About a
year ago, my friend Randie and I decided to take a trip to Concord, MA to visit
Walden Pond. She and I met in college and we quickly learned that we are nerdy in
all the same ways. We are unabashed enthusiasts of Ralph Waldo Emerson and
Henry David Thoreau and we are unnaturally amused that they were such good
friends. We bask in anecdotal evidence of their camaraderie. One of our favorite stories, as passed on by one of our college
professors, is that when Thoreau got himself thrown in jail for protesting taxes, Waldo (as Ralph was called) showed up to bail him out. Exasperated upon arriving, Waldo said, "Henry, what are you doing in there?" to
which Thoreau said, "What are you doing not in here?" The eye rolls
that Randie and I have inferred came from Waldo at that moment are exceedingly
entertaining to us both.
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| A photo I took last year at Walden Pond in Concord, MA. |
So
anyway, we're big fans, and we went to Concord. While there, we visited
The Ralph Waldo Emerson House and
The Concord Museum. Afterwards, we got some lunch and then made our way to the
main event: Walden Pond. I had been there before and it was just as serene as I
had remembered. There, we found a spot to sit down, and in the middle of Nature, we just sat and had a nice chat. It was an escape from Brooklyn, and work, and
thinking.
Perhaps it was the quiet in the air, or that amidst it I was in the
company of a dear friend. Or perhaps it was that I was surrounded by my native
pine trees, which are unsurprisingly rare in Brooklyn. I think it was a
combination of it all. But that day, I felt more at peace than I had in a long
time.
Of
course, the weekend ended and I found myself back in Brooklyn. At that point in
time, Garret and I had driven through and read a great deal about Vermont, and
we were seriously thinking about making this leap, though we hadn't visited
Wilmington specifically or made real plans to move just yet. But I so very much
wanted to be amidst trees and nature again. Fresh air reminds me of home,
having grown up in upstate New York.
And I think in huge inexplicable ways that I wasn't even fully aware of
at that very moment in my life, I was very, very homesick.
I will
never forget the Monday after that trip to Walden Pond. It was pouring rain,
and as a result, Brooklyn and everything in it was soggy. My feet were wet but
the air was warm enough that the air conditioning in my office was pumping. The
result was a jittery mix of damp misery. Tasks were piling up on my desk and I
could feel a manic state of self-pity taking me over. I wasn't very hungry but
rather suddenly I stood up and said to my coworkers, "I am going to
lunch."
I went
out into the rain, which was still pouring down. Shops and restaurants were lit
up in their cozy warm blanket way, a glow reserved for rainy days like this. I
walked slowly to the used bookstore, trying not to slide on slick Brooklyn
cobblestones. "If it's here," I thought, "it will be a
sign." Of course, it was. A compilation of the works of Henry David
Thoreau was promptly bought. And as I read its pages at a table for one at the
cozy restaurant across the street, I had a growing lump in my throat that was begging
to be released as tears. I wanted to go back so badly.
And I
knew then, for sure, that this adventure was one I had to pursue.
As I type
I'm sitting by a tree-lined body of water in Vermont, about a half a mile from
where I live. I'm in a small park, and I'm the only one here now, although a
man drove up in a rusty white pickup truck a few minutes ago. He got out
silently and stood by the water while smoking a pipe. After a few corn cob
puffs, he was on his way. Now it's again just me and words and water and air.
There's a cool breeze and the day turned out to be sunny. I took a little dirt
road to get here, and I can hear the main road off in the distance. I didn't
know this park was here before today, but I wanted to go work by some water.
There were construction workers in the park I usually go to, and I had spotted
this one across the lake. I didn't know how to get here, but I could tell by the pattern of the trees surrounding it that there was a road that lead to it. I took a chance and drove in the direction I hoped it would be in and
lo and behold, here it is.
Of
course, I am sitting by this lake with an iPad, typing away. I won't pretend
I've cut myself off like Henry did in his cabin, but hey, I came here to work.
Nevertheless I found it impossible not to take pause and a deep breath and
think, Wow. Just wow. The places we
find ourselves in should never cease to amaze us. Who would have thought,
really, that any of this was here?
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My new favorite waterfront work/think/live spot. Near Wilmington, VT.
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A photo I took last year at Walden Pond. This is situated on the original
site of Henry's cabin, where he wrote 'Walden'. The photograph
sits next to my desk in Vermont. |
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