Jan. 1, 1842.
The rude pioneer work of this world has been done by the most devoted worshippers of beauty. Their resolution has possessed a keener edge than the soldier's. In winter is their campaign; they never go into quarters. They are elastic under the heaviest burden, under the extremest physical suffering.
-H.D.T.
Jan. 1, 1858.
[T]he wilderness [in] which you are threading is, after all, some villager's familiar wood-lot from which his ancestors have sledded their fuel for generations, or some widow's thirds, minutely described in some old deed, which is recorded, of which the owner has got a plan, too, and old bound marks may be found every forty rods if you will search. What a history this Concord wilderness which I affect so much may have had! How many old deeds describe it, some particular wild spot, how it passed from Cole to Robinson, and Robinson to Jones, and Jones finally to Smith, in course of years! Some have cut it over three times during their lives, and some burned it and sowed it with rye, and built walls and made a pasture of it, perchance. All have renewed the bounds and reblazed the trees many times.
-H.D.T.
Jan. 1, 2021.
My family and I explore the trails of Upper Spencer Brook, which runs through a forested ravine among the stone walls that mark the boundaries of the former farmland that is now grown in and wild. For a time, our boys stop to linger behind, throwing sticks and rocks into the brook. My wife and I talk naturally, relaxed and away from our jobs and worries, feeling the happiness of the moment.
We have in the final days of 2020, spent time seeking happiness in the simplest, most pleasant of ways, being outside and exploring nature. On Dec. 30, we visited Plum Island, where we met and caught up with old friends on a frigid windswept day on the beach, and were privileged to see a snowy owl from afar. And yesterday, at October Farm Riverfront land in Concord we explored the many drumlins and the remains of naturalist William Brewster’s cabin at the river’s edge; on a northern peninsula facing a wetland, my wife discovered an unusual burl in the side of a tree that perfectly resembled the profile of a face. Just last night, we performed our annual tradition of throwing pieces of birch bark into a fire and reciting what we wish to cast away from the last year, and what endeavors and wishes we hope to pursue in the coming year. Among the thoughts and themes expressed, I wished to seek happiness in the everyday and spend more time in nature.
During this walk today, I talk with some excitement of how Thoreau’s journal might be used as a nature guide, with Thoreau himself prescribing daily walks and challenges of what to find. I have been recently looking through Herbert W. Gleason's photos from the early 1900s, which he uses to beautifully illustrate Thoreau's journals, and I wonder out loud if I can find a real life experience through the journals myself. My wife’s encouragement helped to transition the idea into actual possibility and it settled deeper into my mind.
Without any resolution, to undoubtedly be lost or unfinished, but out of a strong interest to create a new habit and endeavor to seek happiness in this time of so much difficulty, loss and sadness, I think, perhaps, I could give it a try: to seek beauty within Concord’s reforested patchwork of wild places within this cultural landscape; to travel not far, but often and near; and to see and know more about the places that I already love.
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