I get into Boston much later than expected: my flight was
delayed over 4 hours. Our cat did remarkably well, not a peep or a fuss and I’m
so proud of him for being so good. Jason picks me up at the airport and brings
Bailey with him. Bailey is more excited to see Lebowski than he is to see me,
but that’s okay.
I’m so excited to see Jason and our new apartment, but I’m
so fried and tired that I just want to go right to bed. Our five-story building
is beautiful, old and faced with tan brick. We take the creaking old elevator
up to the top floor: you slide open the glass exterior door, and then push back
the accordion metal grate on the inside. I do a quick walk through with Jason
before I go to bed. Our high ceilings have textured wallpaper or beams, depending
on the room. The main hallway has classic half wall paneling and built in
display shelves. Our bedroom has a bay window, and in the morning I’ll see just
how much light we get.
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| Intricate glass on our elevator |
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| The way down |
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| Textured wallpaper in our hallway |
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| Under the covers lump is Lebowski; on top of the covers lump is Bailey |
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| Motto |
The next few weeks are a blur of unpacking, settling in, and
realizing just how much of a change this new city is. I try to focus on the
positives, but it’s hard. Not only am I so far away from all my family and
friends, the culture here is so different from Washington. The people are much
more gruff. Drivers don’t follow road rules: they make their own lanes, they
don’t signal, they honk incessantly, and the left-hand turn across traffic
seems to be king. In the first week, though, we meet a delightful couple when
we buy a desk and chair from them off craigslist. And we meet a couple that
lives two floors below us with their cat, Ty. They’re all very kind, very
welcoming, and it makes me feel better to experience such warmth.
The best way for me to a place is on foot. We live in the
Brighton neighborhood, and I walk for miles, mostly exploring further south and
east. Jason works in Brookline, which is an old Jewish neighborhood. I think 1
in 3 men I see are wearing yarmulke, with many also wearing Talit. The women
wear long dresses and head scarves. I walk past religious buildings of all
types, but certainly more temples and synagogues than any other city I’ve
visited. Of the business I pass, the majority seem to be dentist offices and
salons.
The buildings are immediately one of my favorite things
about Boston. Many of them are over 100 years old. There’s hidden detail
everywhere, from small relief carvings in banisters to terracotta and stone
building adornments. Bay windows and deep windowsills. Many buildings have
wrought iron fences and balcony railings. I recognize maples and oaks among the
other deciduous trees, but a lot of the trees and shrubs are unfamiliar. In
this neighborhood they’re old, and their boughs have been allowed to spread
across the roads to meet in a green bower over the cars. Streets are narrow and
ill-defined, and in no discernable grid. Molly tells me that the roads were
literally designed by cows: cattle cut great paths through the land, and then
city planners just paved over where the cattle had gone.
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| We're nearing Memorial Day, and the memorial street signs in our neighborhood have wreaths and flags |
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| Corinthian columns on a local apartment building |
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| I was really tickled by this sign. They can leave the door code out in public because you have to be able to read Hebrew to decipher it |
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| On a school next to our apartment |
I love the wind here. It’s hot and so humid, but the weather
makes up for that with a cool breeze that’s often blowing. I know I’m close to
the ocean but the salty tang doesn’t make it this far inland. I’m often struck
by a strange, stinky-sweet smell coming from the sewers. Mostly though the air
smells clean, and of sweet flowers. We picked a beautiful season to move. I
send pictures to Maggie to help me identify strange flowers. The wild roses are
familiar, as are the belladonna and lily of the valley. Maggie points out
wisteria, and I still need to figure out what a certain flowering tree is. It
smells vaguely like lilac, and looks like a cross between that and Queen Anne’s
lace.
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| This tree had flowers that reminded me of butterflies |
One of my walks takes me to Chestnut Hill
Reservoir. It was created in 1870 to supply water to Boston and the
surrounding area, but has only been used in emergency situations since the
1970s. I see rabbits, chipmunks, turtles, geese, and swans. I’m most delighted
by the chipmunks, which I don’t often see in Washington. It feels very special
when I catch the bright red of a cardinal or a flash of blue from a jay, even
though I know they’re relatively common out here. A walking path rings the
reservoir, and I’m reminded of Seattle’s Green Lake. Initially I assume the
Reservoir is bigger, but it turns out it’s only 1 ½ miles around, half the size
of Green Lake.
