A Walk in the Park
Boston
Boston’s rich past is evident in its “Emerald Necklace” of carefully designed parks and gardens. What really keeps things interesting? The living history—the city’s and its residents’. CLAIRE MICCIO chimes in for the next installment in our parks series.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- Better Baby Names Bureau (The Non-Expert)
- This Is Not a Eulogy (Profiles)
- The Vanishing Date (Spoofs & Satire)
Also by Claire Miccio
» SEE MORE
- Washington, D.C. (September 19, 2006)
- New York City, Part II (September 14, 2006)
- New York, Part I (September 7, 2006)
Also in A Walk in the Park
» SEE MORE
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I wouldn’t say Boston is green, but I wouldn’t say it’s blighted, either. Like a number of major cities on the East Coast, it has some lush, inviting spaces and even more space for improvement. One of Boston’s most beautiful successes is the Emerald Necklace, a (more or less) contiguous string of parks designed by Frederick Law Olmsted that stretches across the city and links a number of its neighborhoods. Often when I am enjoying some spot on the necklace, I dream that someday the city will decide to expand the chain and connect every neighborhood in Boston with verdant parks. Unfortunately, though, Boston has a better chance of sinking into the swamp it’s built on than of pulling off a massive public works project in the wake of the Big Dig.
Every morning, on my way to work, I walk through the Common. I need this pocket of time under the auspices of green; in these precious minutes I prepare myself for another day of retail among the wolves of Beacon Hill. To do this I lose myself in the future, sifting through hazy dreams of travel and career, and try to emerge on Charles Street full of hope, but when some young, exuberant guide with a theater degree steps into my path, all of that changes. I am never more in despair of the present than when it’s interpreting the past—in a stupid three-cornered hat.
In fact, sleepy days, when the swan boats lie still and the paths admit a slow trickle of people, are my favorite days to be in the park. I like to sit on a bench with my knees up and watch as the garden ripens into the perfect setting for an undiscovered Henry James novel.
I now live a couple of blocks away from Jamaica Pond and make use of its shady paths almost every day. Set between Arnold Arboretum and Olmsted Park, Jamaica Park is, in my opinion, is the most scenic link in the Emerald Necklace. Near the boathouse, at the main entrance to the pond are small painted signs in Spanish and English that say, “This is your park.” I don’t need the reminder, but I do appreciate it.
Despite its distinction, Jamaica Pond is a neighborhood place, and seeing neighbors always gives me a kick on my morning runs. Even though the pond sees a lot of action, it never seems crowded. Runners make way for kids learning how to ride bikes; dogs and strollers share the path; wrinkly fishermen sit on buckets beside old ladies doing calisthenics.
Boston Common
Boston was the site of the first public works project in America. Of course being the oldest of anything doesn’t make it the greatest; it only makes it historical. Boston Common, like every other green expanse in the city, has a long, intriguing past. The only problem is that you can’t escape that past. No matter where you are in the park, on a bench, by the pond, or beneath a tree, you can’t forget time, not for one second. And it’s not because of any monument, fountain, or plaque—it’s because of the goddamned colonial tour guides.Every morning, on my way to work, I walk through the Common. I need this pocket of time under the auspices of green; in these precious minutes I prepare myself for another day of retail among the wolves of Beacon Hill. To do this I lose myself in the future, sifting through hazy dreams of travel and career, and try to emerge on Charles Street full of hope, but when some young, exuberant guide with a theater degree steps into my path, all of that changes. I am never more in despair of the present than when it’s interpreting the past—in a stupid three-cornered hat.
Public Garden
The Public Garden sits right beside the Common and is my favorite park in downtown Boston. I like to take my lunch there because the garden helps me take pleasure in my sandwich and bag of baby carrots. Being in a well-manicured space always makes me feel special, and the detailed plantings, topiaries, and willow trees do their job to cast a spell.In fact, sleepy days, when the swan boats lie still and the paths admit a slow trickle of people, are my favorite days to be in the park. I like to sit on a bench with my knees up and watch as the garden ripens into the perfect setting for an undiscovered Henry James novel.
Jamaica Pond and Park
Earlier this year this year I decided to move from Somerville to Jamaica Plain for two reasons: money and trees. Somerville is surprisingly dense and has a bad habit of paving over anything that would fit a car. Even so, I like Somerville, or parts of it, anyway. Unfortunately, all the areas I wanted to live in—the places with parks and yards and public transportation—I couldn’t begin to afford. I knew Cambridge was the same story, so I started looking into Jamaica Plain, and in no time at all I found exactly what I was looking for: a cheap apartment and leafy trees.I now live a couple of blocks away from Jamaica Pond and make use of its shady paths almost every day. Set between Arnold Arboretum and Olmsted Park, Jamaica Park is, in my opinion, is the most scenic link in the Emerald Necklace. Near the boathouse, at the main entrance to the pond are small painted signs in Spanish and English that say, “This is your park.” I don’t need the reminder, but I do appreciate it.
Despite its distinction, Jamaica Pond is a neighborhood place, and seeing neighbors always gives me a kick on my morning runs. Even though the pond sees a lot of action, it never seems crowded. Runners make way for kids learning how to ride bikes; dogs and strollers share the path; wrinkly fishermen sit on buckets beside old ladies doing calisthenics.
Arnold Arboretum
Being in Arnold Arboretum is the best way to escape Boston without having to leave town. The next best way is drinking myself senseless at the Irish pub about three blocks from the park entrance.Southwest Corridor Parks
On days when I’m feeling sad, I like to walk to where I work in Back Bay, from my apartment by way of the Southwest Corridor. I find it comforting to see all the kids running around the handful of playgrounds and basketball courts that flank the path. I don’t want to be a kid again, but I do want to be an adult, and somehow watching kids makes me feel like I’ll eventually get there.—Published August 17, 2006
