Pilgrimage
WALDEN POND
Henry David Thoreau has been an influence on my life since I was in high school. It wasn’t just his great “sound bite” quotes, although they continue to act as reminders, but the entirety of his writings, the complete thoughts and philosophies. I’ve never been able, in this crazy world to simplify as Thoreau would have liked, but I try to aspire to the idea. His writings about travel and noting the natural world around you are what motivated a group of friends to gather each summer for a decade to take a week or two travelling the East on our bicycles. For years I hiked with a walking stick inscribed with the phrase, “Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes.” I have become a compulsive walker in his example and many of my personal politics and philosophies stem from Civil Disobedience and Life Without Principle.
Not as influential to me personally, but more generally well-known is Thoreau’s book, Walden, about the time he spent in a cabin on Walden Pond. In the early 1970s, on one of the aforementioned bicycle trips we rode past that area on our way through Concord. Even at that time there had been talk of developing the area around the pond. The pond itself, donated to the Commonwealth by Ralph Waldo Emerson’s descendants (Emerson, who owned the area was a good friend of Thoreau’s), was more or less protected. By the 1970s, it had however, been drastically changed. There was a deteriorating concrete pier, access was largely uncontrolled and nearby road noise permeated the woods. In other words, Henry would have run from the site. With the burgeoning environmental movement, the state committed to restoring the pond area in time for the Bicentennial.
Walden Pond was effectively resurrected. The beach remained, but in a more natural state and the place returned to a more parklike condition. The next big threat came in the late 1980s when a couple major housing projects were proposed, not for the immediate pond area but the surrounding woods. A group of people, most prominently Don Henley of the Eagles, actively opposed such development and eventually the Walden Woods Project was founded and purchased much of the woods area surrounding the pond.
Because this place was so treasured by and associated with Thoreau, who holds a deep spiritual meaning for me, I was somewhat reluctant to visit the place. I was relieved that it hadn’t become WaldenPondLand or Henry’s Haven Cabins. But I still wasn’t sure how I’d feel if it featured Hank’s Hotdog Stand or the Transcendental Tram to the cabin site. When we arrived I was not displeased.
There was the usual parking area, but that of course was to be expected. And the first beach area was quite filled with folks. But they were families and seemed really to be enjoying the pleasant day. But what struck me most was that there were a number of people out swimming in the pond. Now, I don’t mean just splashing about in a roped off beach area. They were way out in the pond, some of them obviously swimming the perimeter. I think Thoreau would have approved. These people were enjoying the very things that drew him into the woods. We took the trail to the site of Thoreau’s cabin. It was a very pleasant walk along the water’s edge. The cabin site is totally unremarkable, a couple unobtrusive signs with only a terse explanation. Thoreau would probably have laughed out loud to think that future citizens would walk explicitly to stand where he once lived in solemn reverence. I don’t think he would be upset, considering how the world has changed, with the condition of his brief home.
The cabin site doesn’t emanate the majesty of the Grand Canyon or the vastness of the Cape Breton seashore but has its own aura. It gave me the same feeling I get when I stand before a painting by daVinci or in front of Einstein’s house in Princeton. The essence of greatness, of exceptionalism, are tangible in the very molecules in the vicinity. It had been many years since I had really thought on Thoreau, caught up in the “quiet desperation” of my own life. However, since that visit I have thought of him often and tried again to take his words into my life; if not daily, then at least regularly.
For many Baby Boomers, Thoreau’s name is right there with Tolkien and Vonnegut. If you are a believer in the power of place, a visit to Walden Pond State Reservation state park might just feel restorative to your soul.
WOODSTOCK
Well, not really Woodstock. By now I think people realize that “Woodstock” wasn’t really held at Woodstock, but rather at White Lake in the town of Bethel, about 50 miles away. Once Max Yasgur’s dairy farm, (an authentic, original Yasgur’s Dairy milk bottle has become quite the collectible by the way) the site of the Woodstock Music & Art Fair remains quite rural. It was the location for occasional “reunion” shows, but now is home to the Bethel Woods Center for the Arts, which includes an outdoor auditorium (not at the same spot of the original stage) and the Museum at Bethel Woods.
Many, many more people claim to have been at Woodstock than any attendance estimates would deem possible. I make no such claim, I was too young to attend. Despite my interest in music and being a fan of nearly all the artists, it was out of the question. My Dad was a great supporter of my interest in music, over the years he hauled me to and attended concerts as diverse as Blood, Sweat and Tears and Humble Pie. But this was another story altogether, so- no.
Nevertheless, Woodstock represents something to me. It was one of those golden moments of a generation and eventually took on mythic status. The music, the legendary (and sometimes short-lived) artists, the sense of community all lasted far beyond that brief, shining moment (as they say). It was my music, my older friends and relatives, my counterculture Nation. Many of the things that remained important in my life had their beginnings, if not their zenith at Woodstock.
My natural cynicism and tendency toward jaded disappointment had always kept me away from the actual site. I think also a sense of having been so close to something big but missing it gave me a feeling of sad envy. Our children had always heard about Woodstock, seen the movie and heard a lot about the 60s, both its music and culture. So one summer day we headed for Bethel Woods, not in a hand-painted VW Beetle, but in our high safety-rated hybrid.
I had fears of Woodstock-Land, with Jimi-burgers and Santana shakes. But it’s not like that. The buildings are a little on the generic museum side, but not something out of Vegas. The museum is really nice, full of memorabilia and displays about not only Woodstock but the 60s in general. It’s similar to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame only more specific. But the real draw, for me, is simply the location. I know I’ll sound like one of the spaced out hippies who were really there, but I could feel the history of the place. I guess you could say the “vibe.” At the bottom of the hill I could stand where Michael Shrieve was when he played that fanstastic drum solo. I could stand and look up where the light towers loomed among the sea of humanity. Here was where the world met Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. I could see where Arlo jumped out of the chopper and where the Hog Farm holed up. If the 60s mean something to you, the presence at Bethel Woods is not unlike the feeling history buffs get standing atop Little Roundtop at Gettysburg.
It felt good to be there, finally. Yeah, I’m old now and so are all those who were there- those who are still around. But that’s ok. Everybody’s always kidding us Boomers about being so nostalgic and I try not to dwell on the past. But really, if you’re comfortable in your own skin, then all the things you held as valued over your history are part of what made you. And if you really want to flash, every summer there’s a great lineup of music at the Performing Arts Center on the other side of the hill.