Back to Cambridge

Harvard's  Memorial Hall, whose recently reconstructed hat perfectly matches the one taken down by a fire in 1956. It didn't have a hat when I went there for the Freshman Mixer and final exams. At the time of its construction (1874), Mem Hall was the largest meeting room in America, a Hodgefact which amazes me. It's a ridiculously cool and imposing building, and it makes my heart sing that the University managed to rebuild its imposing chapeau.

One of the pleasures of returning to Cambridge is wandering through Harvard yard, mulling on all the things I first experienced there as a freshman. Alas, it was closed to me and anyone without an active Harvard ID for the duration of my visit and who knows how long? The Yard was being Occupied, and Harvard police understandably wanted the occupiers limited to Harvard students/faculty/staff. So the students had a bunch of tents they'd gotten from the Harvard Outing Club and they were all tented up in there in the mild fall weather and nobody among the general rabble could go in or out. Caterers arrived regularly to feed them. Food looked great. I was hungry. As Hodge's Harvard freshman son dryly observed, "It's not much of a stretch to occupy a gated community." Occupiers would have it otherwise, as this PostHarvard article observes. Still, how can the University allow everyone access to the Yard when students are sleeping in tents out in the open? Much as I didn't like walking around the Yard, I got it. And wondered what impending winter weather would do to the protestor's resolve.

 I was sad to be locked out. I wanted to linger under the elms and think. I wanted to peer into my single in Weld Hall, the one right by the back door which was fab except that I woke up every time somebody came in at 2 AM. I wanted to walk by John Harvard's statue and remember standing there and watching when the Yard's resident barred owl (ca. 1976) flew down and snatched a grey wool hat off a very surprised bicycling student. I saw that. It was excellent. She almost fell over but regained her composure and looked up as only a student whose hat has been snatched by an owl can look up. I am sure the owl thought a squirrel was hitching a ride on her head. I am sure he was disappointed to bear it back to his elm, tear into it and find not warm meat but only more fuzz.

Even then I was noticing what there was to notice in nature,  in the heart of a bustling city. Sometimes I wonder how I made it through. I was meant to live in the woods. I knew that, even then.

 Memorial Chapel looked mighty spooky with the full moon rising.

 Outside, the streets were bustly with people. Maybe it was because nobody could cut through the Yard, but I don't remember Cambridge being quite so congested. Eep. Lines and packs everywhere. I've lost many of my adaptations to the crowded life. A bicyclist was coming at me on the sidewalk in the dark. Dazzled by his light, I moved to my right and he moved to his left and he cursed me for getting in his way and making him almost topple over. Well, I'm sorry. Where I come from people don't ride right at you on bikes with blinding lights on the sidewalk. I knew then just how a deer feels when a car comes at it on a road at 3 AM.

Where I come from it is hard to find a nice crabcake, too. So Hodge took me to Henrietta's Kitchen where an affable barkeep served us crabcakes.

This is Hodge, trying to biggen hers. It works on the iPad...

We laughed. We had fruity drinks. We yakked. I miss her. But I'll be coming back to Massachusetts in the spring, when the winter is past, the flowers appear on the earth, and the time of the singing birds is come.

I'll have a new book to talk about! (see banner ad at right).

By then, I hope Harvard Yard's iron gates will be open again. They'd better be.