Published in The Somerville Journal
On one of our first after-dinner walks to explore our new neighborhood, my husband and I encountered a grapefruit-sized animal with a long skinny tail on the far side of a chain-link fence. “Yikes! Is that a rat?” I froze, unable to take my eyes off of it.
My husband countered, “Seems too round. Rats are longer, no?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s a rat. Remind me to start a tally of rat sightings.”
Welcome to the city.
During the April 1st snowstorm of 2017, we uprooted ourselves from the three-bedroom home in Lexington where we married, advanced our careers, and raised two daughters from diapers through college graduations. Those 28 years sped by, so we decided to sprinkle some spice on life before too many more years passed. We downsized to a two-bedroom condo in Somerville, feeding into the gentrification frenzy of Union Square.
Friends from Lexington keep asking, “How are the new digs? How is city life?” As expected, we drive less and walk more. New restaurants and quaint taverns are ours to discover. And we have oodles of new neighbors. We’ve learned that Somerville’s 19,067 people per square mile, as of the 2015 census data, make it the most densely populated municipality in New England.
However, it is the unexpected that has been… well… unexpected.
Grocery shopping has been redefined, no longer a once-a-week ritual, because Market Basket is a four-minute walk instead of a 15-minute drive. I didn’t anticipate, but now savor, the spontaneous “What’s for dinner?” decision. Smaller and more crowded than the suburban Market Basket, I had to laugh when my neighbor referred to it as “Mosh Pit Basket.” At the checkout, I stow a gallon of milk or a watermelon in my backpack and balance the rest across two shopping bags. One of these days I may opt for the foldable cart to transport my groceries, although that idea causes my grown daughters to recoil.
For fresh veggies, I miss my Lexington community garden plot where I coaxed tomatoes and kale from the ground. I’m on the waiting list for a plot in one of several community gardens rooted within a few blocks of my new city home. Meanwhile, the Union Square Farmer’s Market opened for the season. I purchase fresh asparagus and arugula. I’m in heaven.
My husband’s definition of heaven is a pizzeria around the corner. While cooking is a passion of mine, we plan to eat out at least once a week to take advantage of the smorgasbord close at hand. We’ve learned that the cream of wheat at the Neighborhood Restaurant is to die for and sitting at the bar of Casa B provides front row seats to sheer tapas artistry. Our fridge is littered with lists of must-try eateries, breweries, and ice cream establishments.
That refrigerator stands in our compact 880-square-foot condo. I understood we’d have precious few closets to stow our cannot-live-without belongings, so we ruthlessly purged before the move. Yet with such limited storage, how can stuff be so hard to find? Where is that yellow duffle bag? Two rounds of checking every nook and cranny and twice I came up empty handed. I blamed my careening-towards-sixty-years-old brain, but the sweet “Aha!” moment finally came as I found the bag tucked inside a suitcase. Too efficient for my own good? At least this game of hide-and-seek is exercising my gray matter.
Then there’s the matter of physical exercise. A longtime addict, I was skeptical about whether I would enjoy biking and running in the city. I’m pleased to report I’m emboldened by the green bike lanes and hordes of bike commuters. I wear bright colors and a helmet (although a shocking number of cyclists don’t) and avoid rush hour when I can. Biking has proven to be a fun and efficient way to traverse town. My daughter warned me that running in the city meant frequent stops at crosswalks. I knew I’d have limited off-pavement options, but I’m presented with countless directions to explore. I actually welcome the one-minute wait for the walk signal to catch my breath on those Somerville hills.
I did treat myself to a new pair of walking shoes. Grudgingly I admit they look like something my mother would wear. With the various self-propelled and public transportation options, our car often sits idle. A new pair of shoes instead of a new set of tires is a good tradeoff for the planet. When we do drive, we understood it would come with a higher risk of scrapes and dings. We could have/should have foreseen car insurance rates rising, but 40% higher is an impactful (pun intended) measure of the risk.
That was not the only unexpected expense. Each Wednesday after 4pm, we wheel our trash and recycle bins to the curb. And dutifully bring them in by 7pm Thursday. Despite familiarizing myself with those rules, we received a $50 trash violation notice from the city. Confident it was the neighbor’s bin left in front of our house, I appealed it. The process was fairly painless; Jean 1, City 0.
Those matching Somerville trash bins are part of a city-wide effort to curtail overflowing trash cans, a primary food source for rats. I try to think of the rats as city squirrels, but I still get the creeps. Actually, we’ve spotted more rabbits than rats. But the sight of a rabbit scampering up a flight of concrete steps is just wrong.
I don’t know why, but I didn’t expect as many birds. I’ve learned that city birds sing just as loudly outside our bedroom window at the break of dawn as their suburban feathered friends. I was prepared to hear more sirens and car radios blaring, but I’m astonished how silent it is in the middle of the night. No crickets, no nothing.
I reserve judgment on city living in the winter. I’ve always looked forward to snowstorms, a fact I keep to myself in late March while others search for Florida travel deals. We’ll see if I still enjoy walking my errands to the post office, library and ATM on icy sidewalks in bone-chilling five-degree weather. The Norwegian expression, “There’s no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing” will be put to the test. Even though we no longer have a yard, I plan to make a snowman in that park kitty-cornered from our house.
I’m surprised how quickly I’ve developed a sense of pride in Somerville. I love that a “Sanctuary City – One Somerville” banner hangs on the high school. Messages of tolerance are displayed in the windows of local businesses. I appreciate the diversity in the languages I hear spoken, the aromas wafting from kitchens, and the flowers blooming in tiny, but lovingly tended, gardens.
Our goal for downsizing and moving was to trade homeowner chores of grass mowing and leaf raking for long city walks and people watching at sidewalk cafes. So far so good. No regrets. The new place feels like home and we’re having a blast checking out the neighborhood. Oh yes, and I’m only up to three on the tally of rat sightings.