I’m a scientific person but more so I’m always in need of whimsy so when we found out there was a Bigfoot Research Institute we just had to give it a good poke.
The challenges to get there were the usual, as my brother says, “Boston isn’t made for cars.” And it isn’t. All the roads were made from old indigenous trails through the woods and probably game trails as well making them a delightfully confusing rats nest of pure chaos. Add to that afternoon traffic, volatile drivers, and teenagers popping wheeling on their bikes while weaving between cars and you end up with me swearing profusely, which let me tell you is not normal. I’m a very chill driver most days but Boston… this Bigfoot better be good!
I found a parking lot a little up the street and we ambled to the address given. I don’t recall if there was even a sign saying what it was. There was however a sign saying ring the bell to deliver packages. Are we delivering a package?
We rung the bell and we’re welcomed in shyly at first. We walked in and found ourselves somewhere strange, again. There was a standing desk, some books for sale around it, and not much in the way of bigfoot except a big stuffed one in the corner and a disorganized pile of random child-oriented bigfoot stuff in a collection of drawers. Confused, someone else came out and started to explain.
The Bigfoot Research Institute was really just a gimmick to use as a storefront and get people through the door but really this place was a creative writing organization (826 Boston) trying to inspire local youths. The books were books all the students had written. And the bigfoot stuff? The gimmick was really to be a spot for kids to gear up to become bigfoot hunters. It used to be something more to see with games and other interactive activities including a phone booth looking thing the kids could sit in as a narrator told them all the places they may go while blowing fans and AC on them for cold climates, etc. It was cute! We were told it was in disarray but if we came back in a year or two it’d be back to it’s former glory.
They also told us other chapters of their organization had completely different gimmicks and handed us a passport in case we may want to see them spread across the country and the world. I don’t get the feeling many adults go through their doors, they were very happy to see us and said if I ever wanted to there are remote volunteering opportunities. I may consider it!
Since we were here… might as well see what those books were about. I bought a book of poetry and my fellow bewildered traveler got a cookbook. The staff, now numbering three, happily burbled to us about their students and what they were working on saying that one of their previous alumni grew up to be Amanda Gorman the youngest inaugural poet in US history.
I read the book of poetry (How We May Appear; Gen Z’s Reflection on Equality through Poems, Essays, and Narratives) and it was pretty powerful to hear from so many diverse young minds, granted I also found it more than a bit heartbreaking. This generation coming up knows there’s not much of a future for them and they’re expressing it in lines like, “When I’m asked what I want to be when I grow up I always answer, ‘alive.'” I sincerely hope our societal climate starts changing. It’s a tragedy to all when brilliant minds are permanently stuck in poverty and exhaustion, unable to reach their potential because somewhere along the way this country forgot what community was and adopted an everyone for themselves take on public policies.
I admit driving to this place was more of a challenge than I appreciated and the bigfoot part of it was a bit of a flop but I’m happy we found this place, talked to some really kind people, and got to hear from a portion of society I rarely get to hear (being childless as I am.)
Anyway, if any of this interests you or you know a kid in the Boston area who could use a little encouragement to keep writing you can find their website at 826 Boston.
Sunday evening Katherine and I chilled for a while after our adventures earlier that day and said hello to my brother and his girlfriend before eating what was left of our deep fried s’mores and attempting an early bedtime so we could get up and head into Boston, a little more than three hours away, in the morning.
I can’t say my history with Boston has been the best… I mean it’s a tough city, big, full of rude people and aggressive drivers, statistically the worst in the country, but maybe it’s not their fault. As my brother said, “Those roads aren’t meant for cars.” He’s right. Boston is filled with impossibly narrow roads and streets, many of which sport one sharp curve after another, and none of which make any logical sense. To add insult to injury half the roads are underground where the GPS no longer works and when you finally get where you’re 
going there’s no parking anywhere. And if that’s not bad enough the drivers… wow. They’re called Mass-Holes by the rest of New England. They’re real peaches. I felt like I was playing Russian Roulette at every intersection. But here too is proof of my personal growth in the past year. I only started driving myself to unfamiliar places less than a year ago and Boston was on my “uh-ah, not going to do it” list. But this time around I barely took notice, volunteered to head into the bowels of Hell without a second thought, I think shocking my brother and everyone whom I told. I used to spend my life constantly engulfed by panic and anxiety. These days I wake up and have to check my pulse because I wonder if my heart is still beating when I can’t feel it slam against my chest walls. It’s really odd but so peaceful and wonderful. Even babies don’t thwart me anymore. They used to make me super nervous but just recently I realized they’re not really made of glass. Now instead of being like, “Shit don’t get that thing near me, I may break it.” I actually find them kinda cute. Except infants. They’ll always look like raisins to me.
Back to the story… Katherine asked if we could take an adventure on the way and I said sure, why not. She chose Walden Pond because she wanted to see where Thoreau wrote 
Katherine put it. It was $15 admission and seemed to be… A swimming hole for Bostoners. There were paths around the lake, none marked very well but it didn’t much matter as there were roads and civilization everywhere. No one was going to die out here. A replica of Thoreau’s cabin stood near the visitor center where there was both information and oddly, a gift shop. We discussed how morally strange it was to have a gift shop honoring a man who was all about simplifying one’s life and cutting out materialism… Though this spirit did seem present when we found the sight of his original cabin. Here was a large pile of rocks (just like the rest of New England…) where people had made some sort of weird piled rock memorial to the man. Some used Sharpies to doodle messages and pictures on the stones they left behind.
It seems as if almost the entirety of the lake had been made into one big sandy beach. The one at the front had the shallow bits cordoned off like keeping a mass of people in a big fish net! Further out there was more nature-friendly bits, kayakers seemed to be enjoying the day on the water, and other people had found more isolated spots to swim. Katherine and I were not dressed for this, having no idea there might be swimming involved, but we decided it was a nice hot day and the water did seem rather nice. I pulled off my trusty Chuck Taylors and knee high nerd socks, rolled up my pants, and waded in. Katherine followed suit. OH! The water was so shallow it was warm and clear as the day is bright. Fish immediately came to my shockingly white calves and tried to nibble on them. These fish were weird though…. as they appeared to be a school of African Cichlids. Perhaps this lake was the “farm up North” fish disappear to when they’re no longer wanted. All I knew is these things did not look natural with their bulky silver bodies and fluorescent blue tails.
We stayed in the lake enjoying the day for quite a while, neither one of us really wanting to leave. We had found the site of the original cabin and stared at it’s sad foundation earlier on and now we were watching people stare up at the sky to witness today’s solar eclipse. A little girl near by reminded us about this and although it was slightly darker than usual neither one of us really noticed what was going on behind a large swath of fluffy clouds. Ah well, no eclipse for us, we wandered back to the car and continued on to Malden where a friend was waiting for us.
