Category Archives: Living Deliberately

The New Walden, Part Two

By Corinne H. Smith

Last month, as described in a story posted here on February 15th, graphic designer Matt Steel launched his Kickstarter campaign to publish a New Walden. His intent was twofold: to adapt Thoreau’s original text with updated language; and to use design to present a more readable and more attractive book. He knew his approach could be misunderstood at first and could also be seen as controversial. Although he got good press and immediate contributors during the first week, he also got a lot of quick, negative feedback.

“I felt I couldn’t ignore it,” Matt said. “And it came from people from all over, from readers and writers of all ages. Not just from The Thoreau Society members and academics. It became clear to me that adaptation was NOT the best way to keep this book evergreen.” He agreed that perhaps he had been a bit overzealous with his initial plan.

As a result, Matt has revised the goals of his project. He will NOT change Thoreau’s words. He will still design a beautiful, easier-to-read version of “Walden.” “Even people who were against the idea of adaptation, thought my design was beautiful,” he said. The font he is using is a tribute to Thoreau too, and one that calls upon the family’s roots. “It’s more Huguenot, with a French boldness,” he explains.

Matt will additionally focus on including annotations intended to help lay readers understand some of the now-uncommon references. The notes won’t be as scholarly as the ones found in the three previous annotated Waldens. And he won’t use footnotes, either. Each description will appear in the margin adjacent to the text it applies to. “Superscripts seem biblical or encyclopedic,” Matt said. With proper note placement, no one will have to search for answers. He sees the value of this edition in its overall design and readability.

To Matt’s knowledge, no other Kickstarter campaign has changed its course in mid-campaign. How did his early backers react to the news? “70% said they would stick with us if we made the change,” he said. “About 40% still preferred the idea of the adaptation.” He went along with the majority decision. He hopes that some of the people who were at first put off by the project will come back and become part of it. To date, only about 25% of the dollars have been committed. His fundraising drive is scheduled to end on March 17, 2016.

What will happen if the New Walden isn’t fully funded? “I’ll have to think of the next step,” said Matt. “I won’t be done with Henry. But I may take a break to reflect and refocus. I continue to admire Thoreau’s complexities and his ability to consider both sides of an issue.” He’ll keep “Walden” and Thoreau close in his life, no matter what the outcome turns out to be.

You can visit Matt’s Kickstarter page and see his updated video and description at:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/2001070129/the-new-walden

May the Forsythia Be With You

Okay, cheap the title may be. But spring begins in the mind, takes hold as attitude, enabled, of course, by the rising light.

During the past few days, the temperature hasn’t reached thirty, and much of the time, its cold nose has found a way through any opening. Still, the first forsythia have bloomed. Yes, these yellow sprays are really forced-sythia, a rite of spring learned from my father, and one that in many years (last, for example) has had me hip deep in snow, cutting sprigs with my clippers.

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This year, I strolled right up to the wiry branches and took my time choosing those that showed a good number of buds. Then, I set them in a vase of warm water, and along with the rest of the watching world, began to wait. Even in their spare winter form, the branches are handsome, describing curves in the air, reaching for what’s next.

And in their incremental, daily swelling, the buds offer reminder of rebirth. This year, the light joins them; it falls in streaks across the dun colors and lifts the heads of a few winter-flattened ferns in pockets of woods. The glare of reflected, eye-squinting white is absent – last winter was so bright, I had often had to look away. And, by this time in March last year, many of us were trying also to get away.

But here, gift of El Nino, or warning from climate, or simply, gift, comes spring and its varied arrivals. For me true spring will arrive with the scratchy song of the redwing blackbirds, as they celebrate every wetland, little and large, with announcement.

But, for now, I’ll take these little, yellow blossoms. Sure I am with me the force-sythia is.

Seeding the Breeze

Their gray stalks stand still at attention. Even after winter’s varied batterings, many of them are intact, though closer inspection finds the ground littered with remnants too. On this sunny, early March morning when winter seems to have given up on itself, the southwest breeze brings scent of ocean, and it stirs also these milkweeds. As I watch, a finger of air finds one brown seed suspended beneath its silky white parachute, and the whole ensemble lifts off; at eye-level, it sways in place, seems to hesitate, then it flies upfield, with the wind.

All across this small forest-girt meadow, this flight happens again and again, and sometimes the air seems seeded with a snow that rises, that aims to ascend again to the sky. I am mesmerized by the flight of seeds. Also by their promise.

I let one go, and it rises slowly and uncertainly at first, now driven this way, then that, by invisible currents, and I fear it will make shipwreck against the neighboring wood. But no; as it approaches it, it surely rise above it, and then feeling the strong north wind, it is borne off rapidly in the opposite direction, over Deacon Farrar’s woods, ever rising higher and higher, and tossing and heaved about with every fluctuation of the air, till at fifty rods off and one hundred feet above the earth, steering south — I lose sight of it. Thoreau, Faith in a Seed

When I left for home, I took with me two pods, one with its silky seed-strands matted by winter snow and water, the other seemingly just burst. Along the way a few seeds floated away – I was, intentionally for a while, one of Nature’s dispersers. I was also drawn by the colors of the pods, a driftwood-pale-gray, against which the white seed strands glowed, and the dark brown heart of seed suspended below. A perfect composite of earth and sky.

Thoreau observed milkweed seeds closely, and, of course, counted them too, finding 134 in one pod and 270 in another.

Thoreau observed milkweed seeds closely, and, of course, counted them too, finding 134 in one pod and 270 in another.

Despite its weedy surname, milkweed is no throwaway plant. Not, anyway, if you like the monarch butterfly. Preferred food and nursing-station for the larvae of these remarkable migrant butterflies, milkweeds have long been under human attack for their seeming uselessness. They are no “crop,” goes the reasoning, so why cede field-space to them?

But if your crop is beauty and miracle, if, in short, your crop is life, then you will admire the milkweed. Not only do its seeds fly finely on the wind, but they enable also the multinational life of the monarch. Reason enough to praise rather than poison the milkweed.

And as often happens with sightings while I walk, these milkweeds have sent me back to readings, both on line and in Faith in a Seed, Brad Dean’s remarkable “first publication of Thoreau’s last manuscript” in 1993. It is the finest kind of spring reading.

Here’s an excellent University of Minnesota website for Monarch Questions: http://monarchlab.org/biology-and-research/ask-the-expert/faq/