For a Lost Swimmer

(Parts read during the Healing Gathering on Friday, still in progress)

Prayer for the Unknown Swimmer

I have been you

Under the surface

Listening to the water

The sun streaming down

Like directions into the sky

We come here for peace

We shall look for you

And we will guard ourselves

and those around us

from being overtaken

As much as we can

We hope you have found your peace

And the last view, afternoon sunlight diffused through water

Dying, cradled in the arms of an old friend

==

I took a picture of a tourist the other day.

She was bringing her 6 month old baby

Held her securely above the water

Both giggled as her toes dipped into the water and kicked.

The first delicious taste of cool water.

Every time we breach the surface,

we are reborn.

Amniotic fluid, baptism, daily showers and rain

never enough until it floods.

Walden has watched us through the years and seasons.

Underwater for the first time,

friends and lovers we introduce

Glorious days of sun we share with strangers

And rainy days of mist which draw us into smaller insect worlds.

Henry's endless varieties of plants,

even he could not name all the visitors.

I wish I had a picture of the first time.

Walden holds us.

first frost

silver ghosts

Walden holds all of us.

We contain multitudes.

It holds our footprints in the sands, every stroke,

the first glorious morning our parent brought us to the shores.

Held us aloft above the surface, secure

Even Henry drowned. (Tuberculosis)

"A lake is the landscape's most beautiful and expressive feature. It is Earth's eye; looking into which the beholder measures the depth of his own nature." - Henry David Thoreau, 9. The Ponds, Walden

“Be it life or death, we crave only reality. If we are really dying, let us hear the rattle in our throats and feel the cold in the extremities; if we are alive, let us go about our business.”

We see you.

In the sunlight

In the sunset

Every person baptized by these waters

Or words

We will find you

Again and again

In this Fall

The sunset comes too soon

And the cold

We, lost in the forest,

Engulfed by the dark

Guide us, with whatever you have now

And we will care for you.

Our lost brother

75 yards

20 feet

63

The other shore

Never the same river twice

The Pond holds us all

Every day

Every visit

Footsteps as plentiful as grains of sand

Fertile forest floor

Silver ghosts of salmon

Swim in the deepest

We, the living, will look harder

Help

Bikers, hikers

We will be kinder

More considerate

Try to be careful on our own journeys

We will find you in the setting sun

Henry's footsteps

Decordova's vision

Children and tourists

Help us

When we are missing

What we miss in our lives

The sunset of our days

The chill is on us all

We are you

Help us to find

We will listen for each other

May you be at peace.

We will find you

Again and again

Simple Simple Healing & Peace Gathering

I posted this on Facebook.  Thoreau Society.  Walden Woods.  I told a swimmer (Sue) I had met these past two days (both of which were in the 80's).  Took a picture of a woman from Newton, who didn't think she was photogenic.

"For anyone and everyone who loves Walden Pond, 

Unofficial, Unorganized Healing & Peace Gathering 

Friday Afternoon 5:30 to 6:15ish
(Parking Lot Gates close at 6:30)

On the Beach.
Bring a poem, thought, prayer.

If you can't be there in person,
send thoughts from where you are.
And carry them with you the next time you visit.

Simple. Simple."

==

Yesterday (Wed), I went up to my chin, treading water. Didn't go very far, wanted to get out before the sun disappeared.

Today (Thurs) the water was numbingly cold, but I swam halfway anyway.

I ran into someone who knows more about the man and where he was found.  He pointed to a spot. Which I shall always call "John's Spot"  (as if The Man was named John, John Doe).

That is where I swam to today.   Thinking about bits of a poem and needing to create a "gathering", if only for myself.

Lost Man

Sunday was a beautiful day.  Perfect for a swim.

The Walden Woods Project posted the above marvelous picture (Monday afternoon, 2:28pm on FB) with the caption:

"The woods were beautiful this morning, full of fog and funnel-weavers' gossamer."

The picture seemed like an oil painting from another time.

Sunday evening, just as the sun was fully setting, a man was reported missing.  That Monday afternoon, the Woods were full of police officers, searching.  Hoping that a man had staggered out of the water, getting lost and hopefully just confused and dehydrated.

I have spent the past summer, and summers before that, wandering through the woods.  I have stayed on the paths mostly. This past summer especially, I joined a group of hikers calling themselves "Saunterers", like Henry.

I know the paths. The trees melting into their fall colors.  Spiders and small bugs.  Things which were unknown to me once.

I know the surface of the pond.  I do not know the bottom.

He was found on Tuesday, just before noon.  75 yards from shore, in water 20 feet deep.

Rest in Peace.

Swimming Tour of Walden

One of my many fantasies about Walden includes creating and leading a swimming tour of Walden.

Bring just your body, bathing suit and your brain.  No watches, waterproof iPhones.  No cameras and no baggage.

Ideally, twice a day.  Plan for two hours total, but try not to schedule anything immediately afterwards.  You may want to stay longer.

We'd meet inside the Thoreau replica.  Always a good idea to get a sense of Henry's life.  A cozy room, just enough.  Especially good to contrast with the immensity of the water.  Maybe recommend that people pick up a small stone (to be carried in their belly button).

We'd cross to the map, where I'd point out the shape of the pond.  A one legged buffalo.  Or a cathedral.  I'd point out the bays, stuff that people had read in books.

Then we'd go down to the water.

Right at the bottom of the ramp, go down the steps, drop your towel & shoes on the stone wall.  Vamp a little bit, maybe go around asking names while we all get a little used to the temperature of the water.  Stand up to our waists for a few minutes.

