Walden Pond

After Kevin's recent Birthday adventures in Acadia, we slowly drove south to home. We had noticed signs to Walden Pond headed north days before and Kevin could hardly contain himself. It was his Birthday month, so we detoured.

Thankfully, there's GPS and iPhones and stuff (sorry Thoreau) so we quickly passed Emerson's house (closed, bummer) and heard Alcott's house was nearby too! Concord rolling deep. We found our way to Walden Pond and it was PACKED. And felt a bit like an amusement park in the woods. Minivans unloaded picnic gear, kids raced by in swimmies, tired parents carried bags stuffed with sunscreen. Wha...?

Kevin gave due reverence to the short statue of Thoreau in front of a mock cabin.

Across the highway, lined with more minivans waiting to enter, were marked-ish trails. We began following the one towards Thoreau's actual cabin site. Soon, vistas opened up:

Pond? New Englanders and their understatements. I heard some statistic about Walden and something like Massachussetts' biggest (widest? deepest? something-est?) fresh water lake. Right! Lake. Pond?

Hence the swimmers. Near a lifeguards stand, public bathrooms, and beach, tons of kiddos. Further around the pond periphery (they've got me saying it too) fisher folk and even further, young folks getting their grope on. And the intermittent couple reading in the shade. Folks did seem learned. Being Massachussetts and all.

A group of what struck us as Boston college kids attached themselves to our heels. They too were seeking Thoreau's actual cabin site and had also gotten lost. Lost is a bit of an exaggeration-- child shrieks could orient you, but the trails were certainly not well labelled. Kevin started hypothesizing about Thoreau's aimless walks and how the design was meta. Whatever. I generally have a good sense of direction, the college kids were making strange allusions to "Alive," so I got us there.

Here, pilgrims. Men sat philosophically on rocks. The site itself is underwhelming except for the sunlight highlighting the exact spot. This was a place for the true believers. You almost couldn't hear the kids splashing each other.

Of course we had to exit through the gift shop. The punk rock shop keep confirmed that in the summer, most visitors are swimmers. "The real pilgrims come in winter." Kevin nodded. His people.

In conversation, we found out that a fellow shopper was from Harrisonburg, VA and friends with Kevin's cousin! What?! White boys with a penchant for transcendentalism meeting at Walden Pond like this? No!

I only suffered slightly with Thoreau trivia on the ensuing drive. We had elected to stop in Hartford for dinner. And then we found Mark Twain's house...

To be continued...