Bloom Anyway
Each spring dozens of magnolia trees bloom along the long city blocks of Boston’s Back Bay neighborhood. Trees Bloom in Spring Like They’re Supposed To, seems like an Onion headline, but believe me when I say that these trees are not your regular bark-and-leaf-squirrel-attracting variety. They are, as we say around here, like, wicked cool.
The magnolias are the stroke of genius by a woman named Laura Dwight. Laura lived in one of the many brownstones that line Commonwealth Avenue (or Comm Ave. as it’s locally known) in the 1960s. Comm Ave. is one of about five streets that comprise what’s known as the Back Bay neighborhood. Today these streets boast rows of beautiful, stately Victorian brownstones that clock in anywhere from $700K for a neat one-bedroom loft to a cozy three-bedroom for the low, low price of $13 million, as in U.S. dollars and not, as I had briefly hoped “hugs and homemade brownies.” With all the stunning architecture, it’s hard to believe that, until the late-1800s, this whole part of Boston was uninhabitable, fetid, swampy tidal land. In fact, a lot Boston’s geographical and civic transformation follows the same story:
We need more city!
Agreed, but where?
How about we dam up some tributaries and fill in those disgusting, foul-smelling mudflats likely to keep flooding and eroding no matter what we do?
Perfect! And this definitely won’t come back to haunt us in 50 years!
Not a chance. It’s as settled as the Second Amendment!
Blackout. End scene.
When Laura lived in the Back Bay it had fallen out of step with its former glory as one of Boston’s up-scale neighborhoods: crumbling stoops, broken gates, and litter-strewn front yards. Laura was a naturalist and something of an activist. She came up with the simple idea to plant trees as a way to incentivize home owners to maintain their properties. After researching the various varieties of magnolias, Laura settled on a species able to withstand Boston’s chilly spring season. Then, because social media was not even close to being a real thing, Laura went old school: she knocked on doors and pitched her plan. Want to turn your front yard into a gorgeous pink dreamscape? For a nominal fee--$8 for a small tree and $20 for a larger, slightly more established tree—Laura explained that she’d provide all the planting materials and labor. For the homeowner it was “literally” just add water. Voila! Nature on demand-ish.
Not only did Laura’s Operation Propagation take off, but as word spread around the neighborhood, it inspired others to “donate” trees to friends who lived on adjacent streets in the Back Bay. Five decades later and counting, over 100 magnolias flourish on Comm. Ave alone. Various groups such as the Garden Club of the Back Bay have taken on the care and maintenance of the magnolias in the many decades since Laura started her initiative. They’ve been able to add new trees so that you can find several varieties blooming in front yards all over the Back Bay. The result is the equivalent of horticultural fireworks.
The magnolia bloom is one of my favorite happenings in Boston. Even though these trees are established, it’s still a bit of a hard clutch on those Jesus Handles in the car until it’s clear the trees will actually bloom. So much can go sideways. Too hot scorches them; a lot of rain drowns them and sends the flowers hurtling to the ground. Last year we had a rude cold snap in early April that stunted the flowers. Some of the buds barely unfurled, preferring to stay in their cozy green pods (relatable!). Others made a half-hearted attempt to complete the blooming cycle, like stragglers bringing Oreos to a fancy dinner party, as if to say, “Look, we tried, okay? Can we just move on and never speak of this again?”
If you’ve never had the chance to stand underneath one of these trees with your face turned up to these luscious pink and white petals that make you feel like a human cake topper nestled into waves of buttercream frosting, you are missing out and I strongly recommend rectifying that situation immediately if not sooner. The magnolias are good witchy spring magic, all lusty, bawdy, audaciousness spilling over fences and caressing the sides of buildings. The trees thrive despite their confines and conditions, and that’s part of what makes them astonishing—they are resilience and persistence in natural form.
Boylston Street bookends the Back Bay. It’s one of the major boulevards running through the city and marks the finish line for the Boston Marathon, an annual, historic tradition over a century old and another highly anticipated rite of spring in the city. Marathons are probably one of the most remarkable athletic events that pivot on a primal relationship: you versus you. Runners have my utmost reverence and respect. I run only when chased and even then there is a 60% chance I’d quickly get a leg cramp and accept my fate as Velociraptor brunch.
The day I went down to the Back Bay to get my magnolia fix organizers were putting the final touches on the marathon staging area on Boylston in advance of the race that was a few days away. There was a happy festive atmosphere to the scene as trucks moved into place to hang banners and workers checked cables and people stopped to watch. Ten years ago this same site of pride and triumph and joy turned to terror when the Tsarnaev brothers detonated two homemade bombs. The cliché is true: no one thinks “it” can happen “here” until it does.
Each year since that horrific one, celebration has been interlaced with grief, healing, and sorrow. Even so, each year we keep showing up like Laura’s magnolias: resilience and persistence in natural form.
Hugs and homemade brownies just has not kept up with inflation, alas.