A couple of weeks ago Millie phoned to talk Arlene into having a house guest for a few days. Many years ago Joel had gone to Russia on a teacher exchange program. A woman he had met on that program, who teaches English language and English and American history and literature in the city of Kirov was going to be in the US and wanted to see the Boston area.
Marina, here —
arrived by bus on Tuesday and took the subway to Central Square where Arlene was waiting for her. They looked around Harvard Yard and some of the Harvard museums that afternoon. On Wednesday Marina took the T to Boston to go on a trolley tour.
During supper Wednesday Arlene said, “Maybe we should take Marina out to Lexington and Concord this evening.” We hustled the remains of dinner away so as to make the most of the waning daylight, but it was pretty dark by the time we got to Lexington. We walked around the battle green, which is lit by enough streetlights to be worth a little in the dark–
That’s Buckman Tavern, where the minutemen gathered (and probably had a few beers) between the time Paul Revere woke them all up and the time the Redcoats showed up.
and of course the statue of the minuteman at the corner of the battle green:
Then we proceeded out to Concord. It was good and dark by the time we got there. We drove past some of the literary landmarks, the houses where Hawthorne and the Alcotts had lived. It seemed a shame to be out there and not at least drive past the Old North Bridge. The parking lot for the bridge had a “Closed after dark” sign which I decided to respect, but there was a wide shoulder on the road across the street that looked safe for parking one car.
I’m not going to say that we walked out to the bridge in the pitch dark, because I’m not sure you’re really supposed to be there after sunset, but ya know, by then we were right there, and I’ve been there enough times that I was pretty sure I could find my way in the dark. If you want to believe that this picture was taken from — aw shucks, I’ll quote it —
By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
their flag to April’s breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood
and fired the shot heard ’round the world.
I won’t contradict you.