Walden

Henry David Thoreau is best known for a two-year experiment in simple living, which he began on July 4, 1845, when he moved to a tiny house that he built himself, on land owned by Ralph Waldo Emerson in a second-growth forest around the shores of Walden Pond. The house was not in the wilderness but at the edge of town, 1.5 miles from his family home.

Contrary to popular belief and also contrary to Thoreau’s portrayal of his time at Walden, Thoreau was not really very self reliant at all. He frequently went into town for supplies, to have his laundry done by his aunt, and to go drinking with the boys. On one trip into town, he ran into the local tax collector who asked him to pay six years of delinquent poll taxes. Thoreau refused citing his opposition to the Mexican-American War and slavery, and he spent a night in jail because of this refusal. Thoreau was freed the next day, over his loud protests, when his aunt paid his delinquent taxes. His later essay on this experience and his reasons for taking this stand, Civil Disobedience, influenced such political theorists and activists as Leo Tolstoy, Mohandas Gandhi, and Martin Luther King, Jr.

I suspect that old Henry was simply a run-of-the-mill, garden variety deadbeat; however, this may be because of the grudge that I still hold against him for being forced to plod through his books and essays by a high school English teacher of mine who was infatuated by his beard. Walden compresses the two years, two months and two days time that Thoreau spent there into a single calendar year, using the passage of four seasons to symbolize human development. Part memoir and part spiritual quest, it explores natural simplicity, harmony, and beauty as models for socially and culturally just living conditions. Although not nearly as dry as Emerson’s work, I found Walden to be a bit too holier-than-thou to swallow, containing a long string of self-evident truths that obviously even a tightwad like Thoreau could notice. Thank you Captain Obvious.

Walden Pond itself is another story altogether. I cannot fault Thoreau for his taste in this regard (even if he chose it as a matter of convenience). It is a completely beautiful environment – quite possibly the most perfect pond (a small lake really) I have ever seen. When I lived in Boston, especially during the time I lived in Waltham, this is where I came on hot days to swim in the ever-cool waters. I came here on cold days to walk the trail around the pond and reflect. It is always peaceful here and for me it is a natural place of meditation, still isolated from the outside world by a simple quirk of topography. I still come here whenever I can.

Today we went to the L.L. Bean store, had a nice lunch at a bistro while watching the Patriots beat-up on Tennessee, then drove to Walden Pond. I only wish we could have stayed longer. It is the eve of a new year and as I write Alison is making butternut squash soup. Soon our friend Jared will come over with his mother’s secret potato pancake recipe, which will be our project for the evening and will complete our celebratory feast, which we will eat while watching the foolishness back home in Times Square via the safety of television – good friends, good food and great hopes for the new year. Peace always.