Boston Monsoon

By: pbcmedia

Mar 16 2010

Tags: , , , , , ,

Category: Boston, Boston Subways, CHILDHOOD, CHILDREN

6 Comments

Aperture:f/1.4
Focal Length:50mm
ISO:1600
Shutter:1/100 sec
Camera:Canon EOS 5D

I spent two nights in Boston last weekend with my nine-year old grand-nephew and 12-year-old grand-niece.

Turns out it was an invitation to observe a historic combination of rain and wind that was endlessly fascinating viewed from the 35th floor and historically difficult to navigate on the street level.  No taxis at hotel queues.  Umbrellas thrown in each public trash can.  Shoes, socks, pants dripping on to marble floors leading to elevator banks.

One of my favorite moments was early, early one morning.  I was standing by the window and unbeknownst to me,  my grand-nephew had woken up and he came and stood next to me.  Wordlessly, we watched the swirl of rain painting the skyscrapers and the nearby Charles River and listened to the 40-mile and hour gusts meet our window and building with a high whining whistle.

Then, we woke up his sister, donned our hoods and traveled all around Boston underneath Boston on all the subway lines–orange line, red line, green line, silver line, blue line–in pursuit of the best hot chocolate in Boston.

©Pat Coakley 2010

PHOTOGRAPHY CANNOT BE USED WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION

**Photographs from this blog and from my wider archive can be purchased at www.patcoakley.com

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6 comments on “Boston Monsoon”

  1. My wife still loves splashing around in the puddles when it rains.

  2. How does your wife like walking/splashing through puddles a foot deep? I’m talking serious rain here, so serious that on Monday as the rain continued on, tracks from one of our subway lines washed right out! We left Sunday afternoon, though!

  3. I’d have to just about wrestle her into submission to stop her!

  4. moments only happen so often.
    they only take a moment sadly.

    I think the first of my grand nieces and nephews will be about that age when I’m 50 or so.
    That’s a happy thought for some reason.

  5. i had an aunt, helen, “thea” we called her, everyone, even acquaintances and neighbors called her thea (aunt in greek). my brother and i went on many adventures with thea. she’d married, and then divorced before i was born, she never remarried and so she was ‘free’ to spend time with her slew of nieces and nephews. but my brother and i were the first born of all of them, and we had a special place. a throne so to speak. she liked to just get in the car and go somewhere. we never knew where we were going and never made plans.
    we’d just end up somewhere, like the mountains in new hampshire or stockbridge, or salem and we’d always somehow find a hotel or motel. Once we drove to florida during winter vacation. i remember seeing spanish moss, orange groves and cotton fields for the first time. she used to say i was ‘observant’ because i always noticed things, always seeing details and asking questions. like your grandnephew in the photo watching the rain and having his own experience about the wonder of it all. i was about 5 when i first heard the word ‘observant’ and i can remember clearly asking her what it meant. it was a moment i still can see like a crystal in my minds eye. when she explained to me what it meant i remember for some reason feeling very good about myself because it seemed to me ‘observant’ was the best way to be. later i realized how important indeed it was, in my work especially. it was one of those childhood moments that lasts forever. you never know when you might be making one of those moments for the children. the rainy weekend in boston must have provided ample opportunity for moments to blossom-green things and flowers love rain! love this story and photo, and the expression on his face and the prismatic light shapes in the window really make it magical.

  6. A tender picture and story. If you can’t walk in the park, then why not ride the subway in search of hot chocolate? It’s a creative way to turn a snotty day into a fun adventure – and the moment into a memory.


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