Category Archives: Living Deliberately

Looncast

One of the wired life’s pleasures lies in suddenly being taken elsewhere, or, at least, reminded of it. Just so the other day when my inbox brought news from Yellowstone; it promised loon news to boot.

As the poet Gary Lawless notes in these perfect lines from his poem, Listening for Loons,

“like loons we dive under
dive under and
come up somewhere else.’”

And so I leaned forward to see where this loon might rise, where I might come up. The indicator-ripple was one line: “Click on To Catch a Loon when you have 11 minutes.”

Can loons hold their breath for 11 minutes, I wondered as I checked my watch, where I found that I didn’t have 11 immediate moments. “Later,” I said…and worried vaguely that the note might not be there when I returned – that both is and isn’t the way with loons, I’ve found.

In the warmer seasons, when yearlings are along the summer coast, or, in the fall, when parent-loons show up too, I often find gatherings, 4s or 7s of them at predictable sites along my kayak-trails. Then again, every third time, there’s no one there, and I’ve stopped counting the times when, out in the middle of absence, I hear a floating call. For which I always stop and begin scanning the wavelets and reflections until I spot the loon.

In a warmer season.

In a warmer season.

Eleven unspoken-for minutes appeared yesterday, and I clicked the link, feeling the imagined Gs warp me some as I was drawn toward Yellowstone. A call/howl greeted me; a voice intoned that I was hearing a “top predator.” Okay, wolf, I was sure. Then, the podcast morphed to the call of another “top predator”: ah, loon, of course. Boss bird of the lake.

A little rock music followed, to remind me that all life has a soundtrack, and then the narrator’s voice took me into the nights: specifically into the night woods trekking toward the night lake, where loon biologists would attempt the night capture and banding of a mother loon, one of only a dozen loons living in the park.

One of the biologists was loon-notable, Jeff Fair, a friend whose 40+ years of fieldwork form an important part of our loon-knowing. Fair would also be the night-paddler, who would steer the canoe to the loon-catching point – who paddles so precisely and quietly, arriving alongside a bird that Henry Thoreau (famously) could only laugh with from an always-different distance during his loon-games on Walden? Loon-master Fair.

Well, if you’ve read this far, it’s clear that you have 11 minutes to spare; what about another 11? Click this link for a little travel and some looning; send it on to the varied birds of your life. They will like you for it.

http://www.nps.gov/yell/learn/photosmultimedia/telemetry.htm

Best news: these 11 minutes contain a little audio-tutorial on making baby loon calls, which are central to the strategy of capturing a loon at night. Those calls lure the loon, and they will be a rich replacement for the poor imitation of Loonish that I have so far voiced when trying (repeatedly, I confess) to strike up conversations. When no one else is here, I have begun practicing already.

Already, I sense summer answer.

A loon out there in the Walden mist?

A loon out there in the Walden mist?

A New Version of Walden

By Corinne H. Smith

How many a man has dated a new era in his life from the reading of a book. ~ Thoreau, “Reading,” Walden

Five years ago, 31-year-old Matt Steel of St. Louis read Thoreau’s Walden for the first time. Or at least, he tried to read it. He found the going a bit rough. First of all, he was accessing a copy of the unformatted text on his iPad, which didn’t make the words visually appealing. His reading sessions were interrupted at whim whenever text messages or software updates chimed through the device. (The irony of using a tool designed for multitasking in order to read a book encouraging simplicity was not lost on him, either.) And then there was the matter of Thoreau’s use of 19th-century language and references to classical literature. Now, Matt is a smart guy, and he really wanted to read Walden. At this time in his life, he felt he NEEDED to read it. But barriers kept appearing.

Finally, between the iPad screen and a 1993 Barnes & Noble print copy of Walden (loaned to him by his mother), Matt got deeper into the book. And he was blown away. He connected with Thoreau’s ideas immediately and found similarities in his own life – with an interest in closeness to nature, the independence and rights of the individual, the choice to live deliberately. Most of all he admired the concept of simplicity “and intentional slowness, leaving room for higher, transformative pursuits,” as he calls it. The concepts resonated with this busy, married, father of three who searched for a balance of work, rest, and play in his own life. He saw Thoreau as a benevolent teacher who was willing to share his ideas with an eager new student.

Matt became an instant Walden fan. And he wanted to pass along his enthusiasm for the book with everyone he met. But as many of us Thoreauvians have discovered, he found he had to couch his recommendations. This situation bothered him. “I didn’t want to have to always provide a caveat,” he said. “I didn’t want to keep telling people they should read Walden – ‘BUT’ …”

We know this “but.” But: the first chapter, “Economy,” is long and can be difficult to manage. But: sometimes you have to read long sentences a few times to fully understand them. But: Thoreau seems to follow tangents on occasion, and he refers to pieces of classical literature that few readers are familiar with today. But, but, but.

As a lover of language and as an accomplished graphic designer, Matt thought he could come up with a solution for these challenges. He could produce a better looking book with good typography, layout, and illustrations, first of all. He also could update syntax and find better ways of conveying those older cultural references to contemporary readers. In essence, he could create a version of Walden as if Thoreau were writing it in the 21st-century. The project soon became larger than he first anticipated. He backtracked and did some research on Thoreau’s life, including devouring Walter Harding’s biography, The Days of Henry Thoreau. And he added two new members to his team to help him: co-editor writer and poet Billy Merrell, who is also a Thoreau fan; and illustrator Brooks Salzwedel, who specializes in scenes of nature and the environment.

