The Oracle of Walden Pond

I stayed in Concord after visiting a friend outside Boston. In Sleepy Hollow Cemetery rests such notables as Thoreau, Emerson, and Nathanial Hawthorne. Given the theme of our seminar, it was interesting how many inscriptions declared the deceased's support of the republic and the need for law and justice. Visiting Emerson's house, I imagined Thoreau carrying an armful of wood in as the Emerson kids let their "big brother" in the door and to the wood box (I'm depending on the tour guide for the authenticity of this info). A fellow conference member noted that Emerson's wife said something to the effect that she wondered how he could be called such a hermit when she saw his face in their kitchen every night. What fascinated me were the various wall hangings--prints from places where Emerson had visited, or pictures of friends, but so much of every wall covered with what could be seen as reflections of the various inhabitant's personalities, including Emerson's daughter.

A very different kind of house was reconstructed at Walden Pond. Spare, but attractive in its simplicity, the plastered cabin was supposedly a replica of Thoreau's. The original site is elsewhere and a walk around Walden Pond from the noisy beach where many families were gathered on this rather warm Saturday.

As I was hoping for some solitude, Thoreau-style, I decided to walk the trail around the Pond. The further away I got from the small beach that was anything but quiet, the more I could imagine Thoreau had walked here and how peaceful he would have found this large and placid pond (more like a small lake, reminiscent of many in Northern Michigan). By the time I was on the opposite end, I was only seeing the occasional person in the water or walking along the pond's edge. I found a spot where, as there were at points along the trial, a small opening was made in the wire fence surrounding the pond (yes, not as Thoreau would have found it, no doubt), and stone "steps" progressed into the pond. I sat down and took off my sandals, and plunged my feet in the water as I munched on my snack of an apple and cheese. I thought of Thoreau who I'm sure would have taken time to do just this. The water was clear and cool--I could see good-sized perch among the stony outcroppings.

And yes, dear reader, I knew they were perch. Not because I am such a fisherwoman, though, but because the Oracle of Walden Pond came paddling up to my quiet enclave and told me. A man in what I took to be his late fifties, fit-looking, his face half-hidden behind the large sunglasses with side and top coverage that elderly folks sometimes wear, came paddling up--"How's it goin'?" he asked in his gruff New England voice. "Lovely weatha we're havin'; good to be out in it." He proceeded to reflect on life, the weather, relationships, marriage, fidelity, health, the surrounding area, and, by this point it was of little surprise, me.

His comments and questions alternated. He was by himself because his wife's back was bothering her. Do I get out and do sports? What was I doing here by myself? Why didn't people from the conference I told him about come down with me? People oughta be together, he noted. Marriage is a funny thing; his wife had been away for a week with girlfriends in New York, the first time she'd been away so long. He puttered around the house, but it was quiet. Upon her return he said, "If ya die, I'll be married within the year! I can't take being alone!" He was married thirty years, but he knew many who had gotten divorced. After a number of example, he asked, "So how 'bout you?" and related questions until he'd learned I was divorced, for how long, a brief statement about why, that I had grown children, and that I haven't been dating lately. "Ya oughta find someone," he told me, because things are different the older you are--it's good to have a person to spend time with. A beautiful woman, "A real knock-out!" that he knew married a man who was "so darn ordinary!" he couldn't believe she'd even have looked at him. "Go fig-ya!" I should talk to everyone I meet; the person I'm meant to be with could be anyone. So, I said, recapping, I should find someone to marry, and he could be anyone, so I should talk to anyone, even men who may be what I would consider unattractive. There was a pause. "Within reason!" he said, and with that erupted in a loud voice with, "Love's the glue that holds the world togetha!"

More advice, included telling me of a man he met who looked to be in his 40's but was really 80. "I told my docta, and he agreed: a different species!" he growled, admiringly. How old was I, he asked; forties? fifty? Ah, 52, I responded somewhat grudgingly. He was no flatterer, or otherwise, he might have asked if I was forty, though he did follow up with "ya look like ya work out." I should continue to work out, he said, because there's a certain age one hits when the next day, "bam!, ya might not wake up," and I should find a guy who also worked out (story here about wife who can't keep up with his skiing, kayaking, etc.), and so forth.

My head was spinning as I looked at my watch and thought I should be heading out. The sky was clouding up, I was on the other side of Walden Pond and still needed to walk back, visit a few more sites in Concord, and then drive to Plymouth before the day was over. I'd better go, I told him. I laughingly recapped some of the points he had provided me with, "yeah, yeah," he agreed. "I'm 72 years old!" he announced, and proceeded to give me a few more words of advice as I stood up; at that point, a young man I didn't know (no, not a prospect; much younger than me) came to stand beside me as he seemed to be looking for friends on the Pond. It seemed a good time to go, but I admit I was torn: the Oracle kept paddling, and talking, I kept hoping I'd remember all he said. But he, too, was heading in; he was getting tired, he admitted. He'd been out there most of the morning. He said to enjoy myself, and I left him paddling there.

By the time I walked the rest of the way around the pond, I found the spot where many kayakers beached their kayak. His wasn't there. I peered across the lake, wondering if I could see him--no sign of him. It was a large lake; I'd walked back quickly. I assume he could have paddled faster than I walked, or that he was in some cove somewhere, perhaps advising yet another visitor. The rest of the day, I tried to say at least hello to everyone I met.

(Thanks to my friend Michele for the title of this; I'd noted the oracle in the kayak, but this has a much better ring to it.)