On Walden Pond

I first read Walden probably 25 years ago - in the late 90’s - before kids. It blew me away.

Walden deserves its place at or near the top of the pantheon of American literature - along with Whitman’s Leaves of Grass it helped define what it means to be American (for better or for worse). It is a cultural touchstone.

This past weekend, for the first time, I went to Walden Pond. Shame on me - it is a 20-minute drive from my sister’s hometown, where she has lived and I’ve visited regularly, for decades.

I was moved. It is a beautiful, albeit crowded, place. One can only imagine what Thoreau’s reaction would be to the wire fences near any remotely steep drop-off along the edge of the perfectly wide, well-trodden path encircling the pond. But it is nonetheless magical.

I would be hard pressed to say I live a simple life, but I like to think I suck more than my fair share of the marrow from it. But certainly not all.

It is time for me to reread Walden.