MacMilton Mansions 1 of 2

September 8th, 2010 by Harrumpher Leave a reply »

Visualize a set of four or five instant mansions at the Hyde Park border on the Milton side, Brush Hill Road. You apparently won’t have to imagine it for long. The same developer who has been plunking down oversized brick-faced thingummies is poised to re-plunk.

We strolled around the burned-out property they’ll use, snapping images of the sad and grand old house on the hill. (Pix follow in 2 of 2.)

I also found the remnants of what appears to be an outdoor teen living room where coyotes pass. It is a wonderful joke on the mansions of Metropolitan Avenue.

Originally, I went onto the well forested path behind a six-foot privacy fence because I’d seen neighborhood coyotes trot there in midday. I hadn’t considered it rec-room territory, but it looks like the local youth have.

macmiltonPix tricks: Click a thumbnail for a larger view. Use your browser’s back button or keys to return.

First, consider the environment. Metropolitan as it heads east from Hyde Park has several old, grand homes. Mostly though, it’s parvenu palaces. We realized eventually what they appear to be — a bunch of suites motels!

Architectural tastelessness is neither a crime nor limited to Boston’s immediate burbs. Wright and Wren know that Wellesley and Dover among many other nouveau riche reserves are splatted with overly large tacky manors. In general, folk can spend as they wish.

Tucked among the outrageous examples here though is that counterpoint to it, quite possibly created and enjoyed by the offspring from that superficial grandeur.

joesentmeThe path entrance is a bit horror-movie-ish. The darkness from the trees compounds the steep descent beyond the fence. It only needs Psycho music to be truly ominous.

However, instead of wild canines, the suburban jungle features junk furniture and graffiti. Just inside is a roofless rec room.

Surely this is the away-from-mom-and-dad preserve of teens. There is a Bud Light can or two, but most beverage residue is the likes of Hawaiian Punch juice boxes and energy-drink cans. There’s no obvious drug leavings, like syringes or rolling-paper packs. There are not latex gloves or condoms. There are none of the discarded nips so common on the length of Brush Hill Road, apparently tossed by driving topers.

Instead, the amusement that leaves traces seems to be tagging the inside of the fence with spray paint. The decors is simple hillbilly or squatter camp. A seriously mismatched grouping of upholstered (surely disgusting in the outdoor weather) , plastic and wood chairs. These are what we’d see on the curb on Fairmount Hill trash day.recoom

Despite the grunge, the rustic den shows a flash of wholesomeness. Again, there’s no drug or sex leavings, as well as no evidence of serious boozing or dangerous fires. Assuming this is the space of pubescent non-delinquents, they retain some decorum and know as the ancient Greeks had it not to kick against the goads.

When I told my wife out this small find and its juxtaposition with the ostentatious abutters, she had just heard a similar distant tale. A friend in a small South Carolina city had recently cleared out her parents’ house and land. She found a rec room like that hidden in the overgrowth there. It makes one wonder how many impromptu clubhouses (minus the house) there are.

Next up, the gutted mansion and its aftermath.

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