I started this spring in Brooklyn with a specific dream in mind: to make it to Sakura Matsuri, the annual cherry blossom festival at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. (Okay, so “dream” is kind of a lofty word for what could be more accurately described as “a particularly stubborn goal,” but bear with me here. I take my flower viewing very seriously, kay?)
Spring is finally here—well, sort of. In the Northeast, we’ve endured nearly a week of constant clouds and rain. While I’d like to say I’m not complaining (at least it’s not winter, right?), it’s definitely starting to get to me. So! Let’s celebrate the season with a few shots of Boston at its springtime finest. On a solo day trip from New York that some might call ill-fated (ahem, I prefer pleasantly detoured), I hopped the wrong train and, instead of arriving in the heart of Boston like I intended, found myself alone in the Massachusetts suburbs.
I missed a not-too-important appointment in the city, but it was far from the end of the world. Spring was in full bloom, the ‘burbs were an unexpectedly gorgeous storybook page, and I had the entire day to myself to gawk at the flowers. I eventually made my way back into the city to wander around Beacon Hill and the Public Garden, but that day wouldn’t have been half as much fun if my plans hadn’t gotten so derailed. The unexpected turn of it all felt so weird and magical. All this to say: life is strange and wonderful, so let’s all stare at some wildlife.
As an East Coast transplant surrounded by natives, something I learned very quickly is that nearly everyone who grew up in the tri-state area seemingly spent their childhoods being dragged on roughly half a dozen field trips to Philadelphia. Yes, that’s a big generalization, but if the looks of horror, disbelief, and secondhand shame I received whenever proclaiming I’d never been there are any indication, an annual tired shuffle past the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall was as second nature to these folks growing up as recess.
I had plenty of great experiences as a kid in the Midwest, thank you very much, but I couldn’t help but feel a little disillusioned by the fact that a destination so high on my bucket list was so heavily taken for granted by everyone I knew. There I was, gushing over how exciting it would be to stand face to face with such rich pieces of history (or, you know, just finally eat an authentic cheesesteak), and try as they might, my friends could only muster so much false enthusiasm for something they’d done a thousand times.
Imagine, then, my reaction when we mapped out our transportation plans to Lancaster and discovered we’d have to stop in Philly to pick up the car we’d use to get out to the country. I felt like I’d won the lottery! When we stepped off the bus from New York City, we found ourselves right across the street from the Liberty Bell. THE LIBERTY BELL! Oh hey, there’s the thing I stared at in picture books all through elementary school! The beautiful surrounding streets just added to the magic even more.
The most vital thing Pennsylvanians have taught me about their state is that their winters are somehow not accompanied by a 24/7 blanket of gray sky. To a Michigan girl like myself, the notion of actually seeing sun during the colder months is about as close to heaven as it can get, so it didn’t take much to keep my mind open about getting to know the area better. Myself and my two fellow travelers, a little gang of three, marveled at the PA highways on our drive from Brooklyn to Lancaster. How the hell are the roadsides so green? What’s with all this…nature?
As our drive further west gave way to wide open fields and farms, it was hard not to gape. Too much time in the city starts to make the most commonplace of natural scenery seem like a museum exhibit, so being faced with miles upon miles of rolling hills and cornstalks felt like we’d stepped into another universe. Even the view from the gas station – a lush field framed by distant trees and foothills – was breathtaking. When we turned a corner and found ourselves sharing the road with a horse and buggy, we knew we weren’t in Brooklyn anymore. Are we in a fever dream?
