River Portraits > Stories
I'm a writer and I walk in the woods every day along the river in Sherborn. A few months ago I began publishing a nature writing blog of my daily walks by the Charles . . . [more]
I miss winter in Boston
Oh, how I miss you winter
I love your frosty and frizzing mornings
the ice layers slow hardening . . . [more]
In the early 1990s, driven by conflicting currents in my life, I spent
a long weekend on retreat with the brothers of the Society of St. John
the Evangelist in their magnificent guest house on Memorial Drive . . . [more]
My River by
Pamela Powell
In high school we ran 'the
bridges' as cars honked past, but better, far better, was to sit in
the stroke position in our boat of four, to lean forward in my worn
gray t-shirt and pull hard, the muscles in my arms tightening as I leaned
forward . . . [more]
I shoot the river
Time and again
Sailing women
Rowing men . . . [more]
When I think about the Charles River, I realize it is central to my sense
of location. I don’t so much live in the Boston area as I live near
the enveloping banks of the Charles. My awareness of the river came early . . . [more]
These kites jabbing ballooning air
have grown fancier since the years
of the be-ins when we were here . . . [more]
For the record, I was the first one in. I did it so fast that no photographic
evidence remains in my plunge. I jumped in summer-camp-style—without
thinking. I sank down, down, down into the Charles, towards a history
of sediment. The water was the color and temperature of lukewarm Dunkin
Donuts coffee. I resurfaced, bracing myself for the melting off of
skin that was sure to occur. It never happened. Instead, I was enjoying
the best view of both Boston and Cambridge . . . [more]
On hot summer days, about six or seven of my friends and myself would
decide to go swimming. We would walk down ... and pool our change to
see if we had 25 or 30 cents to buy a box of 6 donuts. Powered sugar
was our favorite and everyone got one or a half of one . . . [more]
Spring time at River charles
It blooms in spring
the pulse of a vivacious river.
All along the banks . . . [ more ]
The music wafts off the hatch shell over the massive crowd listening
to the rock band Dispatch’s final concert. In the back of the
crowd . . . [ more ]
Sunrise rubs eyes and
red hues emerge
rippling over deep blue
Boston legacy,
college bordered stream
buckled by bridges . . . [ more ]
I read the January 26, 2007 edition of the Watertown Tab about swimming
in the Charles River and was surprised. I didn’t think anyone
would be interested that I swam in the Charles River when I was a kid.
Today’s
Charles River is a heck of a lot cleaner. At that time all kinds of
businesses, cities and towns dumped into the river . . . [ more ]
See watercolors painted by Frank Costantino, Nancy Howes, Silvia Sune, Renata von Tscharner, and Dean Yeaton, on June 3rd, 2006.
I was the driver and cheering
section for Harvard's North House women's intramural crew in spring
1990. My elder daughter Jodie pulled a strong oar for their "eight"
. . . Several mornings a week, I filled my station-wagon to
the brim with healthy young women and drove them down JFK Street towards
the Charles . . . [ more ]
When I describe the Thames
as "picturesque" in my 1936 Journal I had probably never heard
of the Charles River. Now, on the first day of summer, I am standing
on my ninth floor balcony . . . [ more ]
It's dark when I get home
and take the dog for her evening walk along the river. Phoebe, my five-year-old
black Lab, shakes off an afternoon of sleep and pulls me exuberantly
along . . . [ more ]
I lived a block from the
Charles River for twenty years . . . and wondered what it
would feel like to walk down the street in my bathing suit with a towel
wrapped around me and just step into the water . . . [ more ]
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