Then dive in.

I'd encourage everyone to follow me a little past the view of the swimming ropes, out of earshot of the children's shouts.  Discuss how the shoreline has changed, how the water ate the beach during the summer of 2011 (?).  The renovation & retaining walls installed in 1986, the removal of a concrete pier & my memories of it.  Learning to swim in these waters.  Swimming there every summer of my life.  An annual baptism.

Lifeguard Beach, although there are never any lifeguards there, and this is the first year they've installed swimming ropes there.  It's preferable if you want to get away from the crowds at the main beach, but the stones make for difficulty walking or standing.  Turtle nest there.

Further in, close to the middle, we'd stop and contemplate.  I'd point out paths to Henry's Beanfield, his hut, the train tracks, direction of Fairhaven Bay (the forest fire), Emerson's Cliff, the Andromeda ponds.

But I wouldn't want to give it all away, just yet.

Mostly, we'd tread water, look around, and enjoy.  This is my favorite place in the entire world.  I've seen the pond frozen over.  (And am too much of a chicken to walk to this spot even with thick ice)  We'd discuss Henry's use of time. "A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers".  The seasons of the year, even though he was there for 2 years, 2 months and 2 days in the book "Walden".  How timeless it is for someone like me.  Exactly the same as when I first swam across (the "Blue Skies" story), even though I might be a completely different person.  How it will be the same when I step into it when I am 90.  The funny quote about "never stepping into the same river twice", and this pond being a contrast.

We'd swim to Henry's Cove.  Get out, see if people are comfortable walking up to the House Site.  Moments for quiet contemplation and dropping off the bellybutton stones.

I'm a person who is hesitant to walk anywhere barefooted.  Although I have walked around the whole pond barefoot, and once 3/4 of the way sharing a pair of flipflops with a friend when I was 12.  BUt if we are feeling strong as a group, I may take them up the Fire Road.

The Moguls, my second favorite spot on the paths, third favorite on the property.  Henry knew it as the Deep Cut.  It's a 15 minute walk from the edge of the pond, Ice Fort Cove.  The meeting of Rt 2 and the railroad tracks, the edge of the property.  Huge pine trees and curving hills that would make any roller-coaster lover happy.

The pine trees make the trails soft to walk upon.  Unbelievably soft.  Suddenly Henry's barefoot lifestyle seems less difficult than you could have ever thought possible.

We'd dive in again at Ice Fort Cove.  I'd explain about how the trees block the view from Emerson's Cliff.  How Henry's view of the tree-lined shore as a child was similar to what we are looking at now.  But when he was living here, the trees had been mostly cut down, for the railroad, for timber and for firewood.

I'd talk about the Irish workers who lived by the railroad tracks.  And the 1/4 mile horsetrack on the other side of the tracks.  And the amusement park, which welcomed thousands between 1866-1902.  Today the crowds are limited to one thousand lucky people at one time.  (I've always preferred popular places when they are deserted, and somehow the joy of the inner-city ghosts who once came still haunt the waters.  Walden accommodates everyone and everything, and returns to itself)

There are trails to explore surrounding the pond, and I'd encourage hikers to go to Heywood's Meadow.  I've seen beaver there, plus evidence of their hard work. Stumps carved into perfect cones, like something from a cartoon.

Somehow the return swim always seems shorter and quicker.  I'd encourage everyone to do a bit of birding (or clouding, as per the crowd's tastes).  I saw a Great Blue Heron while I was doing the backstroke & staring at some clouds yesterday.  It is the time for serious contemplation and great thought.  The shore comes up too quickly.

At the end, I'd also say that back when I was a youngster, the Ice Cream Truck was thankfully parked in the Boat Parking Lot.  But now it lives across the street in the regular one.  And it is a great place to sample another sense (taste).  And to examine license plates and accents from different parts of the country & world.

Swims This Season (so far)

Everytime I look at Walden, especially up close, I want to dive right in.  Summer is my favorite season there.  Followed by Spring, when I anticipate swimming.  Or Fall, when I think back on swimming.  Or even Winter, when I contemplate the ice and wonder how long it will be for the snow and ice to melt before I can swim again.

This week, it was Monday morning (because I had just gotten back from New York).  Across the pond and back.  It's only .5 of a mile, I learned this week.  (I'm bad at numbers, I used to think it was 1.5, which is closer to the circumference around the pond).  Also used to think it was 120 feet (the height of the inside of Grand Central), but it is only 102 feet deep.   Which does make it the deepest in all of Massachusetts.  I still like to imagine the whole of Grand Central submerged beneath me.

I went for a walk later as well, by then it was oddly too cold to go for another swim.  The nights were getting down to 40 degrees.  Throughout July, even the water temperature got up close to 80 degrees in some parts!!  (The shallow parts, I'm sure.  Someone said they had to stop swimming because they were sweating so much . . .?)

Wednesday, I went for a Literary walk, a Park Interpreter led us out at 5:30.  We were meditating on the essay, "Walking", published after his death.  I went for a half swim (1 hour, paddling past Lifeguard Beach and hanging around until the announcements)

Thursday, I stole a full swim in the late evening.  The humidity made the sun and clouds look yellow, bouncing light off the water.  The forecast was for rain, heavy rain, all day.  But it was cleared up by 2, and I was in the water from 6-7:30!!

Friday rained.  Saturday rain is expected.  Sunday and Monday, SUN!!

Lovely when you discover that you exercise is also your compulsion.

My History

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.