Meanwhile in the heart of the Boston Public Garden, Mrs. Mallard becomes The Tartan Army’s newest recruit! Jack, Kack, Lack, Mack, Nack, Ouack, Pack and Quack join the festivities.
Even Mrs. Mallard and her brood have joined the Scottish takeover of Boston. Honestly, could it be any other way?
In True Scottish Fashion Mrs. Mallard Donned a cone!
But don’t look now — the Tartan Army has a new recruit. Mrs. Mallard heard the bagpipes and said, ‘Aye, I’m in.’
Back in March, when I was contemplating making a life change and moving, I wrote about why I changed my mind and decided to stay in Massachusetts. (Why I Might Just Stay Put in Massachusetts) After all, Massachusetts is one of the most expensive states to live in and our weather is questionable at best — cold and snowy three‑quarters of the year and hot and humid the rest.
Spring and fall? Look quick or they’re gone. Sometimes you only know it’s spring because your car, walkway, and deck all turn yellow from the pollen. Hello allergies.
But as I said in that March post, there are some reasons to stay. And recently I saw a list (you know I love lists) of reasons living in Boston is the best and everyone should move here. Let’s see if I agree with them.
Yes, Boston is a beautiful city, sitting as it does right on the harbor. There’s nothing quite like taking a boat ride around the harbor and its islands. From lighthouses to forts to the skyscrapers shining in the sun, Boston mixes the old with the new. You can even spot the Old North Church spire while you cruise.
From Faneuil Hall (built in 1742) to Fenway Park (the oldest ballpark in the MLB), from Bunker Hill to the Freedom Trail (you can visit Paul Revere’s house), or even the Charlestown Navy Yard where you can tour the USS Constitution (Old Ironsides).
If you want to go beyond the usual Freedom Trail stops, Boston has some wonderfully under‑the‑radar historic gems. One of my favorites is Fort Warren out on Georges Island. I went there when I first moved here in the 70s, and it still has that same windswept, slightly spooky charm — Civil War history, granite walls, and the legend of the “Lady in Black,” all wrapped up in one ferry ride.
And while you’re in a historical mood, wander over to The Warren Tavern in Charlestown. It’s one of the oldest taverns in Massachusetts and still operating today. Paul Revere and George Washington once stopped in, and more importantly, they serve popovers — one of the only places besides the old Anthony’s Pier 4 (now closed) where I’ve ever had them. That alone makes it worth the visit.
Follow the Harborwalk and enjoy a relaxing stroll along the shoreline. It leads you past Christopher Columbus Waterfront Park, the Rose Kennedy Greenway, and the lively piers that frame the harbor. It’s one of the prettiest stretches in the city.
Boston is a city of learning. The Boston Redevelopment Authority says there are 35 colleges in Boston — which tells me they’re counting the Greater Boston area. And honestly, that makes sense. We have a plethora (like that big word?) of universities to choose from, including:
And if we’re counting Greater Boston, then of course we have to include Harvard, sitting stuffy and pompous in its Cambridge shrine. Right across the river is MIT, the youthful upstart of the computer world — the place where geniuses seem to grow on trees. Add those two heavy hitters into the tally, and suddenly 35 colleges doesn’t sound far‑fetched at all.
Just take a stroll through the North End. The narrow streets are lined with pizzerias and local grocery stores — not 7‑Elevens. Stores with olives and marinara and fresh pasta. And for a real treat of gluttony, visit during Saint Anthony’s Festival. Mama Mia!
If there’s one thing Boston knows how to do, it’s throw a food festival. Ice cream days in the summer, Oktoberfest in the fall, seafood festivals all over the area. And let’s talk cultural events — Irish celebrations with plenty of food and drink, Haitian and Jamaican festivals like Boston JerkFest, and even a “Fluff Fest” to celebrate Marshmallow Fluff.
Boston Cream Pie and Parker House rolls were first dreamed up at the Parker House Hotel. Boston baked beans harken back to the 1600s and the Pilgrims. And cookies? The Boston area is the gold standard for chocolate chip — the original Toll House cookie started here. Then the Fig Newton jumped in. Are we good or what!
