Boston’s weather has taken a turn from June to January today, leaving me happy I grabbed a jacket despite not checking the forecast.
Ours is a city for umbrellas and galoshes, no doubt about it. The sloppy weather makes bumpershoots a necessity, Bostonian sensibility dictates that they’re nearly universally black or navy, and the winds that howl off the water ensure that you’ll never keep the same one for long – unless it was a dollar store purchase, in which case it is magical.
One of the things that has always fascinated me about this city and its finnicky weather is the decay of those myriad umbrellas. Snapped in the wind, twisted and mangled, leaky and incapable of providing coverage, they crop up in trash cans and grates and blow into fences and corners, abandoned.
I’ve been taking pictures of these, as I find them, for years. Jack finds my habit of standing over trash cans in the rain to snap a photo annoying. Smita took a shine to them, and suggested the title of Un-Brella. In honor of today’s weather, and Mondays everywhere, here are a few of my favorites.