beantown

On Wednesday morning, I walked out of my hostel in Madrid, entered the Metro, and did not stop moving until I arrived, on foot, at the doorstep of the Farm’s house-program in Medford, Massachusetts, nearly 18 hours later.

My friends and former co-workers there generously allowed me to stay the night, inviting me to stay another two days and leave with them on Friday. It was a surprise to walk in the door and run into so many past community members. Several I left at the Farm, and some I wasn’t sure I’d ever see again, but there they were, warmly greeting me with smiles, hugs, and questions about my trip. Had it really been three months? The familiar faces and immediate comfort bridged the three-month gap too well. I need to get back out there!

So, being in Boston for a couple days more than originally planned, I decided to go out and see a bit more of the city. I spent midday Thursday wandering around Harvard, checking out bookshops and sporting goods stores (because I need more crap to lug around in my duffel bag), then headed into town to wander the Boston Common and the Freedom Trail. Before leaving the house I downloaded an audio-tour to my mp3 player (will the wonders of technology never cease?) and equipped with this, I started the popular 2-mile amble through the city. The Freedom trail is basically a red brick path running down the middle of sidewalks, connecting sixteen historical sites in the city. It starts in the Common (originally set aside for the grazing of cattle in the city’s first days), winds through the city’s old North End, and winds up at the Bunker Hill monument, near the Charlestown Harbor where the USS Constitution is moored. Many of the sites are old original buildings, surrounded (or built over) by modern structures of concrete and glass. The trail leads directly past or through some of the sites, with plaques set up by the Parks Commission to impart significance. A fun side note pointed out by my audio-guide: an important spring, just off the trail, is commemorated by a bronze sign on the wall of a building down an alleyway. According to the guide, it was this spring that provided a good deal of the town’s drinking water in its infancy, and without it, the city may well have developed on the other bank of the Charles River. Today, the spring has dried to nothing more than a trickle, which is, ironically, piped directly into the sewer system.

Today, the folks here invited me to go to the Boston Living Center with them. Groups of residents here go into the city for volunteer projects every week and this week’s project was this community center for people living with HIV/AIDS. We left in the morning and spent the day preparing a large dining room for a lunch that is served daily to members of the center. It was great way to fill my time, catch up with acquaintances from the Farm, and meet new people who were also volunteering their time to the Center. The place operates every day and offers free services, such as community meals, informative programs, social activities, and massage to its members. Its volunteer program is an integral part of keeping its costs low and its programs available. On reflection, it just seemed strange but appropriate that I was back in a kitchen, helping to feed a multitude while “just passing through” Boston for a few days.

And tonight, I’m hitting the road again. Ever further West I go, where I stop: I don’t know.

But I have some ideas. Wink!