Post by goldenmyst on Sept 14, 2021 22:24:38 GMT -6
Walden Revisited
It was a beautiful day in the mile-high city of Denver. The mountains could be seen rising in the distance. They were dusted with late spring snow. The brown cloud of smog hovered over Denver. It was rush hour and traffic was heavy on the road leading under the Stapleton International Airport runway. The jets took off with a thunderous roar, out and over the mountains. Of all people waking up at 5:30 a.m., none was more exuberant than Mr. Hutchinson. He was about to partake in a unique experience.
It all started a month ago in a bar room with some friends. The bar room was full of smoke and chatter as he sat around a table with his friends.
One said, “You won’t make it a week.”
The other said, “Why not just go on a fishing trip?”
Mr. Hutchinson replied, “I am going fishing, but for a spiritual catch.” That was how it all started, just a dream. Mr. Hutchinson was an electrical engineer who rarely did unconventional things. But this was special, something he had dreamed about since childhood.
This morning as he pulled out of his driveway, he was headed west. He could see the sun through his rearview mirror as he crossed the brown, yucca-filled, rolling terrain between Denver and the mountains. He reached a canyon with great walls and mist. He drove through it. He could see horses, cattle, and crops off to the side. He could see pine-studded, snow covered peaks on either side. He was at about 8000 feet altitude by then. His destination was farther down the road.
Finally he reached a dirt road. He turned off and began to climb. There was a roaring mountain stream beside the road, filled with water that and once been part of the caps of ice and snow on the mountain top.
He eventually reached his destination, a small emerald lake with mixed pin and aspen trees, their leaves trembling in the wind. He had rented some land around the pond for a year. It was to be a unique modern experiment, to live alone in harmony with nature for a year.
~Spring~
The sky was studded with wispy cirrus clouds.
Out beside his car were scattered boxes and crates. On further was a pile of wood that he had left there from an earlier trip. Bricks were piled up beside the boards. Beside that was a vat of wet cement. All this was covered by tarpaulins for protection from the rain.
He began to dig a basement for the house. After two weeks it was complete. Then the frame went up. This took a month. It was to be a one room home. When he finished he rested on Sunday. As he awoke he could hear a wren calling. He went looking for berries in the woods and found some of the edible variety. He wrote:
Off hunting berries
Quite a meal
From nature it’s no steal
But delicious provender
From the cosmic wheel
That afternoon he spent feeding squirrels. They were so used to him that they came up and ate out of his hand. That night he saw the sun go down over the mountains. As the sun went down, different colors appeared on the lake; first a green, then a pink, and finally a purple, then darkness. He stayed up with a coal oil lamp reading Chaucer.
~ Summer ~
July 4. He awoke early in the morning. He had to go into town that day. He got in the car and drove to a nearby community. He went into a store and bought some cheese, whole wheat flour, and oatmeal. He was in a hurry to get out of town and back to his experiment.
That afternoon he took a swim in the lake. Suddenly great balls of Rocky Mountain lightening came cascading from the sky. He retreated to his cabin. Later that afternoon he heard a bird singing. He cooked a small meal of wheat and cheese in his fireplace. He thought about his dietary requirements and this came to mind.
Our daily chores at the appointed hour
Then some bread, never sour
A bit of this, a bit of that
Perhaps even a rat
Our appetite is sated
Our work slowed in rate
Allowing minimum provender
From the cosmic sender
Then night came on. This was a welcome respite from the heat of day. At this altitude, 9000 feet, the night was usually cool and crisp. That night beside a coal oil lamp he read Emerson’s “The Transcendentalist.” He read,
“They are lonely; the spirit of their writing and conversation is lonely; they repel influences; they shun general society; they incline to shut themselves in their chamber in the house, to live in the country rather than in town; and to find their tasks and amusements in solitude.”
Mr. Hutchinson went to sleep and dreamed of wild ducks heading south for the winter.
~ Autumn ~
He had a visitor that morning, a poet from Aspen who had heard about him. Mr. Hutchinson invited him in. They had chamomile tea. They discussed life, love, loneliness, and human needs. That afternoon he went out onto the lake in a small row boat. He could see the golden colors of quaking aspen trees, and their reflection in the water. Then he saw a rainbow trout slap the water. He thought of his visitor.
