My yoga studio is in Frogtown, an old, ethnically diverse neighborhood that has a rich and lively street life, as well as its fair share of urban troubles.
There are different theories about why it's called Frogtown. It was settled by the French - the "frogs"; it was originally a swamp inhabited by frogs; it was near a train switching yard and the switchers were called frogs. The name stuck.
I do Bikram yoga, in which we do our 26 different poses in a hot, steamy room. It's sick, I know. The neighbors all seem to think we are crazy, but they're nice about it. They may be sitting on the sidewalk, grilling chicken on their hibachis, watching the kids play ball, when we come out, red-faced and dripping sweat. They ask in a friendly way, "How was yoga today?" We laugh and say, "You oughta try it!" They shake their heads, chuckling at our folly.
On a summer day in Frogtown, you can stop and watch an artist painting a wall, like Rob, a classically trained artist donating this beautiful mural to his neighborhood.
Riding my bike down University, I could hear drumming, and I came upon the Half Pintz Drill team practicing their drumming while their parents grilled up some delicious smelling treats.
In Frogtown you can have your fortune told ...
Or learn how to defend yourself ...
Or you can pick up some barbeque.
Some days when the garage doors are open at this old fire station, built in 1904, neighbors stop to chat with the firefighters, but today they must have all been inside, resting so they'd be ready to protect us.
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