Lake Como: The Long Way Around the Lake
Early light catches the upper branches before reaching the lake. By then, the first walkers are already making the round, passing beneath the oaks and over the little footbridges at Lake Como Park. A dog pauses in the damp grass. Crape myrtle petals have collected near the path. The lion sculpture keeps its familiar place among the azaleas, solemn enough to amuse anyone who has passed it for years.
From the circle, the streets loosen into broad, shaded lots. The houses belong largely to the Orlando that took shape after the war: long brick ranches, painted concrete block and low rooflines drawn horizontally beneath the trees. Some retain their original carports. Others have been carefully opened to the garden, their wide windows and Florida rooms becoming the focal point and personality of the home.
The best of them reveal themselves slowly. A deep eave throws shade across a wall of glass. Through another window, the pale shine of terrazzo appears beneath a dining table. There may be cypress overhead, an old built-in running along the living room wall, or a screened room that has become the place where everyone gathers once the afternoon rain begins. These houses were designed for a warmer, less formal way of living, and thoughtful renovations tend to work with that ease rather than conceal it.
Not every home is midcentury. A few earlier bungalows remain, and newer construction has arrived among them. Yet the neighborhood still reads as low and green. The lots provide room for old trees, side gardens and additions that do not have to consume the entire yard. Here, the landscape is not decoration applied at the end. It has been growing alongside the houses for decades.
Lake Como has little commercial life of its own, and that absence shapes the mood. Lunch, coffee or an evening drink can be found quickly in the Milk District to the north or around Curry Ford and Hourglass to the south. Returning home takes only a few minutes, but the change is immediate. Storefronts give way to lawns. The city recedes behind the canopy.
Along the northern streets, the expressway remains a distant current. Deeper into the neighborhood, softer sounds take over. In the afternoon, children return from school and drift into front yards. Someone throws a ball across the grass. A neighbor finishes a walk around the lake before dinner.
By dusk, porch lamps have begun to show through the trees. The last light rests on the water while people complete one more slow lap. Frogs start up near the shore. Windows glow behind long eaves, and the houses seem most themselves at this hour, private without feeling withdrawn, settled and slowly becoming still.
Lake Como suits a life that wants Orlando close but does not need the city at the front door. Its pleasures are quieter: enough yard for the trees to matter, architecture meant for the climate, and a small lake that continually brings the neighborhood back to its center.