What a fun past 72 hours*.
* I began writing this on Sunday night. this is way overdue.
Friday: Boston effectively shuts down pre-emptively before the Blizzard sweeps in. Snow picks up around 8pm. Earlier in the day housemates gather to make beignets on our stovetop and we hang out in eager anticipation. We gather for a potluck-type dinner at 745pm and drink our way into a massive, raucous game of Pit. At 1130pm, the blizzard is now in full force and snow is accumulating at perhaps 2"/hr. We all get appropriately dressed -- read: ski goggles -- and venture out into the streets, singing and jumping and wrestling our way down an abandoned Holland Ave towards Davis Square. We arrive at the Burren (word had spread that it remained open), which is pretty decently packed. We end up on stage dancing the night away with our snowpants around our ankles.
Saturday: I get up around 9am to the tail end of the storm, gusty winds, and over 2' of snow on the ground. In front of nearly every house, one or more people are busy shoveling or snowblowing... slowly. Our neighbors across the street spend 15 minutes attempting to access their car to retrieve their cross-country skis. My roommate and I shovel out the sidewalk and driveway, in the process creating a massive snowpile in front of our front deck. My roommate is the first to climb up and jump down onto its peak, sinking in about 5 feet before coming to a stop... awesome. Afterwards, we all go for a walk around the neighborhood, surveying the blanket of snow that has buried cars and blocked entryways. Some cross-country skiers are hitting the roads, actually somewhat dismayed by the incredible speed at which Somerville plows are capable of clearing the roads. Davis Square is abound with folks wandering in awe, not only at the sheer volume of snow on the ground but also at the wonder and joy of our neighborhood center completely car-free (oh the potential!). Ultimately, we end up at Amsterdam Falafel for a bite (they stayed open the night before too, since the drunk folks from the Burren needed to eat too, obviously). On the way home we swing up to Powderhouse Sq and then down Broadway, where the cars were apparently parked on the downwind side of the street such that many of them were rendered nothing but soft undulations in the gentle rolling white hills that lined the edge of the road. Truly remarkable.
Overall, this was an amazing experience, as much for the snow itself -- I'll never forget dropping our measuring tape from inside our back door into the snow on our back deck and watching the numbers disappear, truly in disbelief when the 24" mark was passed on the way to 27" -- as for the community experience of an event that is all by measures extreme and even catastrophic yet wholly non-life-threatening. The result is that of pure joy, knowing that no one has anywhere to get to because no one is expected to be able to get there; that the folks you see around you are none other than your very-nearby neighbors, as neighborhoods that were once only a few minutes away are rendered as far apart as two islands on opposite ends of the Earth.
It's a rare thing for an entire major city to be shut down, and even rarer for its cause to be something so tranquil and serene, as if a city-wide shutdown was placed in effect for a 48-hour, no-holds-barred pillow fight. In a world that is ever more inter-connected and increasingly extricated from the archaic notions of day and night, it's a remarkable opportunity when everything is forced to stop -- and you have no choice but to sit back, look around, and enjoy it. Truly, it was a communal breath of fresh air.
* I began writing this on Sunday night. this is way overdue.
Friday: Boston effectively shuts down pre-emptively before the Blizzard sweeps in. Snow picks up around 8pm. Earlier in the day housemates gather to make beignets on our stovetop and we hang out in eager anticipation. We gather for a potluck-type dinner at 745pm and drink our way into a massive, raucous game of Pit. At 1130pm, the blizzard is now in full force and snow is accumulating at perhaps 2"/hr. We all get appropriately dressed -- read: ski goggles -- and venture out into the streets, singing and jumping and wrestling our way down an abandoned Holland Ave towards Davis Square. We arrive at the Burren (word had spread that it remained open), which is pretty decently packed. We end up on stage dancing the night away with our snowpants around our ankles.
Saturday: I get up around 9am to the tail end of the storm, gusty winds, and over 2' of snow on the ground. In front of nearly every house, one or more people are busy shoveling or snowblowing... slowly. Our neighbors across the street spend 15 minutes attempting to access their car to retrieve their cross-country skis. My roommate and I shovel out the sidewalk and driveway, in the process creating a massive snowpile in front of our front deck. My roommate is the first to climb up and jump down onto its peak, sinking in about 5 feet before coming to a stop... awesome. Afterwards, we all go for a walk around the neighborhood, surveying the blanket of snow that has buried cars and blocked entryways. Some cross-country skiers are hitting the roads, actually somewhat dismayed by the incredible speed at which Somerville plows are capable of clearing the roads. Davis Square is abound with folks wandering in awe, not only at the sheer volume of snow on the ground but also at the wonder and joy of our neighborhood center completely car-free (oh the potential!). Ultimately, we end up at Amsterdam Falafel for a bite (they stayed open the night before too, since the drunk folks from the Burren needed to eat too, obviously). On the way home we swing up to Powderhouse Sq and then down Broadway, where the cars were apparently parked on the downwind side of the street such that many of them were rendered nothing but soft undulations in the gentle rolling white hills that lined the edge of the road. Truly remarkable.
Overall, this was an amazing experience, as much for the snow itself -- I'll never forget dropping our measuring tape from inside our back door into the snow on our back deck and watching the numbers disappear, truly in disbelief when the 24" mark was passed on the way to 27" -- as for the community experience of an event that is all by measures extreme and even catastrophic yet wholly non-life-threatening. The result is that of pure joy, knowing that no one has anywhere to get to because no one is expected to be able to get there; that the folks you see around you are none other than your very-nearby neighbors, as neighborhoods that were once only a few minutes away are rendered as far apart as two islands on opposite ends of the Earth.
It's a rare thing for an entire major city to be shut down, and even rarer for its cause to be something so tranquil and serene, as if a city-wide shutdown was placed in effect for a 48-hour, no-holds-barred pillow fight. In a world that is ever more inter-connected and increasingly extricated from the archaic notions of day and night, it's a remarkable opportunity when everything is forced to stop -- and you have no choice but to sit back, look around, and enjoy it. Truly, it was a communal breath of fresh air.
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