It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them. — Ralph Waldo Emerson
Tim and I went home for a few days last week.
The Friendship of Salem
That sounds odd, even to me, since Tim grew up in New Jersey and Connecticut and I grew up in New York. But I realize now that while we can be “at home” in many places — and we have been — there’s always one place that really takes you in. That accepts you unconditionally, warts and all. One place that opens its arms and lets you revel in its history, its successes, its failures, its politics, its dreams and its people for a time. That lets you make a mark if you want to or just sit back and enjoy the ride, if that’s more your style. Salem, Massachusetts, our home for nearly 11 years, is such a place.
Salem's Native Son
We lived at the corner of Bott’s Court and Essex Street in a three-story gambrel house built in 1735 by the Pickering family of Salem. During that time we either became members of or were active on the boards of a raft of organizations: The Salem Athenaeum, Hamilton Hall, Historic Salem, The House of Seven Gables, Peabody Essex Museum . . . there was never a lack of things to do or to get involved in. Sometimes it nearly killed us, but we never felt ignored. That’s the beauty of community. That, and its people. And the people of Salem have been wonderful, cantankerous, creative, stubborn, enterprising, civic-minded characters for more than 300 years. (Forget those pesky witch trials, which really had nothing to do with witches. They were more or less precipitated by teenage hysteria that paved the way nicely for a political land grab. But I digress . . .)
We left town almost five years ago, after many battles — some more successful than others — with state and local governments and local organizations. We saw progress made and we saw progress thwarted. Preservation is always a sticky issue, and it is no different in Salem. Were we obstructionists, standing in the way of progress? I don’t think so. Once a beautiful building is gone, it’s gone forever. Once 200-year-old trees are cut down, you have to wait a mighty long time for replacements. Once you start pulling up ancient paving stones and replacing them with asphalt . . . well, you get the idea. Anyway, we, like a lot of other folks, spent a fair amount of time fighting the powers that be. So we wondered what it would be like to come back this time. We were delighted.
62 on Wharf Appetizers: home-made mortadella, bruschetta and arancini
New restaurants have come into town, and we ate at several of them: 62 on Wharf, Gulu-Gulu and Coven to name just three. New retail shops have arrived and are delighting not only Salemites, but folks from across the whole North Shore, as well. I personally did my bit for the local economy in J.Mode, Roost, and Two Girls. The Old Salem Jail has finally been repurposed and will offer condos and a brand new restaurant (The Great Escape!). New small businesses are streaming into town, adding to the city’s tax base and offering much-needed services. The old Salem Willows park is still alive and kicking, and although I didn’t get a chance to play Skee-Ball at the arcade this time, I’m delighted to report that it continues to provide a challenge (and the silliest prizes ever) for a new generation. And Hobbs still serves up its homemade taffy, popcorn and ice cream. Things could be a lot worse.
Hobbs Lives!!
Of course, it’s not all a success. The new courthouse looks like a giant blight on the landscape (there’s always one, right?) and Ft. Lee is as overgrown as ever, despite Tim’s attempts (with his friend Mike Williamson) to keep it cut back and healthy. I hear there are always new battles to be fought, and so it goes. Life in Salem: never a dull moment. A wonderful housing stock just a 30-minute train ride from Boston . . . deep history going back to the original settlers . . . lots to do and see (even apart from the witch stuff) . . . and some of the most famous and important names in Massachusetts, including Bowditch, Derby, Crowninshield, Hawthorne, Ropes, Peabody, Saltonstall, Putnam and Storey, who got their starts (or their fame) there.
Here’s a typical Salem story: we were standing outside of our old house and Tim was taking a picture of me. A man was walking up the court and he saw us switch places, so that I could then take a picture of Tim. He stopped and asked if he could take a picture of both of us in front of the house. When we told him it was our old house, he insisted, and took several.
Here’s another: our old neighbors — who arranged for more cocktail parties, dinners and get-togethers while we were there than we could ever have imagined — are now arguing over who will house us when we come back next. It’s as if we never left. Nobody missed a beat. We even got into a scrape with the local power plant on our last day. It was just like old times. Thanks, Salem! Who knows? Maybe we’ll be back . . .
Meanwhile, try some of our favorites: In a Pig’s Eye (especially Friday afternoons, when Eric Reardon, the owners’ son plays a mean blues guitar); the Lyceum on Church Street, where Alexander Graham Bell sent the first telephone call; a ferry ride from Salem into Boston; and a side trip to Rocky Neck in Gloucester, the historic artists colony and fishing village made famous by George Clooney in A PERFECT STORM. Go. Peace. Shalom. Salem.
Buon viaggio!
Linda Dini Jenkins is a card-carrying Italophile, travel planner, freelance writer, and amateur photographer. Travel is her passion, so writing about her travels just comes naturally. She hopes all her travelers find a way to express their joys, surprises, and fears as they travel and gives every traveler a nifty journal to help smooth the way. Learn more…
