Escape to Walden Pond

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In Search of My New American Writing Dream

By Norma Hopcraft

In a pre-COVID escape from New York City, a tough place to live because of the non-stop noise, crowding, lines of people for every service, subways, dirt, asphalt, concrete, steel, exhaust fumes, millions upon millions of strangers rushing past me, I took Amtrak from NYC to Providence, RI in 2019 to visit my brother. We planned a trip to Walden Pond.

To get ready for this trip, I read Walden, an American classic by Henry David Thoreau. I read about the fish, the loon, the war between ant colonies, the lake, while standing on the Q train, swaying as it pounded through the tunnels from my apartment in Brooklyn to my job in Manhattan. 

The contrast between his simple, quiet, solitary life in the woods and mine, hurtling at high speed in a noisy steel tube, crushed between strangers, could not have been more stark.

Walden is fantastic nature writing. And philosophy. It challenges Americans today to consume less and live more simply.

Thoreau was a bit of an oddball, it seems--which you might expect of someone who chose to live in the woods and eat mostly beans he farmed himself.  He did go into nearby Concord nearly daily, apparently, so he did do plenty of socializing.

But it was a little off beat. Here are the things he valued most when socializing: "I sat at a table where were rich food and wine in abundance, and obsequious attendance, but sincerity and truth were not; and I went away hungry from the inhospitable board. ...I called on the king, but he made me wait in his hall, and conducted like a man incapacitated for hospitality. There was a man in my neighborhood who lived in a hollow tree. His manners were truly regal. I should have done better had I called on him."

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Thoreau lived on Walden Pond in a house he built himself, approximately 8 feet x 10 feet.  When I stepped into the replica (his actual cabin no longer exists), there was only space for a narrow cot, a fireplace, and a small table. I think he had two chairs, because he did get visitors.

Walden is so worthwhile, and full of quirky observations like this one, in which he opines that the grand houses his neighbors lived in in Concord were similar to a forest creature's home, in that "It's basically a porch leading to a burrow."

Cool, huh?

He had more cool writing.

About spring:

"The grass flames up on the hillsides like a spring fire...as if the earth sent forth an inward heat to greet the returning sun; not yellow but green is the color of its flame."

About truth:

"Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth."

About being fully alive:

"Only that day dawns to which we are awake. There is more day to dawn. The sun is but a morning star."

Other famous quotes:

“I find it wholesome to be alone the greater part of the time."

“If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be."

“Books are the treasured wealth of the world and the fit inheritance of generations and nations.”

I find these last three particularly encouraging because I do end up alone so much that I have to suspect that I engineer my life that way, just as Thoreau did. So I'm in good company.

And I built castles in the air -- the castle of a comfortable amount in my retirement account thanks to the success of my books. Well, at least I have three books out in the world.  I also have a memoir, a book of essays, and a new novel (set in Brooklyn, where I lived for four years) all well on their way to completion. I was ambitious, and worked hard, and did not make 100% of my dream come true. But six books written (Lord willing)? Not bad for a castle in the air.

My dream of comfortable retirement thanks to my writing had to die (yes, it was keen grieving for months over that one), but my new dream still has to do with writing. Like the quote from Thoreau above, I want my writing to reveal the truth. Beautifully.

The third quote means a lot to me because I've adored books and reading from the moment the little black squiggles on a page resolved themselves in my mind as, "See Sally run," and my imagination saw Sally running--wow! What a moment! I decided then I wanted to be a writer and return the gift I'd just been given, to create great pictures and stories in readers' minds. So I'm glad to see a kindred spirit in Thoreau, with his vast respect for books as treasures.

Walden is now a state park, and people swim in the lake and sit on manmade beaches.

The path leading to the site of Thoreau's cabin (which no longer exists, but there are stone markers).

These are the markers on the site of his cabin, where he wrote the greater part of his world classic, "On Walden Pond." He lived in it for two years, two months and two days. This photo was taken by J. WALTER GREEN / AP

Walden is a popular spot. Thoreau used to have it all to himself, except for an occasional hunter, fisherman, or visitor to his cabin.

The water of the lake all comes from underground springs, so the water is very clear. There is no stream feeding the pond or exiting it.

A replica of his house, and a statue of Thoreau.

Me, asking a deep question about consumption, non-conformity, and the meaning of life.

Me outside the replica of Thoreau's cabin, so you can see the scale of it.

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The Atlantic Magazine's article about him says, "Mr. Thoreau dedicated his genius with such entire love to the fields, hills, and waters of his native town, that he made them known and interesting to all reading Americans, and to people over the sea."

He left a huge contribution to the world in his writing. When he died, the famous philosopher Ralph Waldo Emerson said of him: "The country knows not yet, or in the least part, how great a son it has lost." How about you? Have you read Walden? Want to go there? Want to simplify? Comment below!