The glare of the sun may be falling on the sky-high windows of the Comcast Center instead of the peaks of Smuggler's Notch; I may be more likely to cross paths with a rat than a deer as I chase a spot to watch the sunset; and I may more often drive on bustling four lane highways than one-laners through the countryside, but this is the beauty of nature: despite how hard man tries to push it away and develop over it, he can never banish a sunset.
Although Vermont is objectively the better place to go to enjoy nature (and watch a sunset), I will always crave the pursuit of finding and creating unconventional bouts of nature in the city. Unfortunately, even with my wonky, rose-colored glasses, I could see the truth plainly today: the city was suffering. As I eventually climb back up and down latters and across platforms, I gather the excess trash swirling in the wind inches above the roof, reminding us of the years of neglect of this spot. I feel the loss of the land that once stood where this building was built before it was abandoned again.
It felt like a natural part of being a dutiful patron of your life place; to leave it better than you found it, to not do any more harm to the very nature the people before us tried so hard to eradicate in the name of industrialization. In a geolocation so industrialized and heavily populated, the growing disconnect between humans and nature is as blatant as the litter on the streets. As much as I coveted abandoned building and spots far above the teeming city, I was also forced to confront the fact that other visitors didn't see the same nature in our life place or share the same desire to keep it clean. Another abrupt and unavoidable confrontation was the loss of land and the buildings' industrial lifetime before it was left to rot in the middle of the city.
After that sunset, my appreciation for the small bits of nature within the city grew deeper and more hyper-focused. I had always enjoyed taking Environmental Science-type courses in school, but now came the time for documentaries about accessible food gardens within cities and articles about environmental legislation on a state and federal basis. It was time to push past the generalized knowledge and understand the intersectionality of issues within Philadelphia itself so that I could be educated about the bits of nature I loved so much.
The sunset that night only lasted thirty something minutes, but the reflections and my newly realized commitment to beautifying my city stayed with me to this day.
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