I have grown up with Walden always in my consciousness.
As a kid, I learned how to swim (and how to enjoy swimming and being in the water) there.
I have a memory of the pebbled cement dock that existed on the main beach up through the early 80's.
My Father was a great saunterer through forests, including a woods at the end of our street. Jericho Hill is a hilly area, its paths leading to many a backdoor and even a farm. He taught me to walk, to notice, to pay attention and to meander. He was my first, and probably best, walking companion. My fondest wish would be to have transcripts of those talks from my childhood. As with most polished memories, perhaps they are better lost to time. I have no specific memories, but I do have some photographs. I remember happiness.
I can date the last walk I took there with my father. Probably Spring of 1986, or maybe Fall. It was not swimming season. They had just open after a renovation in which they had removed the cement dock and created the stone retaining walls around the bathroom building by the main shore. We never swam there together; he died just before Thanksgiving of that year.
My mother would bring me and my best friends there during the summers. It is an easy 15 minutes from our house, leaving heavy traffic areas and meandering into farmland and fun landmarks. A change of mood as much as location.
I made my first lap around the pond with a younger friend at age 12, unannounced and unaccompanied by an adult. We had one pair of flipflops between us, which we dutifully shared and traded. We each wore one shoe for a while, then switched off. When we were about three quarters of the way around the pond, the Walden rescue speedboat asked if we were Anne & Tammy. The jig was up.
When I first discovered poetry, I convinced my friend Julie to become scribe for me, and I attempted to swim the pond in short laps, near to the shore. I would compose and shout verses to her and she transcribed my thoughts. I have always done my best work in the middle of the pond. Again, the results are probably best left to posterity.
I first saw across at the age of 20, or perhaps before. I had always been a good swimmer, and one day decided to conquer my fear of swimming across the immense distance. I had few achievable personal goals at the time, and fewer mentors to suggest them. So I challenged myself.
The clouds began to darken the skies before I got halfway across. I was terrified of being trapped at the other end of the pond by a thunderstorm or, if I was really slow, a sunset. I laugh at my naivete now, but I genuinely had little to no sense of time or how easy it would be to return on foot. (I did have a worried mother, who worried me twice as much) On my return, the clouds parted and I began singing "Blue Skies" to myself. Whenever I hear that song, I remember that moment. When despair seems so close, and then you are saved.
As a kid, I learned how to swim (and how to enjoy swimming and being in the water) there.
I have a memory of the pebbled cement dock that existed on the main beach up through the early 80's.
My Father was a great saunterer through forests, including a woods at the end of our street. Jericho Hill is a hilly area, its paths leading to many a backdoor and even a farm. He taught me to walk, to notice, to pay attention and to meander. He was my first, and probably best, walking companion. My fondest wish would be to have transcripts of those talks from my childhood. As with most polished memories, perhaps they are better lost to time. I have no specific memories, but I do have some photographs. I remember happiness.
I can date the last walk I took there with my father. Probably Spring of 1986, or maybe Fall. It was not swimming season. They had just open after a renovation in which they had removed the cement dock and created the stone retaining walls around the bathroom building by the main shore. We never swam there together; he died just before Thanksgiving of that year.
My mother would bring me and my best friends there during the summers. It is an easy 15 minutes from our house, leaving heavy traffic areas and meandering into farmland and fun landmarks. A change of mood as much as location.
I made my first lap around the pond with a younger friend at age 12, unannounced and unaccompanied by an adult. We had one pair of flipflops between us, which we dutifully shared and traded. We each wore one shoe for a while, then switched off. When we were about three quarters of the way around the pond, the Walden rescue speedboat asked if we were Anne & Tammy. The jig was up.
When I first discovered poetry, I convinced my friend Julie to become scribe for me, and I attempted to swim the pond in short laps, near to the shore. I would compose and shout verses to her and she transcribed my thoughts. I have always done my best work in the middle of the pond. Again, the results are probably best left to posterity.
I first saw across at the age of 20, or perhaps before. I had always been a good swimmer, and one day decided to conquer my fear of swimming across the immense distance. I had few achievable personal goals at the time, and fewer mentors to suggest them. So I challenged myself.
The clouds began to darken the skies before I got halfway across. I was terrified of being trapped at the other end of the pond by a thunderstorm or, if I was really slow, a sunset. I laugh at my naivete now, but I genuinely had little to no sense of time or how easy it would be to return on foot. (I did have a worried mother, who worried me twice as much) On my return, the clouds parted and I began singing "Blue Skies" to myself. Whenever I hear that song, I remember that moment. When despair seems so close, and then you are saved.
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