After dropping Jason off at work one day, I see wild turkeys
ambling out to the road and a long grove of strange-looking trees. I circle the
block and park to check out both. The turkeys are like turkeys everywhere:
lumbering idiot birds that intimidate me hugely. I hear their chortling clucks
but keep my distance. It turns out that the trees I’ve found is Longwood
Mall, the (presumed) oldest stand of European Beech trees in America. The
trees are massive and magnificent, their heavy branches sometimes dipping all
the way down to the ground before curving upwards again. There are signs all
over urging people to treat the trees with respect, and I’m dismayed to see so
much graffiti carved into the trunks.
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| Turkeys |
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| Beech trees |
Later, I go to the Public Garden. It was the
first botanical garden in the US, but that’s not why I’m going: I hear there’s
a cool cemetery nearby. I walk perhaps a half-mile of the Freedom Trail through the Common to
get to the graveyard. The Trail is not what I expected: it’s lined with
benches, most of which are occupied by homeless people asking for money. One man sits apart on
the corner, shouting the weather report and baseball scores of the day for spare
change.
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| Bluejay |
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| Boston Gardens gate |
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| Toward one end of the Freedom Trail |
I walk beyond the beautiful fountain and up the street to Granary
Burying Ground. It dates back to 1660, and holds the remains of some of
Boston’s most illustrious historical figures. Today, it’s surrounded on three
sides by brick buildings. Business people work inside, and some of them have
their desks facing out into the little square. On a second floor window, I see
brightly-colored paper figures: a nursery or preschool must be there. I visit
John Hancock’s tomb: it’s easy to find as it’s so tall and elaborate. It takes
me several passes before I find Paul Revere’s resting place: there’s a simple
pillar marking him, next to the much smaller (presumably) original headstone.
The most common decoration are engraved skulls with wings, although I see some
hourglasses and willow trees. It’s shady and quiet here, even though traffic
whizzes by the front of the cemetery.
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| John Hancock's grave |
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| I love the way they used to attribute graves as the "property of" the deceased |
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| Some of the graves had their headstones embedded in the surrounding brick wall |
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| Paul Revere's big gravestone next to Paul Revere's little gravestone |
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| People left stones on top of Revere's monument |
On another day, I walk several miles to Museum of Fine Arts,
Boston. I go past Harvard and MIT, through the hospital district. It’s much
faster-paced in this neighborhood, I feel more like I’m in a big city than I do
in Brighton. The MFA is staggering in size. The outside is grey stone, with
huge ionic columns supporting the classic Greek pediment above the door. I’m
tickled to see they are displaying a huge Pride flag along with the American
flag.
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| Back of a garbage truck |
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| Opposing doors on the walk |
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| Interesting street art on the way to MFA |
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| The crosswalks in this neighborhood are intricately designed |
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| Yes |
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| The MFA, Boston |
The museum and its collections are just as vast on the
inside. I get lost several times and finally give up on the hope that I’ll see
it all or tour it logically. I start, by chance, in a small gallery with
jewelry. The pieces are dazzling, many of them designer and absolutely
encrusted with jewels. They’re grouped by the symbols they share. My favorites
are the snakes, the confronted animals, and the medusas. In ancient times,
snakes were worn for protection and power.
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| Medusa |
I move on to other ancient art, and my favorite section is
on funerary arts. I see mummies, carvings, vessels. Princess Henettawy’s coffin
is on display, and it’s from 1000 BC: it’s one of the oldest things I’ve seen. I’m
sure there’s a smart way to progress through the galleries to see things in a
logical or at least ascending time-period order, but I’m too overwhelmed to
figure it out. I wander in and out of hallways, mostly choosing where to walk
next based on which room has the fewest fieldtrip groups in it at the time.
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| Princess Henettawy's coffin |
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| I like the tongue-in-cheek caption here |
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| One room was visible storage and restoration, and they answered questions via whiteboard messages |
I make my way to the contemporary art galleries, and love
this strange hanging sculpture and some shadow play cutouts. Visitors move
quicker through the contemporary art galleries than the historic galleries. Why
is that? Is it that it’s easier to digest meanings with the distance of time? That
the unfamiliarity of older work inspires more curiosity? Simple sensory
overload of the neon tubes and bright colors in the modern galleries? I’ve been
looking at art for almost 3 hours, and I’m tired and at my saturation point. But
I make sure I find my way to the basement for the current Matisse exhibition.
The space is crammed full of people, looking, taking selfies, chatting. To be
honest, I don’t get as much from the Matisse exhibit as I thought I would, but
that’s mostly due to the massive amount of people who make it impossible to contemplate,
and my own over-stimulated nerves. I’ll need to go back to MFA several times
before I see it all.
There is so much culture and art here in Boston. I just have to be brave enough to go out and find it all. I'm glad I have the chance to try.
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