In the early spring of 1845, a young Henry David Thoreau retreated to the woods surrounding Walden Pond, near Concord Massachusetts, and began a living experiment building his own house and living off the land. Thoreau managed to sustain himself through farming and fishing; he hosted friends; he wrote. And yes, he walked to town for provisions and to visit friends and mentors, such as Emerson, during his two year stint in the woods.
This past spring, Becky and I began our own experiment of sorts, working with a builder to create our barndominium on the family farm where Becky grew up. The build site overlooks a rather large body of water (our own Walden?) currently filled with algae and duckweed (and little to no fish). But we have plans in our old age, and plenty of space to create our own sustainable gardens, arbors, orchards, and catchable and eatable fish. There is also more than ample supply of deer and wild turkey if we are so inclined to stock a freezer full of game.
Like Thoreau, from our vantage point, there will be no other neighbors in view--though others are within walking distance to the north of our build site. In short, we will be some 500 feet off the road, tucked back among old growth timber and surrounded be fields of corn and soy beans.
Some may ask, Why?
The answer(s) are complex. First, because we can. Secondly, it's our penultimate move--our last being (we hope much later) to the cemetery a few miles down the highway. And then, we also like the idea of the seclusion (dare I say, peace and quiet?) that these wide open spaces will afford us for morning cups of coffee, working in the gardens, miles-long hikes along the fields and through woods, and enjoying evenings outside/inside with family and friends. Can we, in essence, work up a self-sustainable supply of food stuffs? That's one goal. But the move goes even deeper.
Like Thoreau, whose second chapter in Walden deals with "Where I Lived, and What I Lived For"--we will have some proximity to the smaller towns and villages where Becky and I grew up, to the Wabash river, and to our own private body of water and woods. We are not far from civilization, but far enough disposed from it to say that we will be, in fact, living deeper into nature and deriving more of our existence from the water and the land.
Thoreau described it this way, but we can identify with his assessment: "being about two miles from the village, half a mile from the nearest neighbor, and separated from the highway by a broad field; its bounding on the river, protected by its frogs and frost in the spring, the gray colors and ruinous state of the barn, and the dilapidated fences, which put an interval between me and the last occupant, the hollow and lichen-cover apple trees, gnawed by rabbits...the recollection I had of it when the house was concealed behind a dense grove of red maples, through which I could hear a (distant) dog bark."
These, too, are our ideals. But it will take hard work and dedication in the years ahead to subdue the wild and domesticate our plot of earth. At least we currently hope we can make something of the property before we have no strength or resolve to work it any further. But by then we hope to have our gardens and groves planted, fish teaming, and ample time to sit and enjoy sunrises from the front porch and long walks among the fields in the evening breezes.
The building itself and the working of the land is daunting, as Thoreau realized (and which we know requires the strength, years, and stamina which are now in short supply).
Our own Walden is still in the making...but it will be fun to try.
