Exploring Worldwide Hometowns: Philadelphia, PA

In Philly, trees line my street. Old sycamores tower overhead, dropping large branches on parked cars whenever a bad storm rolls through. Their bark peels off in thin sheets and falls to the ground. They are messy trees—whether it is fall, winter, spring, or summer, there is a crunch underfoot. As I have grown up, the trees have too, some dying. After a crew hacks down a tree, they replace it with a skinny sapling. It will not reach its predecessor’s height for another 30 to 40 years.

The city sits in the southeast corner of Pennsylvania, where the state meets New Jersey. Philadelphia sits between Washington, D.C., and New York City, and just an hour from the Jersey Shore. My mom was born and raised in the city’s northeast section, while my dad grew up about half an hour north of Philly in a town called Yardley. The city is filled with historical sites, especially from the American Revolution and the abolitionist movement. Some of the city’s most notable parts, like the Ben Franklin Parkway, were explicitly modeled on Paris’s grand boulevards. Center City has dense, tight streets and popular block-sized parks. The city feels walkable, bustling, and welcoming.

Philly is a hike in the Wissahickon.

After waking up on a Sunday morning, I rush to get ready so I am not left behind. Once my family and I get out the door, we meander through our neighborhood’s winding streets toward the coffee shop. Our puppy Winnie leads the way, stopping to smell bushes and flowers. Once we settle at a table outside, I get a hot chai latte and a breakfast burrito from one of the food trucks that regularly park in the lot.

After I sip the last drops of my latte, we trek down the hill, through the neighborhood, and over the train tracks. At the bottom of the hill, we enter the Wissahickon Valley, stepping over fallen trees and muddy puddles. Now that we are well into autumn, the trees are almost entirely bare, with only a few brown leaves clinging to the slender, swaying branches. Winnie rushes ahead, going as far as her leash will let her.

Philly is tight quarters.

On my block, rowhomes are cozied together, touching on each side. Our front doors are feet apart. I am lucky to have a walkway to the back driveway that separates my house from the next one. Many of our neighbors have moved out as their families have grown. They moved to the suburbs for a bigger house, a real yard, and better parking. My family has stayed in my childhood home. With the four of us, it can be cramped, but I would not have it any other way.

Philly is New Year’s Day.

After a late night out, the morning is slow. My friends and I pile into a car in our pajamas and makeup from the night before. After a breakfast of a Dunkin’ pecan latte, hash browns, and munchkins, I go home and gear up for a cold day outside. I put on two pairs of pants, three long sleeves, and my winter coat. Once my family and I are bundled up, we drive down to South Philly. We park in the closest spot we can find and head to South Broad Street. By the time we get there, the sidewalks are full of people pressed against barricades lining the street. In a couple of minutes, groups of mummers will march down Broad Street. Philadelphia’s historic Mummers Parade takes place every New Year’s Day.

My family and I prefer to watch the string bands, who strut down the street playing classics like “Mr. Sandman.” Each group wears extravagant outfits with colorful feathers, gems, and sequins. These outfits include large backpieces and striking face paint. When I was a kid, I was so scared of the mummers; I would break into tears anytime one came close. Now, I love taking pictures with them and catching the beaded necklaces they throw into the crowd.

Philly is a school night at a Phillies game.

The weather has finally changed for the better. The gray rain has cleared, and the skies are blue. We go to school but spend most of the day lounging in the grass under the shade of a large oak tree. Once school is let out, we head downtown to kill time before the game. It is Central Night at the Phillies, my high school’s yearly night when all students go to a Phillies game together. As first pitch approaches, my friends and I drive to far south Philly, where the stadium is.

It is hectic, but we find our seats before the game. The setting sun reflects off the city skyline. The buildings look hazy from this far away. Every year, I am too busy talking with my friends to pay any attention to the game. Whether we win or lose, I leave happy.

Philly is a Wawa parking lot.

On a summer night with not much to do, my friends and I drive to the nearest Wawa. I get my usual order: a turkey hoagie, mac and cheese, and a bag of sour cream and onion chips. We return to the car with our arms full. After putting on music and devouring the first half of my hoagie, we talk about anything and everything, catching up on “Love Island” and college life updates. Even as we stay late into the night, the parking lot is busy with cars coming and going.

Philly is a blistering evening in July.

It is too hot to cook inside, so my parents are grilling dinner outside. The air fills with the shrieks and giggles of kids playing outside, weaving in between the houses on our block. They shoot each other with water guns to cool off. They play in the driveway behind my house, the one that was cracked and crumbling when I was growing up but has since been repaved with smooth asphalt. When Rose’s Water Ice truck drives down our street and its bell rings, my sister and I run inside to grab cash from my dad’s wallet.

Philly is a stroll around Rittenhouse Square.

In summer, regular produce markets and art galleries line the block around the park. The sidewalk is crowded and congested with shoppers stopping to admire fresh strawberries, oil paintings, and Amish dairy stands. The original La Colombe location is right off the Square and perfect for a refreshing iced tea. After some window shopping and a stroll around the block, I head into the park and scan for an open bench. After finding a seat, my parents, sister, and I settle in. People watching is the main event.

As much as I love Philly, I wanted to leave it for college. I needed to know what it was like to live somewhere else, to see if my hometown was still as perfect as it had always seemed. Now that I live in Cambridge, Philly feels even more special. I miss how at home I feel there and how small and intimate the city feels. My dream is to move back to Philly post-grad with all my friends. The city is cheap and fun, and I already know my favorite spots. Plan B is to move back when I am ready to settle down and start a family. Either way, I know I will return.

Kathleen Shovlin ’29 (klshovlin@college.harvard.edu) misses her home in Philadelphia.