On Walden Pond.

I read Henry David Thoreau’s Walden the summer after my junior year of college, and it changed my life. So it was with great excitement that I headed up to Concord to Walden Pond.

For two years, two months, and two days, Thoreau lived by himself in the Concord woods in a one-room shack he built by hand. Why? To be alone. I find honor and respect in his experiment, and I went to pay homage to the idea that people can be happy and useful in nature, by themselves, doing their own thing.



And it was everything I hoped for, and more.

It was a worthy juxtaposition against the bustle of Boston. Here, it was a massaging calm.

Along the shoreline I met “Old Bill,” a 90-year-old man that swims in Walden Pond. Everyday.



“I’ve been doing this for 27 years, and I’m still not usd to cold water,” Bill said. “It gets gusty, but you can take it for a while.”

He undressed right in front of me, put his swimmers cap on, and did a few backstrokes in the pond.

Bill and I talked for a while. He’s seen a lot of changes in the pond, like when the big developer tried to build an office building near the water, and how Don Henly of the Eagles bought the developer out and entrusted 500 acres of the area to conservation – an example, I think, of a famous person doing good and not looking foolish.

Bill helps out the crew at the pond because he loves it so much. He used to go around and pick up the trash, but can’t do all the trails anymore.

“I’m getting too old,” he told me.



Bill worked in quality control, and was in the Navy for 23 years before that, and even at 90-years-old can’t get enough of Walden.

“This is the freshest water around,” he said. “It’s so clear you can drink it.”

And he’s right. The pond was so beautiful, and so serene, and so clean, it’s not hard to figure out why Thoreau picked this spot to try his solitary experiment.



Another guy, he wouldn’t tell me his name, stopped by. I could tell that all the regulars at the pond knew of Old Bill. But Bill left, and it was just me and the guy (we’ll call him Frank). Frank was a plumber from Illinois originally, but moved out here due to family stuff. Frank has survived two bouts of cancer and comes to Walden to relax.

“There’s something magical about this place,” he told me.

We talked about the differences between Midwesterners and East-Coasters, how – in Frank’s opinion – the folks out here were friendlier. I countered, telling him about the guy in Boston who sneezed and, when I blessed him, he ignored me and kept walking.

“Sometimes you wonder if you’re from the same planet,” Frank said.



I left Frank to wind my way around to where Thoreau’s shack originally stood, on the far end of the pond.

The spot is against a small hill, a spot Thoreau picked to shield himself from the cold winters. A replica cabin is on the other side of the park.



All that’s left now is a pile of rocks and a marker showing where the hut stood:



It had a gorgeous view of Walden, and was close enough to the water’s edge to let Thoreau dive in or fish or drink or whatever.

The whole experience was transformative. The wind breezing through the beech and oak trees, the birds singing, the smell of the water. People always ask me why I take these big trips by myself, and it’s always hard to answer them. I usually say it’s because no one else has the time, or the money, or the patience to put up with me for a whole week.

But that’s not an honest answer. I do it for the same reason Thoreau built a shack and holed up in the woods for two years: to get to know myself. How else can one do it? Most people are afraid to be by themselves, with their thoughts, for more than a few minutes. For me, I’ll take a whole week of it.

Thoreau said “All good things are wild and free.” Even if only for a few days, I think his words count for something.



I said my goodbyes to Walden Pond and hit the road to head for Maine. I decided to skip a few of the lesser sites along the way just because I felt like I had seen enough for one day. I just wanted to drive.

And eat lobster. Thankfully, Maine wasn’t far away…

Tags: cabin, cancer, concord, death, henry david thoreau, life, solitude, swimming, thoreau, walden, walden pond