Nearby: Old Scituate Light

Scituate is a charming, small coastal town on the South Shore easily accessible from Boston. It has a long history, dating back to 1627 when it took its name from an Indian word for "cold brook." Today I found myself standing beside the Old Scituate Light, built in the early 1800s and made famous for its involvement in the War of 1812. When a British warship approached the harbor, two teenage sisters who were keepers of the lighthouse played a fife and drum in an attempt to scare off the ship. Shockingly, their plan worked and the warship retreated. Now the lighthouse sees only tourists and locals alike enjoying the beauty of the landscape. My family and I could not have chosen a better day. 

The Beginning of Commonwealth

The beginning of Commonwealth Ave starts where the Public Garden ends. Lately I've taken to walking from work all the way to Kenmore Station and my route takes me right down the Comm Ave Mall, past elegant townhouses that speak of another time and even another place. The boulevard, which was designed in 1856 by one Arthur Gilman, looks and feels very much like the Parisian boulevards that served as inspiration. The long grassy mall is dotted with statues along the way; including likenesses of Alexander Hamilton, William Lloyd Garrison and even Phillis Wheatley (and Samuel Eliot Morrison, pictured above). To walk down the Commonwealth Ave Mall is to be spoiled by the tranquility of the greenery and the splendor of the architecture. It is another representation of Boston's early dedication to sophisticated, natural spaces. The greenway ends near Kenmore but Commonwealth continues, through the world of Boston University to Allston (where my tiny abode is) until it reaches Boston College. There's not even the slightest bit of competition. The beginning of Comm Ave is my favorite stretch of the famous street. 

Nearby: Walden

For months I waited to see Walden Pond. I safeguarded the visit from poor weather or imperfect health and I waited until the moment was just right to make my pilgrimage. I left early on a Saturday morning, while my neighborhood slept off the fatigue from the work week. Yet when I arrived at Walden Pond, there were already swimmers, already impassioned walkers like myself clutching the beauty of the early morning before it slipped away. Walden Pond is smaller than most people imagine, but no less enchanting, especially on a day in late June when the sun and trees play a game of reflections along the surface of the water. A couple in their sixties led their canoe through them; a sole swimmer let them surround her. And I took pictures.

The trails beyond the pond were filled with the glistening magic of of a New England summer's day, and also a great many bugs that were more than delighted I was there. Like every other visitor I suppose, I thought of Thoreau and his wish to 'live deliberately,'-

which made me ache for Downeast Maine and the time I spent there with my mother and my dogs and the firewood we used to keep the home warm. I am the child of a city, still very much devoted to sky scrapers and cafes and the ideas that swarm in both, but when I can I race away-to the woods and to the philosophy espoused in Walden.