Cruisers

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Who'd have guessed that something as insubstantial as the common reed could cause such conflict? But thanks to Phragmities australis that's what we have now in Boston's fabulous crime-free Fenway {as WBCN FM used to call its location, tongue firmly in cheek). A standoff between cruisers and, well, cruisers.

Like many things in Boston, and the reeds themselves, the roots of the conflict run deep.

The Fenway Victory Gardens have been gay cruising grounds for as long as anyone now alive can remember. Cruising in fact probably preceded gardening, which dates from 1946 when the Victory Gardens were created to aid the war effort. For generations, day and night, men have been milling around the banks of the Muddy River to meet other men.

For sex with Mr. Right Now, of course. And on the spot, unlike most other public cruising areas. The thick stands of reeds have mazes of trampled paths leading to free, if damp on the knees, motel rooms.

Here's the rub. Public sexual activity is prohibited by law in Puritan Boston. And in a few other cities around the civilized world - a figure probably inching close to 100%.

This is where most of the action occurs, in the grassy cruising grounds and the reed sex rooms along the river, but it spills over into the rest of the park and the gardens.

Besides stumbling upon couples in flagrante delicto abundant circumstantial evidence exists. Condoms, popper bottles, KY tubes, feces, underwear and pants (how do they get home?) are strewn up and down the garden paths. Along with other party items - wine and liquor bottles, beer cans and drug paraphernaliia - needles, crack pipes, baggies and vials.

... To be continued.

Wind Chimes | On the Cover . 6

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Wind Chimes. The South End, Boston. This is the new cover of Roofscape Magazine for September 15, 2009.

The view is into a backyard off the alley that runs along the East Berkeley Street Community Gardens in Boston's South End. The willow tree is cut down, the giant phallus is gone, the wind chimes no longer sound, the whole elaborate devotional garden greatly reduced. It was the work, Sasha once told me, of a blind sculptor. Walk around the block and check the front of the house which is still fairly much intact.

Mission Church | Rox . 4

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The Mission Church, the twin spires seen in the distance looking downhill through the trees and triple deckers just below the summit of Mission Hill. The Mission hosted Teddy Kennedy's memorial service this past rainy Saturday.

August 26 | Garden . 1

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Spent the day in the Roofscape's garden in the Fenway getting ready for - although I'm in denial about this - the fall. Fall! Where did the summer go? Well it was here today, the temperature grazing 90° in the heat of the day.

Cloudless with just some high thin overcast, haze hovering over the river, fitful westerly breezes. Crickets in a high, fast chorus with ranks of lower, slower singers; cicadas rising, swelling and fading away against this steady soundscape. A horn heard in the distance across the water practicing in Mother's Rest. A tune I couldn't place, but for once it wasn't Ride of the Valkyries. Bees and wasps buzzing in the flowering mint. Dragonflies the size of your hand beating their impossibly gossamer wings. Birds calling as they glean the grapes newly ripened, many gone straight to raisins, on the vines. Reeds bowing and raising back up in waves. A slight sound of surf. The city far away.

Grooming the garden. Pulling out the summer stuff as it fades and planting the cool weather crops. Often these are the same, but after a summer of production the collards, for example, need renewal. And there's always new lettuce to plant. Most of these will go until they disappear under the snow. The frost brings out their sweetness. Spinach, collards and kale kissed by the frost are utterly different animals, well plants; sweet, round and rich. Something no supermarket will ever supply. You have to grow your own to taste something that good.

The fern brake is weary too, looking sunburned and droopy. I cut them back to the ground and they soon return looking fresh and rested, a bright vernal green that lasts through the more moderate late summer weather. The other reason this year is to finally dig out the rampant multiflora rose which has ressurected in their midst. Maybe. I could feel the shovel about to snap going up against those though roots. The canes bit and lashed against me in protest. We left it at a draw, both wounded, but I was the one retired from the field of battle.

Indeed many weeds. Everywhere but thin air. The three composters are piled high, bulging and groaning. With more to come. I'll shovel out the finished compost from the bottom, then jump on their tops and water them down. Some people don't compost weeds - but if they don't, what then do they compost? A weed being just another word for a very successful plant. Off with their heads and onto the pile.

A quiet day - Peter and Charles the only neighbors, late in the afternoon. Charles said that there were over 40 recent break-ins. A squad car was parked in the middle of the field behind the reeds along the river - all day (unprecedented), relieved later by an unmarked Crown Vic. He thinks that this is retaliation. The reeds were cut down right to the water (apparently by mistake), almost eliminating the open air sex and drug rooms that they harbored. And their denizens are not happy campers.

My wonderful day ended on that note. Had a pad thai and pedaled back home as the shadows fell.

Image ... Geese flying over the Fens.

Old Blake House | Dot . 9

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Dorchester was settled in May 1630, one month before the founding of Boston. Over 200 years later Boston would come to annex it as the railroads began to link the city to the still largely rural farming town creating one of America's first commuter suburbs. The original settlement was in Allen's Plain near the corner of Massachusetts Avenue and Columbia Road. Today, the oldest house in Boston still stands there, the Old Blake House built in 1648, 361 years old.

The second oldest Boston house is also in Dorchester, the Pierce House on Oakton Avenue, dating from 1683 and recently (2003, very recently given its age of 326 years) carefully restored. The Blake and Pierce are also two of the five oldest houses extant in New England and Dot (as Dorchester is known) also lovingly preserves more than a dozen other pre-Revolutionary residenses.

Image ... The Old Blake House. From a postcard, circa 1905.

Thunder | Go Figure! . 1

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Last night I awoke to the sound of thunder. How far off I sat and wondered? ... Night Moves, by Bob Seger.

The question as posed by Mr. Seger is an idle late night musing about time and memory, but sometimes the answer to how far off? can be an immediate matter of life or death. Lightning can be lethal and we need to know how close it is and/or if it's moving our way. The answer involves counting and a calculation.

You'll recall that we first see the lightning and then - sooner or later - hear the thunder. That time difference - shorter or longer - tells us the distance of the storm - closer or further away - from us.

Light, the visible part of lightning bolts, zips by at a brisk 186,000 miles per second. But sound, the thunder from lightning, pokes along at a mere mile or so every 5 seconds. Given that speed difference, a factor of almost a million, we can assume for our purposes that the speed of light is instantaneous.

Warren Avenue | South End . 2

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The palette of the South End is brick, iron, stone, wood and the shifting shadows cast over everything by the thousands of trees lining the streets, flanking the secret alleyways and privately surrounding backyards like watchful sentinels.