Massachusetts Scavenger Hunt
Welcome to Massachusetts, where American history isn't just remembered—it's built into the brick, carved in the granite, and carried on the salt breeze. In these pages, you’ll trace a journey through a commonwealth that sparked revolutions, inspired minds, and never stopped remaking itself.
From cobblestone streets where freedom rang out to clapboard towns that dreamed up innovations in science, sport, and style, Massachusetts offers more than monuments. It’s a living archive. You’ll step into the oldest ballpark in the majors, sip the stories from a mimetic clam shack, and trace the outlines of a Bauhaus dream in the woods of Lincoln.
This is no ordinary scavenger hunt. It’s part of the History250 Semiquincentennial Series, a cross-country celebration of the nation’s 250th birthday through hidden gems, architectural wonders, and the curious corners where the past whispers still. For those wearing sturdy shoes and open minds, the Bay State has secrets to share—and more than a few surprises along the way.
The photos and stories collected here are a fast and fun way to learn the explanations behind the quirks, the traditions and the secrets that make Massachusetts uniquely Massachusetts. What Massachusetts cemetery was a major tourist attraction in the 1800s? Solved. At what course was golf’s “shot heard round the world” fired? A mystery no more. What tunnel in Massachusetts claimed more lives to build than the Hoover Dam and Golden Gate Bridge combined? Identified.
Where arches rise in granite bold, A tale of books and stone is told. Richardson’s hand in sturdy grace, Left wisdom carved upon this place. A gift, a shrine, a beacon lit— Where learning’s flame shall always sit.
From mighty whales with hunted grace, They lit the world with molten face. Spermaceti wax burned clean, A glow from oceans never seen. This granite forge recalls the blight— When whalers lit the global night.
In Romanesque with towers proud, Where granite chants in arches loud. Richardson’s hand gave weight and grace, To hallow stone in sacred space. Still hailed among the finest made— Its tower bold, its shadows stayed.
A fairyland with roof like waves, Built not by elves but sculptors’ braves. Kitson carved each stone by hand, To form this dream upon the land. A silo turned to storybook— Where even shingles cast a look.
A merchant’s manse with gables seven, Later made famed by Hawthorne’s pen from heaven. With cousins near and rooms to roam, This Salem gem became museum home. A novel's page, in wood and stone— Where fiction’s seeds were truly sown.
A Brill-built car that never rolled, But served up hash and coffee bold. With doors at ends and raised skylight, This diner shines in morning light. Still cash-only, with classic charm— A railroad past now cooks up warm.