Thoreau--An Engagement
Henry David Thoreau (born David Henry) needs no introduction. He seems distinctly American, but maybe that’s hooey. What's an American, anyway? For sure, Thoreau was a writer of dark hilarity, naturalist of keen observation, and philosopher of simple essence. Of course he remains legendary, and that confuses things.
Like many people, I thought he was a hermit. His sojourn at Walden Pond for the sake of simplicity seemed like an abnegation. It wasn’t, tho it did allow him to slough off some distractions. Yes, he wrote in Walden that he’d rather sit on a pumpkin and have it to himself than ride a crowded coach. Just reading his works, wherein he curiously bespeaks all sorts of people in his travels, one realizes that he was gregarious. Nosy, even.
I like how he accepted Concord, Massachusetts, as a wonderland. It is, of course, but so is your backyard. The image of him walking everywhere, looking at things, stays strong with me. He’d walk some distance just to see a certain flower bloom. His birthplace on Virginia Road, the family home on what is now Thoreau St., his hut at Walden, and his final resting place at Sleepy Hollow Cemetery all sit within a couple miles of each other. Yet he saw the world. And he did travel, even to New York City.
He writes a comical bit in Walden about how a large crate would satisfy as a house. He's serious about this, but I think the image of his homestead pared down so--so opposed to the normative--pleased him. He’s just making a point. If you simply need shelter from the elements, he's right. Wallpaper and carpeting fulfill a different need. He questions the need for such needs, that's all.
A reconstruction of his hut sets near the parking lot at Walden. One can still see the foundation of the original, where Thoreau built it, the replica is placed more handily. The reconstruction reveals one room with bed and table. A stove and fireplace provide a warm and inviting feature. He writes of sitting by his door, cooking in warm weather. Pleasures can be simple.
We see the hut here, behind the nearly lifesize statue of our hero. Yes, he holds a book that I published. Many references to Thoreau, Walden, and Concord in Days Poem. Presences.
I had a Thoreau spell when I was young. I would wake at 3am or earlier and bounce from bed. Well, maybe I would turn on the light and read or write. I'd have breakfast after a while then around dawn walk a couple of miles to Fiske Hill where I could listen to the birds alert the new day. Sounds all good, but it was a schedule I could not maintain. I would hanker lunch by 9:30am, bed before 8pm: the skew got awkward. I did not need to mimic Thoreau anyway. Just listen to that drummer he famously mentioned. I don’t mean to advocate some sort of lifestyle here. I just note that Thoreau’s actions often met fairly with his words.
I see a mindful person in Thoreau. He made an effort to look at things as they are. He questioned assumptions, seemingly weighed everything carefully. Maybe not always, he was a human sort of person. The biblically crazy John Brown lured Thoreau’s sense of justice, despite the terrorism in Brown’s acts. Those acts hardly mesh with Thoreau's stern thoughtfulness and moral star.
Walden Pond itself, as part of a state reservation, has become something of a shrine. It does so uneasily. Not so many years ago, a trailer park sat across the street, as if this were not hallowed ground. A dump, albeit now a clean, recycling one, continues to neighbour the pond. A large cement pier once jutted into the water, for diving off of, but that’s been removed. I used to run to and around the pond but now the crowds make that too difficult.
Currently, a tremendous razing of trees, for a large condominium complex and for the widening of nearby Route 2, seems like a terrible disaster. Walden itself is safe, but that’s not the point. Thoreau looked at things and made his recommendations. Curiosity and a strong moral sense led him. That’s what I’ve read in his writings. Looking at the world to see the world, that seems simple enough.
Below is the entrance to the replica hut, with some excellent reading in the doorway. The camera foreshortens the space a bit. If Thoreau needed room, he would go outside. Outside is beginning to feel far away nowadays.