Where does Boston put all its snow? I hiked 7 miles through the city to find out.
Before Monday’s blizzard, I was driving past a towering snow-capped peak in South Boston. If I were to rub my eyes and squint, I could have been convinced that the sight before me was coming from my home in Pennsylvania. But no, the mountainous site looked like a snow park, which I hiked almost 7 miles to find later (we’ll get to that).
Much of the Northeast was covered in snow this week during a February 23 snowstorm. Providence, Rhode Island, broke a record with 37 inches of snow. In Boston, we received 17 inches of snow, bringing the total snowfall in the city so far this winter to over 60 inches – the most in over a decade.
As Monitor staff discussed coverage of the storm, an editor recalled that the city had created terrain parks in the past to dump snow instead of pushing polluted snow into Boston Harbor. I was given the quest to find one and see how it worked.
Why we wrote this
This week’s blizzard across much of the Northeast might have you wondering what cities are doing with the abundance of snow. In Boston, our journalist went looking for it – and ended up paying tribute to those who made it disappear.
My search led me on a journey to places in Boston I had never ventured before. Along the way, I discovered revelations about this city that I did not expect when I left.
When I received the assignment, I remembered my previous journey. After some research, I learned that Boston was operating 14 terrain parks this year, the first time in years that a mayor had ordered them to open.
Unfortunately, I discovered that the addresses of terrain parks, which range from low-traffic parking lots to industrial sites, are not public. The city’s public works department, while responsive to my media request, was too busy to quickly schedule a visit.
Victoria Hoffmann/The Christian Science Monitor
As for plan B, I wondered how to search for that snowy mountain I saw. The answer: TikTok. While scrolling through videos of South Boston residents walking through the snow to get their Dunkin iced coffee, glimpses of South Boston’s Mount Everest appeared in the background. I started to identify possible locations on the streets.
My plan was to travel the city streets by train, then on foot, to find the site. Coming off my slightly delayed ride on the T (Boston’s 100-plus-year-old subway, still broken down), I found myself surrounded by miniature mounds of snow on the sidewalks. I was sure the snow piles were taller than me – and I was excited to see the real snow mountain.
As a new layer of snow began to fall, it seemed like it was just me and Public Works employees dressed in neon yellow and orange on the streets. Despite my best efforts to land interviews, they were more eager to lather a salt mixture on the sidewalks than to chat.
On most blocks, I found workers dressed in heavy cold weather gear, shoveling or salting the ground, some dragging wheelbarrows.
In the Seaport District, a trendy neighborhood that is home to the Institute of Contemporary Art, the mini excavators clearing the sidewalks looked like small herds of cows. If there was one, two others weren’t far behind. Eventually, I found a small private snow farm where an annual holiday market is held in December. After mistaking a passerby for one of the farm workers, the stranger joked that the snow would hopefully melt by the weekend.
Four of the five possible blocks where I thought I would find the terrain park were a fiasco. I had been walking for an hour and I was getting a little desperate. I had passed several snow-filled trucks, chasing each one with my notebook in hand for a block or two before they inevitably passed me.
In the midst of my frustration and soaked shoes, I crossed a bridge. As the snow fell around me, I breathed in the fresh, salty air and reflected on the journey so far.
As I reread my notes from the day, I noticed a pattern. Almost every other line was about a worker I saw. Someone directing traffic like a dump truck received a load of snow, another scooped the snow from my path and nodded at me. What this trip had in common was the hard work of the people who made the city clean and safe.
After all, city workers had shoveled 1,500 truckloads of snow (more than 25,000 cubic meters) to clear major roads and school zones early Wednesday morning, about 36 hours after the major snowstorm ended, Mayor Michelle Wu announced on social media.
By gaining the motivation of those who work tirelessly around me, I had a eureka moment. I plugged in the address of my route from last weekend and tried to follow it as best I could on foot, which led me to trot deep into South Boston.
Zigzagging through the streets, I finally came across a stranger. I walked over to her, grateful to see another face. I introduced myself and asked her if she had seen a snow park. She said to go left. With her Boston accent as thick as possible, she added, “Maybe it would be better to find with a cah.” » Dear stranger, I think so too.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t on the left. After walking around a few more blocks, it was time to head home. One train, a long 6.8-mile walk, and a Lyft later, I was back home sipping a cup of hot tea, reminiscing on what might be one of my most memorable reporting trips.
Even though I didn’t find the terrain park, I found something else: a deep gratitude for every sidewalk I ran onto that was clear, every road that was cleared. If you know a public servant, I say give them a tip of the hat.
