ice sculptures
First Night in Boston is a venerable event. Forty years ago, I was never motivated to brave the cold—it was always very cold. The temperatures, however, were mild this year and the ice sculptures—one of the most popular traditions—weren’t going to keep their crystalline details for long. Ping and I slipped into light jackets and headed west and south toward the nearest sculpture.
Big Blocks of Ice
clipper ship
A clipper ship cerulean skies and backed by a view of Charlestown and the North End reflected Eastie’s historic shipping industry. The heat of the sun was already doing damage.
We disembarked the Blue Line at Aquarium, unsure where to start. I would have printed off a map but my printer was out of magenta ink—so no printing at all—and I had inadvertently ordered the wrong replacement cartridges. I do like a nice paper map.
Children crowded the carousel on the Greenway. Ping and I spent a moment determining the compass points as I am directionally challenged. Once I was sure which way was south, we headed toward Seaport.
The Greenway
a hatchling
The Big Dig may have been a migraine of epic proportions to those who had to live through it, but it transformed the city’s relationship to its historic waterfront. Where the Central Artery once split downtown from the docks, the Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy Greenway now winds from Haymarket in the north to Chinatown in the south. Pathways meander under trees and through gardens and art installations. In a nod to the Boston Pops Esplanade Concerts and Robert McCloskey’s Make Way for Ducklings, a series of “hatchlings,” twinkling with colorful lights draw one onwards. Studio HHH contributed the winning entry which seems to ask, “What if the Hatch Shell hatched a cluster of baby “shells” that wandered off down The Greenway like adventurous ducklings?”
Wildflower meadows, beehives, and even a “snag” nurture each other. We called the snags in the woods behind our house in Maryland “woodpecker trees:” high-rise bird condos full of bugs and grubs. This snag offers a wonderful contrast in form and texture to the plantings nearby, like the old buildings whose shapes and dignity anchor the glass abstractions towering over them.
Seaport
old bits of Boston
Ping and I turned toward the Harbor at Seaport Boulevard, the water, architecture and derelict reminders of a maritime past, all warmed in the honeyed glow of afternoon light. I remembered walking this same route from Post Office Square one lunchtime eons ago. Back then, around 1979, Seaport was a dump—but a dump where artists were homesteading. Large industrial spaces were not zoned for residential use but artists disguised the fact that spaces rented as studios were also homes. A few intrepid gallerists had opened their doors to the public. It had a vibe.
I saw art hanging on the ground level of the rather nifty Envoy Hotel in the Fort Point Arts Community Art Space. The works were diverse in style and medium, and very, very good. The woman who welcomed Ping and me, Christine Vaillancourt, turned out to be the new FPAC President. And what an interesting person she is. Her memory of the neighborhood went back about as far as mine did and lively conversation ensued. Did I know about the Artists for Humanity organization? Nearby, off A Street? “Creative Jobs for Creative Teens?” No, I didn’t. Eventually Ping and I continued on our way with notes and Christine’s business card.
More Ice Sculptures
Neptune
Turning left on Fan Pier Boulevard, we encountered Neptune with his trident and sea turtle reflecting the last pink gleam of the sun. Behind him I could pinpoint Logan Airport by its tower, the shipyard, its cranes and the taut, white wrappings of boats encased against winter weather. Further along, on the crest of the hill, I could make out the gap between buildings that marks the location Golden Stair, and west of it, the stern rear façade of the Samuel Adams Elementary School.
Fan Pier Park returned us to Sleeper Street where the Envoy Hotel seemed to be reimagined as an igloo. Hmm. Cool, I guess. We passed under the Seaport Boulevard Bridge heading toward the Children’s Museum, and found a seal, by then a little melty and indeterminate of shape, next to Martins Park.
I’ll be back. And now I know I can take the ferry from Lewis Wharf straight to the Institute of Contemporary Art. Then maybe on to the Children’s Museum, the Boston Tea Party Ships & Museum, or the Boston Fire Museum.
Ringing In 2025
Ping and I spent the final hours of 2024 snoozing on the couch. Just past eleven-thirty, I gave her a cookie and headed to Piers Park to see if anything was left of the two ice sculptures there, and to enjoy the fireworks.
fireworks over Boston Harbor
Didn’t think that through very well. The park was closed. MassPORT had locked the gates at sundown, as they always do. I continued down Marginal, imagining I could find a bench over at the bottom of Sumner Street. Nope. The pedestrian gate at the Shipyard was chained as well.
To the Golden Stair then, and the Terrace Park, where it turned out neighbors were gathering, some holding glasses of champagne. I glanced at my phone. It was eleven-fifty-nine and fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine seconds and…
BOOM! Fireworks exploded over Boston, over the Customs House Tower which is, these days, a Marriott Hotel. I understand it is quite deluxe. Might be fun to have drinks there some time. Extraordinary to think that my great-grandfather, Elwyn Greeley Preston, Sr., sat on the committee of businessmen that oversaw its construction.
Welcome 2025, I guess. It’s gonna be a wild ride.