On the Freedom Trail

When I visited Boston last fall, I was enchanted. When I brought my children back, I fell in love.

We sat on the shuttle with flight attendants and pilots on a long layover and on their way to lunch in the city.

"I like your dress," Elizabeth said with a grin. The woman, her long black hair hanging in waves over her cream lace sheath dress smiled back and said, "I like your hair." My gingers, only ever shy for two minutes, launched into an excited conversation with those lovely people about Minute Men and Louisa May Alcott and ice cream.

We got off the shuttle to waves and cheery calls of "Have fun, Joseph and Elizabeth!"

Buying a subway pass was easy. Finding our train was not.

We hopped onto a blue line subway and, glancing around at the nearly empty car, I asked, "Is this the way to the aquarium?" The Bell Captain had told us that was our stop.

"No," the man replied, "that's on the other side of the platform."

"Thanks!" I said as I turned the kids to exit the car. Joseph jumped out, with Elizabeth and I close behind, E lagging a bit. The doors started to shut with Joseph and I outside and Elizabeth inside. In a panic, I slammed the doors open and grabbed her hand in a tight grip, pulling her to the platform. We stood and watched as the train sped off. With shaking hands, I dug in my purse and pulled out a pen.

"Mommy! You almost lost me!!"

"I know, baby. We need to remember to stay super close when we get on and off."

We crossed the platform and stood on the side to wait for the next train, all of us still shaken over how fast the doors closed. Subways, we learned, do not take into consideration dawdlers. We entered and exited the car as one, the kids grabbing seats while I tried to find my balance in the constant start and stop, jolting and turning.

We took more escalators from underground and entered the city properly. Around us shoppers with bags chatted and laughed. We could smell the salt of the harbor while a cool breeze kept the heat at bay. We walked across uneven cobblestones through Quincy Market. We paused to watch a juggler and then stopped in our tracks as a dance troupe started their show. We stood behind a young man eating a hot dog piled high. The crowd pressed closer to the cone perimeter.

"Hey!" I looked up at the young man, "Your kids can go here. I'm taller." He gestured in front of him, his thick accent of dropped r's reminding making me smile. He shifted until he stood behind us, cheering and hollering for the dancers. The kids clapped and laughed, not understanding the jokes, but feeling the magic of the audience. They happily dropped dollar bills into an outstretched bucket and we walked away, swinging hands and chatting about what we'd just seen. We paused in front of a statue. I looked down and saw the familiar red brick line of the Freedom Trail. Thinking about it, I decided this first day had to include a pastry from Mike's, a slice of pizza, and the USS Constitution. Not to mention Paul Revere's house and the Old North Church where all of the adventure we'd explored began.

"Here's the Freedom Trail! As long as we stay on it, we can't be lost." Off we went, marching along the trail peering into the dioramas of the Oyster House, reading placards, and wondering why there were golden imprints of trash on one of the street corners.

The steeple of the Old North Church guided us, pulling us to the North End where the smell of garlic mingled with the yeasty scent of dough. Across the street, I could see the sign for Mike's. "Come on, guys!"

We crossed and joined a crowd of pastry seekers. The colors and smells were overwhelming. Canolis, marzipan, macaroons, lobster shells, cream puffs, cheesecakes, cupcakes, sugar cookies...

We walked up to the counter. "What can I get you?" The woman behind the counter had her hair in a bandanna and wore a blue shirt dusted with flour.

"I'd like a caramel pecan cannoli," I said quickly.

"I want a chocolate one," Joseph said decisively.


"I want something pretty. Maybe purple," Elizabeth said from where her nose was pressed against the glass. She looked up and smiled that dimpled grin.

"My sister loves pretty cookies," Joseph informed the shop worker. "I do too, but I like chocolate better than pretty."

"I'm sorry," I apologized, aware of the crowd pressing against our backs, "she's having a hard time deciding. It's all a little overwhelming."

"No problem," she said, laughing. "Lets see what she likes." With that, it began to rain cookies. Macaroons, almond cookies, sugar cookies, green cookies, purple cookies. "Try this one!" and "Here's another for brother!"

Finally deciding macaroons are the prettiest cookies in the world, we left the shop with its signature blue and white box tied with string. I stood on the street, happy in my sugar high. "Let's find some pizza!" And off we went, willy nilly, completely forgetting the Freedom Trail and the safety of its well marked path.

A fact that became clear a half hour later when the brick and cobbled streets of the North End had us so turned around we couldn't find Paul Revere's house and the steeple of the Old North Church mocked us by appearing in different places. We popped into a pizza place that advertised $3 slices and sat down to drink cold waters and study our map.

Our conversation caught the attention of the woman sitting next to us with two young men.

"Excuse me," she said, leaning across the space separating our tables. "I couldn't help but overhear. Are you and your children in Boston long?"

"Only two days," I smiled.

"We're going to see Paul Revere's house!" Joseph informed her.

"If we can find it," I added wryly.

It turned out she was was a Boston native having lunch with her adult sons. While the kids ate their slices, the three of them told us stories of riding in the Swan Boats, of family excursions, and long summer days on the Common. She dug a pen out of her purse and circled the best spots to eat, their family's favorite places to relax and enjoy the view, and the places she'd taken her boys when they were small. Before we left, she gave me a hug, told me I was a brave mama for taking my little ones on a trip like this, and reminded me again how to find the Freedom Trail. We waved as we walked away, smiling at their kindness. Chattering about all the fun we were going to have.

And promptly got lost again.

We walked up the street and paused in front of a barbershop where a burly bald man with tattoos covering his bare arms offered to walk us to the Freedom Trail so we would get lost again. A cigar hung out of his mouth sending a trail of smoke behind us. Setting us on the red brick path a block from Paul Revere's house, he waved us on our way.

We finally found it, Paul's house, and continued to the Old North Church where we stared in awe at the tall steeple where two lanterns once shone. Pausing for a moment, we talked about how we'd officially traveled from where Paul Revere was captured to where he started before continuing our to the USS Constitution and stopping for a cannoli break.

Walking on the deck of the Constitution, we were greeted by a young Navel officer who regaled us with the storied past of the ship beneath our feet. We learned it was the only undefeated Boston "team", that Paul Revere had a hand in its construction, and of the battle that gave it the name of Old Ironsides. We discovered Joseph would have been eligible to serve in the Navy as a powder monkey at the age of eight and where the work groggy came from.

We finished our tour and crossed the street to a small green where we took off our shoes and let our feet rest in the soft grass. It had been a long day and none of us were looking forward to the walk back. Looking at my "T" map, I noticed a dotted line leading from a nearby dock. Intrigued, I gathered my gingers and walked over.

Which is how we found ourselves taking a 20 minute cruise of Boston Harbor in the late afternoon sun for $3.

The views from the top deck were amazing. We soaked it all in and debated whether or not to take it back and forth one more time.

I cannot express how much we loved this portion of our day. To sit and watch the city slide past in the wake of a ferry was almost magical.

After a delicious dinner, we boarded the subway, tired and dragging our feet. We got back to the Hilton, changed our clothes, and took advantage of the hot tub before the kids cuddled under soft down and promptly fell asleep.

I drank a glass of delicious wine while looking out over the even more delicious view and I composed a love letter.

Dear Boston, I love you. Madly. For your people ... And for your city streets steeped in history as deeply as the Harbor once did in tea.