Walk: Yonge + St. Clair to Ramsden Park in Rosedale
November 4, 2025
From Midtown to the Edge of Rosedale
I grabbed a tea and started my walk at Yonge and St. Clair, heading south on the east side of the street. The first thing that caught my eye was Sue de Beer’s circular stainless-steel sculpture outside The Jack Condos — polished rings catching the morning light and the rhythm of traffic. Installed in 2021 and curated by Ben Mills through Public Art Management, it mirrors the glass towers around it — polished, reflective, and very much a piece of Midtown before the street begins to shift in scale.
From the corner at Jackes, I looked across Yonge toward Farnham Avenue. The York School sits just to the left, framed by bright yellow leaves. For a moment, the street went still — one car approaching slowly — and the colour seemed to hang there.
South of Farnham, the street feels busier again. I passed the Cineplex head office, its blue columns bright against the brick, and the crisp grid of modernist façades catching the sky. Looking south, the street pulls toward the skyline — cranes, glass, and towers layered in the distance — but it’s the smaller moments that linger: reflections, footsteps, and a cadence that belongs to this part of the street.
A few blocks later, the pace shifted. The Aeneas Apartments stood in warm brick and worn stone steps, framed by trees just starting to turn. Completed around 1940, it’s one of several low-rise apartments built as the streetcar — and soon after, the subway — turned Midtown into a neighbourhood for commuters. The carved stone name above the doorway still anchors it among newer glass towers, a quiet trace of that early era.
Further south, the clock tower came into view — a pale stone structure against a clear blue sky, its copper roof glinting above the street. Even from a distance, it still feels like a signal: a remnant of travel and time, the old North Toronto Station now folded into the city’s daily flow.
As I walked on, every surface caught the sun — metal, brick, rail. The ramp leading toward the park glowed against the sky, and beyond it the trees burned in late-season colour. The mural along the wall added another layer of brightness, the whole scene saturated by midday.
Past the bridge, the walk narrowed again — a quieter stretch where the buildings seemed to watch. At Yonge and Marlborough, carved figures held their place in stone. Built in 1930 as the Pierce-Arrow automobile showroom, it was designed by John M. Lyle with sculptor Merle Foster’s cast-stone figures, which featured human and mythical forms, part guardian, part ornament. The limestone still glows softly against the glass and sky — a fragment of the city’s early modern optimism preserved in the present.
From Yonge, the small bungalow at 5 Macpherson Avenue caught my eye — a peak-roofed pause in the middle of the changing streetscape. I crossed over for a closer look. The little café looked both fragile and grounded, holding its space between taller brick buildings and the glass towers rising behind.
Beside it, a side alley glowed — a cluster of Best Dad balloons leaning against blue bins, flashes of red and gold catching the sun. Whatever celebration they came from had long passed, but the colour lingered, quietly bright against the chill of the day.
I followed the lane a little further, past the café and into the quiet spaces behind. Light slipped between buildings, tracing the edges of old brick and green-painted doors. A few chairs, a scatter of leaves, a forgotten alleyway that still held the warmth of the day — the kind of corner you don’t plan to find but always remember.
Before reaching the park, a few details stood out. A stencil reading Elbow Grease had appeared on a nearby storefront — one of a small series showing up around Summerhill. At 2 Gibson Avenue, a red wire heart marked one of the city’s #ShowLoveTO installations, still catching the eye even at midday. Across the street, a small mural — a vase of flowers signed Sabrina, 2021 — added a bright note against a white wall. Together, they gave the corner a sense of character and contrast before the walk opened toward Ramsden Park.
Just before Ramsden Park, a gated courtyard comes briefly to view. Through the iron scrolls, the Crescent Road Apartments stand quietly behind — built in 1927 by architect Charles B. Chadwick for developer William McBean. Recognized under the Ontario Heritage Act for its Georgian Revival style — stucco façade, arched entrance, and wrought-iron details — it’s a pocket of 1920s elegance tucked just before the park.
Ahead, Ramsden Park came into view — peaceful, the air heavy with the smell of damp leaves and earth. Gold, amber, and red were scattered across the path. A few leaves had settled on a picnic table near the trail, perfectly still. I stopped there for a while and took some photos before moving on.
The path curved through the lower part of the park, following the old ravine line. To the left, a ramp led up toward Hillsboro Avenue, part of the park’s 2017 revitalization. A nearby heritage sign explains that Ramsden Park occupies the former valley of Castle Frank Creek, once part of an early Indigenous trail system that evolved into Davenport Road. In the nineteenth century, the area’s rich clay soil gave rise to Yorkville’s brickyards, which helped build much of Toronto’s early downtown. Later, as the creek was buried and the land filled in, the site became a community park — renamed for J. George Ramsden, a local alderman who championed public green spaces. I stayed on the main trail as it wound through the trees and followed the slope of the land.
At the end of the path, I came out onto Ramsden Park Road — a short, quiet lane lined with stone walls and houses that once backed onto the ravine. A laneway home/coach house caught my eye, its doorway framed with pumpkins, dried corn, and a few bright Halloween props. Across the street, a few pieces of street art were fixed to poles — faces and shapes half hidden by branches and morning light.
Back on Yonge, I meant to take the subway at Rosedale Station, but two police SUVs pulled up just as I arrived. I kept walking — one more stretch north to Summerhill. Near the corner, I looked up and noticed a gargoyle perched on the old Sleep Country building at 1091 Yonge, wings folded against the brick, face tilted toward the sun.
New plans are already in place for this spot, part of the redevelopment that will reshape the block. For now, though, the gargoyle remains — a quiet witness watching the street below.
I walked past the old North Toronto Station, now the LCBO. The carved trim along the façade caught the sun, its geometric pattern sharp against the sky. Above it, the clock tower rose steady and familiar — a landmark that’s watched this stretch of Yonge for more than a century. The walkway on the west side was busier now, with footsteps echoing beneath the bridge as the city continued around it.
As I approached Summerhill Station, I thought back on the walk — façades, carvings, murals, and the calm of Ramsden Park — each one a small piece of the city’s story, connected by movement and the simple act of noticing. I went underground to the station and captured the reflection of the train as it arrived — a final flash of colour and motion to close the morning.
Part of an ongoing series of walks exploring Toronto’s streets, neighbourhoods, and small details along the way.