I think I was on the Red Line shuttle last week, somewhere between Andrews and Broadway, when it dawned on me.
After a year, I have grown to love my adopted home, despite all its annoying imperfections, its irritating contradictions and, well, all that damn traffic.
Somehow, somewhere, Boston, you have gotten under my skin these last 365 days.
And you are home.
It’s the way the view expands as I step off the train at South Station: the darkness of the station below me gives way to the unspeakably bright sun reflecting off the towers of the financial district.
Or the jagged crack in the sky in the canyons between Washington and Winter Streets at the Downtown Crossing, where the wind blows strong and hard on cold days, and just beyond that is the view of The Common and Tremont Street. And everyone walks to work and maybe says hello as they pass.
Or, since this is Boston, it’s more likely that they don’t.
And even that’s okay.
Mrs. Mallard, part of the “Make Way for Ducklings” statue, wears a Black Lives Matter sweater at Boston Public Garden on June 11, 2020. (MassLive archive photo)
Whenever my daughter comes to visit, she is always happy to see the ducklings in the Public Garden.
Because who wouldn’t do that?
It’s the smell of the ocean wafting on the breeze in our little corner of Dorchester. And that day when we discovered we only had to walk 10 minutes to be on the beach. Or we could drive 10 minutes further and find ourselves on Castle Island and the coastline that wraps around Southie and continues for miles before it empties into the Atlantic.
On good days, the sailing boats rock happily in the water. In the distance, a tugboat pushes a tanker out to sea.
Planes take off and land at Logan Airport and the sky vibrates with the sound.
And early in the morning, when the sidewalks are packed with runners and walkers and the old men with their leathery, tanned skin and accents so thick they could cut glass sit in their deck chairs along the concrete piers, and before the beaches get crowded, you can still feel like you have the whole place to yourself.
The intersection of Richmond/Parmenter Street and Hanover Street in the North End. (David Cifarelli/MassLive)David Cifarelli
Or maybe it’s the narrow streets of the North End, packed with tourists coming in and out of restaurants, all carrying boxes from Mike’s or Modern wrapped in that striped cord.
And opinions about which is better are as controversial as loyalty to baseball.
And the bars. And the restaurants. And the museums. After a year, we haven’t even covered a fraction of them.
But despite all this, there is concern. Homeless people are sleeping on the Common within sight of the Freedom Trail. The shelters for migrants are overcrowded.
Carney Hospital, a Steward Health Care facility in Boston’s Dorchester neighborhood, is scheduled to close at the end of August. (Will Katcher/MassLive)Will Katcher/MassLive
The two Steward hospitals – one of them right here in Boston – closed within days, putting hundreds of people out of work and creating a crisis of care for those least able to survive.
The gridlock on Beacon Hill. A challenger-proof political culture. It’s a reminder that supermajorities, no matter who has them and no matter what they tell you, are not what they seem.
I see the children on the train, the parents rocking them on their knees, or the elderly walking home at the end of the day. And I want them to have a city and a future worthy of the name.
Because despite all the challenges, I am also reminded that there are people in their neighborhoods, in their community centers, houses of worship and centers of power who are still doing their best and trying to leave their little corner of creation in a better condition than they found it.
We’re all part of this shared experiment in one of the cities where the nation began. And even at our best, it still feels like we’re all in this together.
An MBTA Red Line train stands with its doors open on the platform at Alewife Station in Cambridge. (Chris McLaughlin/MassLive)Chris McLaughlin
The T gets even better. Even when I’m stuck in the tunnel, muttering dark curses and wondering exactly which speed limits were fixed by a week-long closure.
It is nice to feel that someone is making an effort – even if it will take years and cost a truly horrendous amount of money to get the country’s oldest subway system fully operational again.
And yes, the driving style still defies all reason.
But even on the days when things like this get on my nerves, I remember that this city and the people who welcomed us can still fill me with a kind of endless wonder.
And I’ll take a long walk along the water. And remind myself that I’m home again after a year.
