JC / Railbird

Boston Archive

Boston, April 17

For the second day, I felt compelled to ride my bike through the city, pedaling along the Charles River from my home in Cambridge to the foot of Beacon Hill, then through the Back Bay and Kenmore Square. Boston is a beautiful town, especially in the spring. This is the season in which I arrived, in 1997, one of the thousands of young people who flood in every year for school or to start a career. I’ve left it twice to live in other cities, only to return. It’s home.

I felt terrified on Monday, which is what the person, or people, who set bombs at the Boston Marathon finish line wanted. I shook for hours, trying to make sense of the news, of how a gorgeous day out with family had turned into a nightmare. That was what it felt like — when I made it home alone, separated from my husband by the crowd — that I had been lost in a dark dream.

On Tuesday, I rode down familiar, still streets. There was no traffic, no noise. Police guarded barriers blocking off Boylston and sidestreets from the top of Copley Square to Massachusetts Avenue. Workers in the few Newbury shops and restaurants open looked out their doors forlorn. Clergy stood on the corners, ready to counsel anyone overwhelmed. Marathoners in their blue and gold jackets stopped to take pictures and to give reporters interviews. The mood was somber, and people were gentle with each other, every conversation opening with low voices and sympathy. Even the police, directing gawkers from the scene, spoke quietly and with words like Sir, Dear, Miss, please.

This morning, Boston felt like a city alive again. Boylston was still barricaded and investigators in hazmat suits were tossing bags of possible evidence from the roof of a building near Hereford, but children played on the Common and swan boats glided around the Public Garden pond. A hurdy-gurdy busker and his dachshund entertained tourists. A couple paused to kiss on Berkeley. A deliveryman shouted profanities at another driver. Life was going on.

Since Monday, I’ve been thinking about Patriots’ Day and what it means — what it will mean. The holiday commemorates the battles of Lexington and Concord, the beginning of the Revolutionary War. It is the day of the Boston Marathon, a test of will and stamina for every runner who starts. It will be the sad anniversary of a city devastated. It is about courage.

Memorials have appeared at several of the closed-off intersections around Copley Square. The photos below were taken this morning.

Boylston and Berkeley

Boylston and Berkeley

Boylston and Berkeley

Newbury and Clarendon

Newbury and Clarendon

Newbury and Exeter

Posted in Boston on April 17, 2013

Boston, April 15

Caton Bredar:

So soon after the explosions, it won’t be easy to go back into the crowd, but it’ll be necessary as the best — maybe the only way — to forget, to triumph over the tragedy, to move on.

I have no words for what happened in my adopted hometown yesterday. The panic, uncertainty, and horror are still all too fresh, and how a day that was so joyous turned so dark is something I’m still struggling to understand. I’m grateful friends and family are okay; my thoughts are with everyone affected.

Posted in Boston on April 16, 2013