![]() Once that area was cordoned off by the dam (as can be seen in the 1826 map above), it was probably inevitable that it would eventually be filled in. Back Bay encompassed the large tidal flats on the north side of Boston Neck, which connected Boston to the mainland. The 150-year history of land-making in this area shares some aspects with the Mill Pond saga, including the initial construction of a dam to power mills in 1822. One of the most extensive areas of man-made land in Boston is in the city’s Back Bay neighborhood and surrounding areas. It became an industrial and commercial zone, and later more land was extended outward from the triangle to support railroad depots. Today the 50 acres of new land at Mill Pond is known as Bulfinch Triangle, after architect Charles Bulfinch’s triangle-shaped plan for the new streets (visible on the 1826 map below). Most of the material came from Beacon Hill, whose elevation is currently 60 feet lower than it was before Boston began tearing down its hills to make new land. Permission was granted, and in 1807 the filling-in began. Bostonians, including local doctors, feared that the stench from Mill Pond would make them sick. At the time, the miasmatic theory of disease-the idea that illness was caused by foul, pestilent odors-had made its way to Boston from England, and undoubtedly influenced the decision to fill in the pond. It’s unclear whether letting the filth build up was part of their plan, but the new owners soon began lobbying the city to let them fill in the pond and sell off the land.Ĭreating more taxable land was appealing, but public-health concerns were also a major issue. Consequently, sewage, garbage, and the rotting corpses of discarded animals began to accumulate along the shore. The new mill owners closed the floodgates on the west end of the dam, which reduced flow along the banks of Mill Pond. But they were never very productive, and the whole operation was sold off to another group by the end of the 18th century. The dam formed what was known as Mill Pond (see map below), and the mills were up and running by the end of the decade. In the 1640s, a group of businessmen got permission from the city to build a dam across the mouth of a cove on the northern end of the peninsula, so that they could use the tides to power some flour mills. An early example of this is the story of Mill Pond. In fact, some of that new land was the unforeseen end result of entirely unrelated endeavors. Over the years there were many other motivations for making new land, including making harbor improvements, burying pollution from wastewater, safeguarding public health, building public parks, adding railroad tracks and depots, adding more shipping facilities to compete with other port cities, establishing appealing neighborhoods to entice Yankees to stay (and to counter Irish immigration), and creating space for the city’s airport. Shortly thereafter, its inhabitants began to make their peninsula bigger.īoston’s land-making wasn’t all about the need for more space, writes author Nancy Seasholes in her wonderfully comprehensive book Gaining Ground. The map above shows the shape of Shawmut when Boston was established in 1630. It had the advantage of a dependable supply of springwater, and it was well positioned for maritime commerce. They settled on a small peninsula-called Shawmut by Native Americans-that covered less than 800 acres and was connected to the mainland by a narrow neck that became submerged during high tide. When the Puritans arrived in 1630, much of the land that underlies some of the oldest parts of Boston didn’t exist. How did Boston end up in this situation? It all started in the 17th century, not long after the city was established. But last year’s drought brought the water table dangerously close to the tops of some of these pilings, putting them at greater risk. ![]() Water leaking into sewers or tunnels can drop the water table below the pilings even in wet years. These pilings sit entirely below the water table, which protects them from microbes that would attack them in dry air, causing rot. Structures built on the landfill are supported by dozens of 30- to 40-foot-long wood pilings, similar to telephone poles, that reach down through the landfill to a harder layer of clay. It seems counterintuitive that a lack of water would be a problem for foundations, but this odd situation is the result of an unusual facet of Boston’s history: A large portion of the city sits on man-made land. Last year’s drought had Boston worrying anew about a longstanding problem: The foundations beneath centuries-old homes and other buildings are at risk of rotting and crumbling.
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