Boston Globe: Unearthed skeleton linked to 1812 war. One of the things that I miss about Boston here in Seattle is the sense that Boston and the rest of the northeast have about 384 years of American history lurking, literally, just under the surface. The following note in the article brought that home: “Two hundred soldiers died in a pneumonia epidemic in the winter of 1812-13, [Dr. John Crock, director of the University of Vermont Consulting Archaeology program] said, and were buried in the cemetery north of the hospital in use then — near where North Street and North Avenue now meet. That cemetery, with the graves marked by wooden crosses, gradually disappeared from the town’s memory….”
(Of course, that’s nothing compared to the 397 years of history in Virginia, just a few miles from where I was born. But I digress.)
My point was, this is why I love Boston. It feels more lovable because it feels more human. Humans—we all—have memories buried just below the surface. They make us who or what we are. There are things buried deeply in my psyche that make me who I am. The same is true of Boston. Seattle, on the other hand, sometimes feels somehow shallower. Because America’s roots are younger there?
(Apologies to all my Seattle friends who I just offended in this post, as well as those (like myself) who would point out that Native American civilizations in this area go back quite a bit further than the settling of this city.)