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 "Walden, or Life in the Woods" After making brief visits to the Hawthorne and Alcott houses, I drove into Concord in the early afternoon and visited the North Bridge, which the British Army had crossed as they advanced into Concord on that first day of the Revolutionary War in search of patriot munitions. I soon beat a retreat, though, just as the British had done 226 years earlier, because the weather – something similar to that day in April 1775 – was hot and sticky, reaching 98 degrees. Even the bronze statues here were starting to wilt.
Though I'd visited Concord before, I'd never been to Walden Pond so I decided to check it out. Walden Pond, of course, was where Henry David Thoreau (whose real name, curiously, was David Henry Thoreau) decided to take a break from civilization for a couple of years and write a flowery book that no one can understand. But seriously, Thoreau was an interesting guy and he moved onto a small, wooded lot here in 1845, built a cabin, and lived simply and alone amidst nature for two years. Not having Walden's intellect, I can't understand everything in his book, which he called "Walden, or Life in the Woods," but his life plan sounded pretty appealing to me.
Today, Walden Pond is a park and a very popular one at that. I think Thoreau would have gagged at the $5 entrance fee, but I paid it and parked in the huge, crowded lot, which was filled with cooler-toting beachgoers. There were, oh, about a gazillion people at the Walden Pond beach on this muggy afternoon, which I quickly bypassed on my way to Thoreau's cabin site, a mile away on the quiet side of the pond. I was both surprised and disappointed that hardly anyone else was at the site, but I figured the quiet and solitude that I found there was just as Thoreau would've wanted it. I enjoyed visiting the cabin site and thinking about Thoreau's experience, but was discouraged, once again, after I passed the mob scene at the beach on my way back to the parking lot.
Near the parking lot, I spotted a replica of Thoreau's cabin and had a very pleasant and uplifting conversation there with a local Thoreau enthusiast named Brad Parker. Brad told me, among other things, that Thoreau really wasn't the recluse that some have claimed. For instance, during Thoreau's two-year stay at Walden Pond, he visited nearby Concord quite often.
After talking to Brad for an hour and learning more about Thoreau, I felt a strong kinship with him – Thoreau, that is, not Brad. I was so inspired by my discussion with this devoted Thoreau fan that I walked back to the crowded beach and dipped my hand into the water since, as Brad had told me, "You can't come to Walden Pond without touching the water." He was right – the water here did feel different. But maybe it was the residue from a thousand unwashed bodies.
After visiting Walden Pond, I decided to camp that night at a state park on the coast near Salisbury, Massachusetts. Unfortunately though, this being the middle of summer and Salisbury being on a beautiful beach and only an hour from Boston, the huge campground there was filled to the brim, so I turned my truck around and headed to a place called Harold Parker State Park. I had camped here once before, during my 1995 trip. With its $12 campsites, I figured this park was probably the only lodging available in the Boston area that night for less than a hundred bucks. I think Thoreau, with his lifelong devotion to simplicity, would've smiled.
Above left: Beach scene at Walden Pond. It's not quite the way that Thoreau remembered it, I'm sure. Above right: A drawing of Thoreau's cabin with Henry in front writing. His cabin was located on the "quieter" side of Walden Pond and away from today's beach crowds.
Above left: Thoreau's original cabin no longer stands, but a replica was built near the parking lot. Above right: The replica cabin is furnished much the same way Thoreau had furnished his, with a simple table, stove, and bed.
Above left: Brad Parker, a local Thoreau enthusiast, spent an hour at the cabin telling me stories about Thoreau. The more I learned about Thoreau, the more I realized how similar were our personalities. Thoreau died at age 44 of tuberculosis and is buried in Concord. I greatly enjoyed my visit to Walden Pond, thanks mostly to Brad. Above center: Surreal image in my rear-view mirror while leaving Walden Pond at rush hour. Above right: A Concord jam (har, har).
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