It’s well known that Boston’s roots include the British (remember those Redcoats/loyalists), the Irish (hello Southie), and the Italians in the North End (ciao!). But we’ve also got Haitian, Jamaican, Cape Verdean, and even Moldovan communities. I’m sure we can find more if we dig a little deeper.
We have concerts on the Esplanade and the Boston Pops. There’s the beautiful Gardner Museum and the MFA. Even our library is a thing of beauty.
Boston Athenæum
Let’s be honest — we can’t all have perfect health. If you must get sick, what better place than Boston, where we have some of the top doctors and surgeons in the world? And we’ve been sedating patients for surgery almost forever. Boston gave the world anesthesia — right in the Ether Dome at Mass General — turning surgery from a horror show into something survivable.
Then Boston is the place for you. Reebok, New Balance, and Converse are all headquartered here. Makes sense when you think the world’s oldest marathon is run here every April.
Boston has a walk score of 81/100 — third in the nation. Many of our streets are still paved with cobblestones, so walking is the preferred means of travel. A lot less bumpy. So strap on that Fitbit and hit those 10k milestones.
Boston is surrounded by the Emerald Necklace, a series of parks that cover 7 miles from Boston Common to Franklin Park. It’s a 1,100‑acre chain of parks linked by waterways and parkways. Designed by Frederick Law Olmsted, it is the only fully intact linear park system he ever created. Almost anyone who lives in Boston is within a 10‑minute walk of a patch of green.
That’s MBTA to you non‑Bostonians. We were first in the nation, but as I’ve told you in the past, we always seem to arrive late. We ranked 3rd in the nation for our public transit system. When you figure that’s an assessment of 136 cities with populations over 175,000, that’s really a win.
Boston is sports‑crazy. Even if you weren’t a sports fan when you came here, you’ll get caught up. We love our teams — the Sox, Pats, Bruins, Celtics — we’re a city of champions. Just look at the banners hanging from the rafters in the Garden. We stick with them through all the ups and downs. We’re not fair‑weather fans.
This was one of the things that hit me when I moved here in the 70s. Boston was a city, but it didn’t feel like one. It wasn’t like New York City. Boston was more like a cluster of little cities and towns all rolled into one. Neighborhoods had a flavor, and you knew your neighbors — at least enough to offer a friendly wave.
This has always been a big one for me. When I first moved here, I’d go back home fairly often. I’d drive the Mass Pike back and forth on weekends. There was nothing like the feeling I got as the skyline of Boston came into sight when I returned. I’d come barreling down that section of the Pike past Belmont and the Mormon Temple, and there were the lights of Boston spread out before me. I never drive that stretch at night without getting an overwhelming feeling of I’m home now.
I know this has run long, but there was just so much to say about life in Boston. Special thanks to Juliet White for her essay 18 Reasons Living in Boston is the Best and Everyone Should Move Here. It was the launching point for this post. I’ve tried to stay true to her headings while putting my own spin on it. I hope you enjoy it and welcome any of your thoughts and observations.
Let me tell you a story about a man named Charlie — yes, that Charlie, the poor soul doomed to ride the MTA forever because Boston raised the fare by a nickel. And honestly, if you’ve ever waited for a Green Line train that was “arriving now” for 14 straight minutes, you know Charlie’s still out there somewhere, circling the city like a transit ghost. But here’s the twist: long before Charlie got trapped in fare‑hike purgatory, Boston actually built the first subway in the entire United States. That’s right — we were pioneers. Visionaries. Transit trailblazers. And somehow, 127 years later, we’re still proudly delayed, occasionally on fire, and held together by tunnels older than most of our cemeteries.
Before the Subway: Boston’s First Commute (Bring a Rowboat)Boston’s transit story actually begins way before subways, delays, and “signal issues.” It starts in 1631, when Thomas Williams launched the first chartered transit service in America — a ferry shuttling people into what was then a tiny peninsula. Walking from Chelsea took two days and at least one meltdown, so the ferry was a hit. Congratulations, Boston: we invented public transit and the first commuter complaint.
