I try to manage my infrequent trips to Boston so as to catch good weather. Yesterday was Memorial Day, perfectly clear, with a high temp of around 70. Perhaps ten days a year have conditions so perfect for pounding the pavement as a camera-toting tourist.

“That’s not a trail,” you’re sniffing. My reply: “Is, too.” As someone who Will Not Drive In Boston, I’m an urban walker, and Huntington Ave. just happened to be my trail of choice to kick off the sightseeing. I knew the T, Boston’s extensive mass transit system, would back me up if my energy flagged.

Yesterday’s trip was inspired by two things, in the wake of the atrocious bombings at the Boston Marathon last month. First, I wanted to make my own quiet, private statement that no terrorist is going to bomb me into being scared of the city. Second, I wanted to take advantage of the free admission offered by the Museum of Fine Arts during the holiday weekend. I gladly plunked down $22 for a Boston Express bus ride from southern New Hampshire to Boston’s South Station.

When I got to the MFA, I found a very long line of people waiting to get in. That’s a great testament to the Museum and to the city’s low fear-factor. I wasn’t in town to wait in line, though, so I moved on. Boston has lots to see, even when plan A doesn’t work.

For Memorial Day, Boston honored Massachusetts’ war dead with a simple but moving display of over 30,000 American flags on Boston Common. That’s one flag for each Massachusetts resident who has died in military service to the nation, from the Revolution onward.

Boston Common was interesting, as always. Buskers, tourists with cameras & kids, clusters of teens with the day off from school, and locals going about their business all plied the paths, watched over by mounted police. The Freedom Trail starts on the Common, unless you consider the start to be in Charlestown, at the other end of the trail. The Massachusetts State House is across the street from one corner of the Common. Augustus Saint-Gaudens’ magnificent sculpture of the 54th Massachusetts Regiment faces the State House. Conveniences on the Common include a playground, food vendors, and the Park Street T station. Squirrels and birds abound, and they’re all fat little beggars, completely habituated to throngs of people. (That does not mean “tame.”)

I had to see the Public Garden, home of the swan boats, just west of the Common. I last rode in one of the swan boats back in the mid-1960s on a family trip. Yesterday, for a mere $3 (one of Boston’s great bargains), I couldn’t resist another ride. The oversized paddle boats – for that’s what the swan boats are – were piloted by sturdy young people, so our short trip around the pond wasn’t marred by the sound of half a dozen internal combustion engines putt-putting through the water.

Boston is full of museums, and the Museum of Fine Arts is high on my list of favorites. As I mentioned, though, the line outside the MFA yesterday was too much for me. A walk along a promenade on the east side of the MFA building led me to the Fenway (that’s a street, not a building; Fenway Park is actually a few blocks away). I crossed a pedestrian bridge to the Back Bay Fens, part of the city’s “Emerald Necklace” of parks. I would have missed it altogether if I had been in the museum instead.

That park included a war memorial that was getting far less attention on this Memorial Day than the temporary one on the Common. It’s a striking monument to Massachusetts soldiers and sailors who died in World War II, Korea, and Vietnam.

Nearby in the Fens was the Kelleher Rose Garden, a little fenced-in nook that I’d have overlooked if there hadn’t been a sign. I found an astounding variety of roses, only weeks away from what I’m sure will be glorious bloom. A community garden was nearby, where spring blossoms abounded.

I found Boylston Street and Back Bay. Any other day I might have stopped at Prudential Center for some window-shopping. Instead, my destination was Copley Square.

There, mere blocks from the Marathon bombings, a makeshift memorial to the victims, survivors, and the city itself left me stunned. Countless handwritten messages of sorrow and encouragement covered children’s drawings, baseball caps, banners, and items of clothing. There was a large pile of stuffed animals, sent from who knows how many places. The site has become such a popular place for both tourists and area residents that volunteers are on site as guides for all who come to pay their respects.

Nearby, the sites where the bombs went off have been cleaned up and are in the process of reconstruction. I liked seeing that. I walked the rest of the way to South Station feeling good about the city.

I reflected as I rode the bus back to New Hampshire that while my planned MFA visit hadn’t worked out, all the discoveries I hadn’t planned for had made the day extraordinary. Flags, roses, a heap of stuffed animals, a ten-minute cruise in the Public Garden’s pond, the Back Bay Fens: sometimes, unexpected things make for the best walks.

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