At our leisure social hour
The poet and sage
Of any age
Will be released from the cage
Of urbanity and vanity
To lose one’s common sanity
And take part in the cosmic dance
Lest years slip by
And we lose the chance
That night he read Thoreau’s “Walden”, the chapter on visitors. He read,
“Arrived there, the little house they fill
Ne look for entertainment where non was
Rest is their feast, and all things at their will;
The noblest mind the best contentment has.”
These were lines from Spencer which a visitor had left in Thoreau’s cabin, inscribed on a yellow walnut leaf for a card. Thoreau had called it the motto of his cabin.
~Winter~
December, 1986. The lake had frozen over. Mr. Hutchinson decided to go ice fishing. He went out onto the lake and saw the evergreens with snow caked on their boughs. There was china blue sky overhead. He could see mountains covered with snow soaring into space. He began to cut the ice. Soon he had made a hole. He lowered his line through the hole. After waiting patiently for long time, he had a bite! Then began the battle between man and fish as the trout struggled for release. He pulled it up and found he had caught a great rainbow trout. Later he wrote:
Never a creature did meet
A man it so didn’t want to greet
The life of a fish
Sacrificed in my dish
That night beside a fire, his fish simmering, he read the chapter, “Higher Laws” from Thoreau’s “Walden”. He read, “The repugnance to animal food is not the effect of experience, but is an instinct. It appeared more beautiful to live low and fare hard in many respects; and though I never did so, I went far enough to please my imagination.”
~Spring~
May, 1987. The pond ice had earlier broken up and melted away. That morning he remembered the sounds of booming and cracking as the ice was rendered asunder by the heated spirits of Spring. Shortly after dawn, he could smell a fragrance in the air of wild flowers and honeysuckle. He saw a group of mallards all green, white, and black land on the lake. He began preparing to leave. As he packed up the car, he looked out at the emerald green lake. He wrote:
Now at journeys end
We discover an new beginning
Filled with hope
And hard work
Life with all its quirks
Ever seeking self-actualization
Through wisdom of maturation
Mr. Hutchinson read Thoreau’s conclusion to Walden. “I do not say that John or Jonathan will realize all this; but such is the character of that narrow which mere lapse of time can never make to dawn. The light which puts out our eyes is darkness to us. Only that day dawns to which we are awake. There is more day to dawn. The sun is but a morning star.”
He started the car and pulled away, never looking back.
It was a beautiful day in the mile-high city of Denver. The mountains could be seen rising in the distance. They were dusted with late spring snow. The brown cloud of smog hovered over Denver. It was rush hour and traffic was heavy on the road leading under the Stapleton International Airport runway. The jets took off with a thunderous roar, out and over the mountains. Of all people waking up at 5:30 a.m., none was more exuberant than Mr. Hutchinson. He was about to partake in a unique experience.
It all started a month ago in a bar room with some friends. The bar room was full of smoke and chatter as he sat around a table with his friends.
One said, “You won’t make it a week.”
The other said, “Why not just go on a fishing trip?”
Mr. Hutchinson replied, “I am going fishing, but for a spiritual catch.” That was how it all started, just a dream. Mr. Hutchinson was an electrical engineer who rarely did unconventional things. But this was special, something he had dreamed about since childhood.
This morning as he pulled out of his driveway, he was headed west. He could see the sun through his rearview mirror as he crossed the brown, yucca-filled, rolling terrain between Denver and the mountains. He reached a canyon with great walls and mist. He drove through it. He could see horses, cattle, and crops off to the side. He could see pine-studded, snow covered peaks on either side. He was at about 8000 feet altitude by then. His destination was farther down the road.
Finally he reached a dirt road. He turned off and began to climb. There was a roaring mountain stream beside the road, filled with water that and once been part of the caps of ice and snow on the mountain top.
He eventually reached his destination, a small emerald lake with mixed pin and aspen trees, their leaves trembling in the wind. He had rented some land around the pond for a year. It was to be a unique modern experiment, to live alone in harmony with nature for a year.
~Spring~
The sky was studded with wispy cirrus clouds.
Out beside his car were scattered boxes and crates. On further was a pile of wood that he had left there from an earlier trip. Bricks were piled up beside the boards. Beside that was a vat of wet cement. All this was covered by tarpaulins for protection from the rain.
