Bloom POW! Magnolia Season in Boston
Nothing that makes me happier than when the magnolia trees bloom in Boston.
The magnolia varieties that can survive the New England climate are one of the first signs of spring. In the cold, raw wasteland of March, when snow lingers and everything is the color of dirty, wet newspaper, the mere suggestion of a small, fuzzy green blossom at the end of a branch is like a B12 shot of hope injected directly into my soul. But seriously, New England is the best. Who wouldn’t want to live here?
The big magnolia show happens in Boston, of all places. A city better known for its insufferable sports fans and decrepit subway system than its horticulture, Boston actually pulses with nature. Besides its share of beautiful, sprawling parks and public green spaces of all sorts of sizes and configurations, there’s also apartment buildings with rooftop gardens and window boxes as well as the random maple tree wedged into a tiny courtyard growing against all common sense. But, for me, in spring it’s all about the hundreds of magnolia trees that line the downtown neighborhood known as the Back Bay.
The trees are thanks to a woman named Laura Dwight. In 1963 she lived on Commonwealth Ave, one of the main boulevards of that area, and found it, to historically paraphrase: gross. Crumbling front stoops, broken gates and fences, litter-strewn patches that passed for front “gardens,” the Back Bay was a hot mess. An activist and naturalist at heart, Laura came up with the simple idea: plant trees to give front yards added curb appeal and incentivize home owners to keep their stoops and frontage maintained. Win/win! After researching various magnolia varieties, Laura settled on a species that could withstand Boston’s chilly spring climate. Because social media was not even close to being a real thing, Laura then went door-to-door pitching her plan: Want to turn your front yard into a gorgeous pink dreamscape? She asked (again, historically paraphrasing). For a nominal fee--$8 for a small tree and $20 for a larger, slightly more established tree—Laura would provide all planting materials and labor. Literally, just add water and voila--nature on demand. The only thing really worth having “on demand” anyway.
The pandemic derailed my annual excursion to see the trees for the past two years, but this spring I was practically sleepless for weeks knowing I’d be able to get into town with my camera as soon as they started to blossom.
Turn down the block onto Comm Ave. and BLAMMO! The faces of the stoic, unassuming brownstones are suddenly bearded in great tufts of pink and white. Blooms climb up the sides of red bricked buildings, coyly entwining themselves around wrought-iron balconies, tickling up the sides of window panes. In some places, the magnolias have grown so thick, they seem to spill out over the sidewalk, creating a canopy of pink frosting.
Time seems to slow to a crawl or stop altogether on these streets. I walk a few steps. I look up through the blushing trellis. My neck craning, I turn around in a slow spin as if performing a scene out of my own personal musical. I’d live here, I think, like, right here, on the pavement, insulated in this nest feathered with petals. The repair work of nature never fails to astonish and humble me. I crave it more and more, and if that’s because I’m panic-stricken over what feels like it’s inevitable collapse or because it’s become one of the only balms for the fever rash that is our modern culture, I can’t say. Probably equal parts both.
I stroll and gawk and take photos. I watch people perch on low walls and take selfies. I see residents walking dogs, on their phones, totally desensitized to this astonishing spectacle outside their door. I think about Laura Dwight a lot. I think about her extraordinary act of resilience and hope, literally, rooted in a handful of trees. And I’m grateful she invested in the neighborhood and in the rest of us.
What a legacy.... Yay Laura!!!!!!! Love these pictures. Yay Sheila!!!