Dear Hartford

I wanted to love you.  I really did.  There’s a lot about you that appeals to me.  You were home to Mark Twain, one of my favorite authors. You’re a state capital and accordingly have grand libraries, museums and other historical sites. Justin Timberlake even brought some sexy back last night, for crying out loud.

But you’re missing something.  People on the weekend maybe?  (It’s just never a good sign when your Starbucks is closed on the weekends.) I went out running this morning and met NO OTHER RUNNERS.  It was not too early. It was not dark. The weather, although brisk,  was perfect for a run. Maybe that’s a good thing–I didn’t have to play through that nerve-wracking scenario in my head (what should I go with, a wave or a nod) because I accosted not a single running soul. Or walking soul. Just a handful of waiting for the bus souls.  I wasn’t expecting a parade of people but you’re a sizable city. And you’re even host to a pretty great marathon–so where was everyone?

Maybe last week’s switch from daylight savings time has sent everyone indoors.  Maybe it’s livelier during the week.  But Hartford, you should speak up more, because I think you’ve got a lot to offer. Even in my short four mile jaunt, you taught me quite a bit, like who Mr. Pulaski is.  For years I’ve been sitting in traffic driving over his bridge and wondered what this poor guy did to deserve this functionally obsolete roadway.

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Coming across the statue of Nathan Hale, you reminded me of how young so many of our founding fathers and Revolutionary War heroes were when they were making game-changing decisions.



And I had no idea that you were home to the Colt factory. Although I’m not a fan of guns whatsoever, I do appreciate early industrial engineering and how quickly the US moved from its colonial farming roots to an industrial nation. And I really am interested in how the Colt factory site is being redeveloped into residential and commercial neighborhood.

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So Hartford, this wasn’t the greatest of first dates, but you’ve piqued my interest so I’m willing to give this a second chance.  Shall we try again, perhaps in the spring or summer? But don’t call me…I’ll call you.


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