He began to dig a basement for the house. After two weeks it was complete. Then the frame went up. This took a month. It was to be a one room home. When he finished he rested on Sunday. As he awoke he could hear a wren calling. He went looking for berries in the woods and found some of the edible variety. He wrote:
Off hunting berries
Quite a meal
From nature it’s no steal
But delicious provender
From the cosmic wheel
That afternoon he spent feeding squirrels. They were so used to him that they came up and ate out of his hand. That night he saw the sun go down over the mountains. As the sun went down, different colors appeared on the lake; first a green, then a pink, and finally a purple, then darkness. He stayed up with a coal oil lamp reading Chaucer.
~ Summer ~
July 4. He awoke early in the morning. He had to go into town that day. He got in the car and drove to a nearby community. He went into a store and bought some cheese, whole wheat flour, and oatmeal. He was in a hurry to get out of town and back to his experiment.
That afternoon he took a swim in the lake. Suddenly great balls of Rocky Mountain lightening came cascading from the sky. He retreated to his cabin. Later that afternoon he heard a bird singing. He cooked a small meal of wheat and cheese in his fireplace. He thought about his dietary requirements and this came to mind.
Our daily chores at the appointed hour
Then some bread, never sour
A bit of this, a bit of that
Perhaps even a rat
Our appetite is sated
Our work slowed in rate
Allowing minimum provender
From the cosmic sender
Then night came on. This was a welcome respite from the heat of day. At this altitude, 9000 feet, the night was usually cool and crisp. That night beside a coal oil lamp he read Emerson’s “The Transcendentalist.” He read,
“They are lonely; the spirit of their writing and conversation is lonely; they repel influences; they shun general society; they incline to shut themselves in their chamber in the house, to live in the country rather than in town; and to find their tasks and amusements in solitude.”
Mr. Hutchinson went to sleep and dreamed of wild ducks heading south for the winter.
~ Autumn ~
He had a visitor that morning, a poet from Aspen who had heard about him. Mr. Hutchinson invited him in. They had chamomile tea. They discussed life, love, loneliness, and human needs. That afternoon he went out onto the lake in a small row boat. He could see the golden colors of quaking aspen trees, and their reflection in the water. Then he saw a rainbow trout slap the water. He thought of his visitor.
At our leisure social hour
The poet and sage
Of any age
Will be released from the cage
Of urbanity and vanity
To lose one’s common sanity
And take part in the cosmic dance
Lest years slip by
And we lose the chance
That night he read Thoreau’s “Walden”, the chapter on visitors. He read,
“Arrived there, the little house they fill
Ne look for entertainment where non was
Rest is their feast, and all things at their will;
The noblest mind the best contentment has.”
These were lines from Spencer which a visitor had left in Thoreau’s cabin, inscribed on a yellow walnut leaf for a card. Thoreau had called it the motto of his cabin.
~Winter~
December, 1986. The lake had frozen over. Mr. Hutchinson decided to go ice fishing. He went out onto the lake and saw the evergreens with snow caked on their boughs. There was china blue sky overhead. He could see mountains covered with snow soaring into space. He began to cut the ice. Soon he had made a hole. He lowered his line through the hole. After waiting patiently for long time, he had a bite! Then began the battle between man and fish as the trout struggled for release. He pulled it up and found he had caught a great rainbow trout. Later he wrote:
Never a creature did meet
A man it so didn’t want to greet
The life of a fish
Sacrificed in my dish
That night beside a fire, his fish simmering, he read the chapter, “Higher Laws” from Thoreau’s “Walden”. He read, “The repugnance to animal food is not the effect of experience, but is an instinct. It appeared more beautiful to live low and fare hard in many respects; and though I never did so, I went far enough to please my imagination.”
~Spring~
May, 1987. The pond ice had earlier broken up and melted away. That morning he remembered the sounds of booming and cracking as the ice was rendered asunder by the heated spirits of Spring. Shortly after dawn, he could smell a fragrance in the air of wild flowers and honeysuckle. He saw a group of mallards all green, white, and black land on the lake. He began preparing to leave. As he packed up the car, he looked out at the emerald green lake. He wrote:
Now at journeys end
We discover an new beginning
Filled with hope
And hard work
Life with all its quirks
Ever seeking self-actualization
Through wisdom of maturation
Mr. Hutchinson read Thoreau’s conclusion to Walden. “I do not say that John or Jonathan will realize all this; but such is the character of that narrow which mere lapse of time can never make to dawn. The light which puts out our eyes is darkness to us. Only that day dawns to which we are awake. There is more day to dawn. The sun is but a morning star.”
He started the car and pulled away, never looking back.
