I am fairly new to Harvard. My husband and I moved last year, captivated by the view of Mount Wachusett from our backyard and all the open space around town. A few weeks ago, we decided to explore one such open space and headed to the nature trail off Harvard Park. Somewhere online I read that it is wheelchair accessible.
Now, I have learned over the years that “wheelchair accessible” is subject to interpretation. I have called many restaurants and been told, “Yes, of course, we are wheelchair accessible. You just have to pass the 6-inch step at the entrance.” That garners an eye roll. Sadly, my power wheelchair is an older model that does not include the levitation feature, and those restaurants remain inaccessible to us.
Let’s see what this nature trail was really like. There was a lot of available parking, a good sign. Around 30 feet of loose gravel led from the parking lot to the trail entrance, not a good sign. I have learned the hard way that loose gravel is not a friend of wheels. Again, sadly, my power wheelchair is an older model that does not include the dig-itself-out-of-a-rut feature. However, there was grass along the side, which we could roll on. Onward.
We were pleasantly surprised as we entered the woods. The trail seemed well maintained. A couple of patches of loosened pebbles did not negate its overall accessibility. For the most part, the trail was packed gravel and devoid of tree roots or large stones. There were no steep inclines, and going over the little wooden bridge posed no difficulty for me, although I have been told that it is not ADA compliant. Surrounded by hardwood trees, we spotted wild geranium, Jack-in-the-pulpit, and cinnamon fern along the way. This was actually wheelchair accessible and gave me the calming forest-bathing experience I was looking for.
Greedy for more, I completed a contact form on the town website, asking if there were other wheelchair-accessible trails in town. Within five days, I received an email response. Now, I did not realize that “trails” is also subject to interpretation. I was told, “Unfortunately, the only other wheelchair accessible area is at the town beach” and that there are “many good neighborhood roads that are wide with little traffic in pleasant, quiet areas in town that would be good for a wheelchair.”
I decided to visit one recommended “good road,” Willard Lane. I am unclear how the bumpiness made it good for cars, let alone wheelchairs. Again, sadly, my power wheelchair is an older model that does not include the accept-everything-you’re-told-without-complaint feature. And, like most of the roads that I’ve been on in Harvard, this one has no sidewalks. In fact, if you know of a secret neighborhood where all the roads have smooth, wide sidewalks and gently sloped curb cuts, please share the information with me.
I am hung up by the words “good neighborhood roads” in the recommendation I received from the town. Over the years, people have said some eye roll-worthy things to me. This one is noteworthy because it is my first via email. In real life, and in keeping with the “good roads” theme, I often still hear comments of a vehicular nature, such as those below. (Requisite commentary from me is in parentheses.)
“Do you want to race?”
(I smile wanly.)
“Do you have a license for that?”
(I scowl ferociously.)
“You drive that really well.”
(I say, “You walk really well.”)
“Use your horn.”
(I beep and speed away.)
No one has yet asked me for a test drive, but there is still time.
My ultimate goal, facetiousness aside, is equality in access and opportunity. Unknown to many people, myself included prior to writing this piece, July is Disability Pride month, a time to commemorate the signing of the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) in 1990. The purpose of this civil rights law is to ensure that people with disabilities have the same rights and opportunities as everyone else. The timing of this essay was entirely serendipitous but I hope successful in highlighting the experiences of one wheelchair user who still misses out.
For better or for worse, Harvard is my home now. I am invested in its future and my future in it. I would like to be able to roll from the library to the Common without worrying that maneuvering around storm drains would bring me into a wayward tractor. I would like more opportunities to immerse myself in its natural beauty beyond the one 0.9-mile loop trail accessible to me. I would like to participate more in this community with fewer eye rolls on my part. That’s not too much to ask, is it?
Heidi Gómez is a new resident of Harvard and a regular contributor to the Harvard Press.
