In case you didn’t know, the Fourth of July is kind of a big deal in Boston. That’s the day we commemorate Samuel Adams buying America’s freedom from King George III for a case of Sam Summer Ale. And the rest of the country gasped and said, “Can we EVER be as cool as you, Boston?” And the answer would always be no, sorry, never; but we see you Milwaukee with your Pedal Taverns! Good effort!
We are proud of the role Boston played in winning freedom from British rule—minus the slavery and treating Indigenous people like garbage stuff. The city goes all out for the holiday. There are parades, fireworks, and a live music extravaganza with the famous Boston Pops orchestra (and guests). On the morning of July 4, you can gather at the Old State House, once the site of colonial state government as well as the scene of the historic Boston Massacre in 1770, to hear a reading of the Declaration of Independence, just as it was done for Bostonians on July 18, 1776 when independence was officially secure. Hizzah! (I’m guessing is what was also said back then).
I went into the city the day before specifically to check out the glorious hydrangeas blooming in yards all around the Back Bay. These flowers have shown up like wedding crashers this season. Big, loud blue, purple, and pink hues; they are drunkenly falling all over themselves, pressed up against fences and crowding the edges of front stoops. What a show. I hate to be the one who has to give them the last call, call because I don’t think they are going anywhere.
It was early in the day and the city was pretty quiet. I walked through Beacon Hill, which is always reliable for eye candy. Usually the neighborhood makes quite a display for every holiday. At Halloween entire blocks are transformed into spooky scenes with skeletons and spiders and witches’ brooms dangling in doorways. The vibe and the decore was much more subdued.
Small flags stuck in planters and window boxes, the occasional drape of bunting from below a window—it seemed to capture the mood I’ve felt lately. Scared and worried about America’s immediate future; dismayed and depressed by the present state of the union.
I saw a lot of people on July 4 weakly saluting the country, not out of disrespect, but from a place of wariness. There seemed to be a collective attitude this year of “Congrats, America, but please, please do better, like seriously, okay? Is there someone we can call? Is there a Bat signal that you are not telling us about? Because now would be a good time to clue us all in about something like that.”
I felt sad. And selfish. Because instead of cruising through the holiday thinking “things are mostly okay-ish,” I have to sit with the rather terrifying reality that democracy is up for grabs; that we’re in some deep, choppy waters and it will take every single one of us to sail out of the fray; and that Aaron Sorkin is not writing the screenplay, that’s also up to all of us. And maybe after the Declaration of Independence was read on July 18, 1776 and Bostonians lifted their last flasks of Samuel Adams Summer Ale (naturally) in celebration of the great, new experiment, maybe they felt the same mixture of responsibility and fear and hope.
What gorgeous photos of your beloved Boston!! Hydrangea Hives get me every time too! And let’s not forget to mention how cool the cobblestone is!!
Beautiful pictures! I absolutely love Boston.