There are squares all over the place here. “Square” as in: “an open area or plaza in a city or town, formed by the meeting and intersecting of two or more streets and often planted with grass, trees, etc. in the center.” (dictionary.com)

Now, given Cambridge’s density, the definition needs a bit of tweaking. While we are heavy here on the intersection part, we are a bit sparse on the open area, grass, trees, etc. part.

Still and all, we have the more famous squares: Porter Square, Harvard Square, Davis Square, Inman Square. Those are intersections that anchor neighborhoods which have spawned local shopping districts that attract fierce loyalists. People become devoted to their squares, even as the squares, in turn, reflect the passions and the nature of their people.

But then we also have the more modest squares. Walk just a couple blocks in any direction and you will bump into a plaque proclaiming this non-descript intersection or that “Such-and-Such Square”.

Or more precisely, and poignantly, “So-and-So Square”. These squares, both great and small, we learn, are given the names of people. And they are not just about the people, but about the people in that place.

Famous people, common people, rich people, modest people, natives and newcomers. No companies or businesses or commercial sponsors. Just the people who lived here, worked here, loved it here, called here home.

The names remind us that once upon a time, people possessed a love of place, and of neighbors, history, familiarity and blessings that constancy of place affords. They remind us that people once put down roots so deep, that their memories remain long after they passed away.

They remind us that “place” is not fungible, that each place is unique; that despite the fact that when we bump into a mall on a highway somewhere, and it is a often hard to tell whether we are in Maryland or New York or Ohio or Wisconsin, still the uniqueness of place stirs. These “squares” remind us that each “place” has a personality that bulldozers can bury but that truly can never be erased.

The names and signs have a lot to do with it. I know that in Baltimore our neighborhoods also have names. And it is the people who actually know the names and boundaries they inscribe that feel the greatest sense of belonging to and ownership of place. But so many people don’t know those names, don’t feel the connection. And the names and signs are too few.

There is something wonderful about the pride and abundance of these oversized namings in these undersized intersections, nested within these large district-forming squares, that populate this place with sweet, enduring memories.

It is good to see a place so pleased with itself.

(Photo: Pooh’s reading place, made from carved tree trunk, on street in Porter Square district)