By the 1700s, Boston had grown to a whopping 800 acres — basically the size of a modern Costco parking lot. Most people still walked everywhere, while the wealthy bounced around in horse‑drawn carriages, which were essentially Uber Black with worse suspension. In 1793, the first stagecoach line opened between Boston and Cambridge. Slow, uncomfortable, and probably smelling like wet wool, it was a perfect preview of the Red Line.
The 1800s brought the omnibus, a horse‑drawn bus that rattled over Boston’s cobblestones like a shopping cart with a grudge. Reliable? Sure. Comfortable? Absolutely not.
Relief arrived in 1856 with the first horsecar on rails, gliding from Central Square to Bowdoin Square and avoiding the potholes that made every other street feel like a chiropractic emergency.
But by the late 1800s, Boston was already drowning in traffic. Tremont Street was so jammed that locals joked you could get across town faster by walking across the roofs of stalled streetcars. Honestly? Still true.
1897: The First Subway in America (And We Still Use It)Then came the big moment:
In 1897, Boston opened the Tremont Street Subway — the first subway in the United States.
And here’s the wild part: even after the Big Dig ripped the city open like a lobster tail, we’re still using some of those original tunnels under the Boston Common. If you’ve ever wondered why the Green Line feels like it’s traveling through history… it literally is.
By the mid‑1900s, politics had taken the wheel (hold on tight). Charlie’s famous song? It was actually a 1949 mayoral campaign jingle. Only in Boston would a political ad become a folk classic and a transit trauma.
From there, the T passed through more commissions, budgets, repairs, and “temporary fixes” than anyone can count. If you’ve ever waited 27 minutes for a train that was “2 minutes away,” you’ve felt the legacy.
Today, the MBTA serves over a million riders a day across subways, buses, ferries, and commuter rail. It is heroic, chaotic, historic, and occasionally held together by zip ties.
But hey — we were the first.
And we’re still moving… eventually… after this brief delay… due to a disabled train at Government Center… and a signal issue at Alewife… and a mysterious “track problem” they won’t explain.
For more details on the history of the first subway in the country, follow the link here.
So join me in this noble cause: let’s finally rescue Charlie. Check your pockets, check your CharlieCard balance, and if you see him on the Green Line, hand him a fare and set him free. Boston owes him that much.
Massachusetts has no shortage of historic firsts — the first lighthouse, the first subway, the first chocolate chip cookie, even the first telephone call. But tucked away on Beacon Street, inside the quiet, book‑scented halls of the Boston Athenæum, sits an artifact that makes all those milestones feel downright ordinary.
It’s a book.
Bound in human skin.
And yes, you can actually see it.
The story begins with James Allen, also known by several aliases, including George Walton — a 19th‑century highwayman who spent his life
robbing travelers along the Boston Post Road. He wasn’t a glamorous outlaw; he was a gritty, stubborn one, constantly in and out of prison, and eventually mortally wounded during an escape attempt.
On his deathbed in 1837, Allen dictated his life story — a short memoir titled Narrative of the Life of James Allen. But he didn’t stop there. He made a final request that would cement his place in Massachusetts lore:
He wanted copies of the book bound in his own skin.
One copy was to be given to a man who had once fought him off during a robbery attempt — a man Allen respected for his bravery. Another copy went to the Boston Athenæum, where it remains today.
On the cover, stamped in gold, is the Latin inscription:
“Hic Liber Waltonis Cute Compactus Est.”
This book is bound in the skin of Walton.
Subtle? No.
Unforgettable? Absolutely.
As bizarre as it sounds, binding books in human skin — anthropodermic bibliopegy — was a real, if extremely uncommon, practice in the 18th and 19th centuries. Most examples come from:
But Allen’s book stands out because it wasn’t done to him — it was done at his own request. A final act of control? A strange attempt at immortality? A criminal’s version of a legacy? Historians still debate it.
What’s certain is that the Athenæum’s copy is one of the most famous examples in the world.
