Before Monday’s blizzard, I happened to drive by a towering peak of snow in South Boston. If I were to rub my eyes and squint, I could have been convinced that the view in front of me was from back home in Pennsylvania. But no, the mountainous site seemed to be a snow farm, one that I walked almost 7 miles to find later on (we’ll get to that).
Much of the Northeast got walloped with snow this week during a Feb. 23 blizzard. Providence, Rhode Island, broke a record with a whopping 37 inches of snow. In Boston, we received 17 inches, bringing the total snowfall in the city so far this winter above 60 inches – the most in more than a decade.
As Monitor staff discussed covering the storm, an editor recalled that the city had created snow farms in years past as a place to dump the stuff instead of shoving polluted snow into Boston Harbor. I got assigned the quest of finding one and seeing how it operated.
Why We Wrote This
This week’s blizzard across much of the Northeast might make you wonder what cities do with the abundance of snow. In Boston, our reporter set off to find out – and ended up with an appreciation for the people who make it disappear.
My search led me on a journey to places in Boston I’ve never ventured before. Along the way, I discovered some revelations about this city that I wasn’t expecting when I set out.
When I received the assignment, I remembered my earlier drive. With some research, I learned Boston is operating 14 snow farms this year, the first time in years that a mayor ordered that many to be opened.
Unfortunately, I discovered the addresses for snow farms, which range from low-traffic parking lots to industrial sites, aren’t public. The city’s Public Works Department, while receptive to my media inquiry, was too busy to quickly schedule a tour.
Victoria Hoffmann/The Christian Science Monitor
Turning to Plan B, I asked myself how to search for that snow mountain I’d seen. The answer: TikTok. While sleuthing through videos of South Boston residents walking in the snow to get their Dunkin’ iced coffee, glimpses of South Boston’s Mount Everest popped up in the background. I started identifying possible street locations.
My plan was to weave through the streets of the city by train, and then by foot, to track down the site. Stepping outside of my slightly delayed ride on the T (Boston’s over 100-year-old subway still chugged away), I found myself surrounded by miniature snow mounds on the sidewalks. I was certain the snow piles were taller than me – and I was bursting with excitement to see the real snow mountain.
As a fresh layer of snow began to fall, it seemed it was just me and Public Works employees wearing neon yellow and orange out on the streets. Despite my best efforts to land interviews, they were more eager to lather a salt mixture on the sidewalks than chat.
On most blocks, I found workers dressed in heavy gear against the cold, shoveling or salting the ground, some dragging wheelbarrows.
In the Seaport District, a trendy area home to the Institute of Contemporary Art, mini excavators clearing sidewalks resembled small herds of cows. If there was one, two more were not far behind. Eventually, I found a small, privately-run snow farm where an annual holiday market takes place in December. After I mistook a passerby for one of the farm’s workers, the stranger quipped that the snow would hopefully melt by the weekend.
Four of the five possible blocks where I thought I’d find the snow farm were a bust. I’d been walking for an hour, and I was getting a bit desperate. I had crossed paths with multiple trucks full of snow, chasing after each one with my notebook in hand for a block or two before they inevitably outran me.
Amid my frustration, and soaked shoes, I crossed a bridge. As the snow fell around me, I breathed in the fresh, salt air and reflected on the journey thus far.
Reading over my notes from the day, I noticed a pattern. Nearly every other line was about a worker I saw. Someone directing traffic as a dump truck got a load of snow, another scooping snow out of my path and giving me a nod. The common factor of this journey was the hard-working folks making the city clean and safe.
After all, city workers had cleared away 1,500 truckloads of snow (more than 25,000 cubic yards) to clear main roads and school zones by early Wednesday morning, about 36 hours after the major snowstorm ended, Mayor Michelle Wu announced on social media.
Gaining motivation from those working tirelessly around me, I had a eureka moment. I plugged in the address of my drive from the past weekend and tried to follow it the best I could on foot, leading me to trot deep into South Boston.
As I zigzagged through the streets, I finally came across a stranger. I beelined toward her, thankful to see another face. I introduced myself and asked if she had seen a snow farm. She said to go left. With her Boston accent thick as can be, she added, “It might be bettah to find with a cah.” Dear stranger, I think so, too.
Sadly, it was not on the left. After circling a few more blocks, it was time to go home. A train, a long 6.8-mile walk, and a Lyft later, I was back home sipping a warm cup of tea, reminiscing on what might be one of my most memorable reporting trips.
Though I did not find the snow farm, I did find something else: deep gratitude for every sidewalk I hurried down that was clear, every road that was cleaned. If you know a public worker, I say give them a tip of your hat.
