As a Western-hyphen-American (bitterly clinging to the Pacific coast as I do), I never thought I’d see this storied place. But here I stood.
At first as I approached along the path I thought I’d cry for the wonder of being here where it all began.
Just as quickly I realized I might cry for the sorrow of being here in the days of its ending.
(We came to the statue under a blazing noonday sun. No angle allowed a good photograph until I surrendered to the understanding that I could get only a silhouette — and got this grand one.)
“By the rude bridge that arched the flood …”
This is actually the fifth rebuild of the Old North Bridge, but no less moving for that.
This inscription is on an 1836 obelisk erected where the British forces stood, directly across the Old North Bridge from the Minuteman statue, where the Americans faced off against their invaders. They don’t make politically incorrect inscriptions like that one any more.
And on a different geographically and culturally related subject …
Two weeks ago I had no idea that such a thing as a lobster roll existed. Now I must become a partisan in the Lobster-Roll Wars (between Maine-style (cold, with mayonnaise) and Connecticut-style (hot, with butter). Once having declared loyalty to my side, I must then choose between the “lots of other stuff” faction (lettuce, avocado slices, more celery) and the “I paid for lobster, just give me lobster” faction.
The rivalry may not be as hostile as between the Judean Peoples Front and the Peoples Front of Judea, but it’s close.