The Athenæum itself is a treasure — one of the oldest independent libraries in the United States, founded in 1807. Its reading rooms feel like stepping into a different century: marble busts, oil portraits, polished wood, and the soft hush of serious book lovers.
The human‑skin book isn’t on open display. It’s kept in a secure, climate‑controlled room, brought out only for researchers or curious visitors by appointment. Staff are used to the request — it’s one of the most asked‑about items in their collection — but they treat it with the same respect as any rare artifact.
In recent years, scientific testing confirmed what the inscription claimed: the binding is, in fact, human skin.
Boston history is full of surprises, but this one still manages to raise eyebrows.
What makes this such a compelling Massachusetts tale isn’t just the shock factor. It’s the layers:
You can walk past the Athenæum’s iconic red doors a hundred times and never guess that one of the rarest, most unusual books in the world sits quietly inside.
But that’s Massachusetts for you.
Just when you think you’ve heard every story, it hands you one bound in human skin.
The Boston Marathon isn’t just a race — it’s a piece of living Massachusetts history. First run in 1897, it holds the title of the world’s oldest annual marathon, inspired by the marathon event at the first modern Olympic Games in 1896. What began with just 15 runners has grown into one of the most iconic road races in the world, drawing elite athletes, charity runners, and more than half a million spectators every year.
During World War I, the marathon wasn’t run in its traditional form. Instead, it became a 10‑man military relay, a patriotic adaptation that kept the spirit of the race alive during wartime.
In 1969, organizers shifted the race from its traditional April 19 date to the third Monday in April, bringing it in line with the modern Patriots’ Day schedule. That’s how Marathon Monday was born.
Although Roberta Gibb completed the race unofficially in 1966 and Kathrine Switzer famously ran with a bib in 1967, 1972 marked the first year women were officially welcomed into the field. It changed the race forever.
One of the most infamous moments in marathon history came in 1980, when Rosie Ruiz was initially crowned the women’s winner — only to be disqualified after it was discovered she hadn’t run the full course. It remains one of the most talked‑about sports scandals in Boston lore.
Heartbreak HillNo discussion of Boston is complete without Heartbreak Hill, the legendary climb in Newton. The name dates back to 1936, when defending champion Johnny Kelley caught up to Ellison “Tarzan” Brown on the hill — only for Brown to surge ahead and win. Kelley’s heartbreak gave the hill its name, and runners have been bracing for it ever since.
The darkest chapter in the race’s history came in 2013, when two bombs exploded near the finish line, killing three people and injuring more than 260. The city’s response — resilience, unity, and the now‑famous “Boston Strong” — became part of the marathon’s identity. The race has carried that spirit forward every year since.
For the first time in its history, the Boston Marathon was not held in person in 2020. Due to the COVID‑19 pandemic, the race shifted to a virtual format, allowing runners to complete 26.2 miles on their own routes. It was a reminder that the marathon is as much about determination as it is about location.
The Boston Marathon is more than a race — it’s a tradition woven into the fabric of Massachusetts. From Hopkinton to Boylston Street, every mile carries stories of determination, heartbreak, triumph, and community. It’s a race that honors its past while evolving with the times, and every April, it reminds us what endurance — and Boston — are made of.
The Boston Marathon is a really big deal in a city that loves its sports with its whole heart. From the Red Sox to the Bruins to the Celtics to the Pats, Boston shows up — loudly, loyally, and without hesitation. And on Marathon Monday, the city shows up in a way that feels almost sacred. Streets fill, cowbells ring, strangers cheer for strangers, and the whole region leans into one long, collective heartbeat.
It feels fitting that my Patriots’ Day post goes live on April 17, covering the full Lexington and Concord weekend, while this Marathon post lands on April 20 — right as runners are making their way toward Boylston Street. Two traditions, two days, each carrying its own history and emotion.
Patriots’ Day honors where Massachusetts began.
The Boston Marathon celebrates who we are now.
And honestly, only Boston could pull off a weekend where muskets at dawn and world‑class athletes share the same spotlight — and somehow, it all feels perfectly natural.