Matt was inspired by the recent example set by book designer Adam Lewis Greene. In 2014, Greene announced his goal to redesign and rework the language and structure of the Bible. He created a linguistic update of a public-domain translation of the text. He launched a Kickstarter campaign to raise $37,000 to cover his publication costs – and met this goal in just 24 hours. To date, Greene has gotten $1.4 million in pledged funds for his new version of the Bible. The four-volume Bibliotheca is currently in production and is available for pre-order. If the Bible could be adapted and updated, Matt thought, why not Walden?

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Matt has spent the last eight months working with the text. He is quick to point out that he is not “simplifying” or dumbing it down. He’s not removing any of Thoreau’s ideas from the original book. He did break up “Economy” into multiple thematic chapters for easier understanding, however. And he’s not imposing his own style of writing onto Thoreau’s work. He’s scrutinizing each line and determining whether or not it may require translation into contemporary American speech.

For example: take one of Thoreau’s best-known sentences: “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.”

In order to replace the old-time use of the gender specific, Matt at first altered the line to: “Most people lead lives of quiet desperation.”

Upon further reflection, he knew these words didn’t carry quite the same meaning as the original. Now he is leaning instead toward: “The masses lead lives of quiet desperation.”

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And he’s still not sure. We’ll have to wait to find out what the final decision will be.

Matt has learned much since he took on this personal project. He says that his respect for Henry Thoreau and for the man’s most famous book have escalated over the past months. He is humbled by the complexity he finds in Thoreau’s poetic prose. He believes that Thoreau’s retreat to the pond and his public sharing of the experience through publishing the book in 1854 was “a great act of philanthropy.” “If Thoreau had been the hermit some folks still assume he was,” Matt says, “he could have kept his ideas and his words to himself. This wasn’t the case. I believe he was a teacher at heart, until the day he died.”

And yet, he knows how committed Thoreau fans are to the original Walden. Some folks consider it their own Bible. Matt assures us that the new book doesn’t seek to replace the original. He hopes people will look at both versions side by side and will give his edition a chance. Or, perhaps, that Thoreauvians may point to his book as a new reader’s way into Walden’s world. You can see a preview of the first chapters at https://medium.com/life-learning/walden-part-1-economy-chapter-1-d0c7eb6e35d#.69h7gwozh.

newWalden_inside1

To fund this project, Matt Steel will launch his own Kickstarter campaign on February 16, 2016. He intends to print 2,000 copies of his Walden adaptation later this year. When it comes out, Matt will be 37: the same age that Thoreau was at the time of his publication in 1854. This story is yet another example of the influence Henry Thoreau continues to have on individuals today. We wish him good luck!

Valentine to a Tree

Bear with me. I have a particular tree, or three, in mind.

Forewarning: I’ve yet to escape the pull of Michael Pollan’s Second Nature, which, for a Thoreau reader, appeals like catnip. Every x pages – pick a prime number – there he is, usually, as figure to contend with, but wearing too a scarf of written affection.

In particular, I’ve been taken by Pollan’s chapter on planting a tree, which, he hopes, will cast a positive reminder of his presence over the land where he lives in Cornwall, CT. His chosen tree is a Norway Maple, into which he is talked when his first choice, a Sugar (or rock) Maple, is deemed risky because of broad assault on it by the pear thrip, a scourge boosted by our region’s warming. And the planting of this tree, meant, over time, to provide crowning grace to the land, is central to the chapter, but it is also a pretext for a series of ruminations on trees and how we view them. Here we enter Thoreau’s woods. And others.

Pollan’s large argument is for a reimagining of our relations with nature, for abandoning the polarity of nature versus culture, or wilderness versus civilization. Excluding or trumpeting one in favor of the other leads invariably to trouble, he says, to an overemphasis, which unbalances us all in our cities and in our woods. Better, he says, to look to the tilled garden as an example of how we may live as part of/in concert with Nature. I think here also of the annual garden at Thoreau Farm.

And here Pollan is, I think, not as far from Thoreau as he says. Pollan likes to cast Thoreau as a wilderness zealot, a Romantic tree-hugger. But, even given some of his wild statements (“I wish to make an extreme statement, if so I may make an emphatic one…” Walking), Henry Thoreau lived in the margin, (“For my part, I feel that with regard to Nature I live a sort of border life…” Walking) lived between town and wild, and he made much of that middle ground, which, when you think of it that way, sounds like a sort of gardening, an arrangement to work with Nature, to make choices and take responsibility for them. His rows of writing are the crop of that middle ground, and surely, they partake of both Nature and culture; they are its hybrid.

Which brings me to trees. Pollan likes to name trees of various eras, invoking our capacity (need?) for metaphor and forming general attitude toward what surrounds us, and so, in this tree chapter, we meet Puritan Tree, Colonial Tree, Romantic Tree, Political Tree. Each is valued and treated by human culture in a particular, often lumbering way. And, as he plants his maple, Pollan looks ahead, hoping for a reimagining of trees. Perhaps, he muses, we will have Lung or Canary Trees, named for their capacity to provide oxygen or let us know when things are amiss with climate. He finds those possibilities superior to Litigious Tree, citizen of a biocentric world, a tree with rights and standing to sue.

All of this reading and wondering has made me tree-aware, appreciative in an affectionate way, and that has sent me out the door to visit a White Pine that’s trailside on the way to our Commons. Each time I pass, I stop and run my hand over the rough corrugations of its bark, then lean in toward its trunk and look up: the pine obscures the sky; it seems to hold it up. And, as I lean there, balanced to its bulk, I hope that its tomorrow is like today – a little wind, a little snow, the company of the grove, and, in places, the warm hand of the sun. It is, I suppose, a Romantic Tree, but the day of hearts ahead is a conjury of human culture, and so perhaps the two balance each other.

Here’s to the trees in your lives; here, below, are some that I visit.

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Well, now I'm cheating a bit, but I do visit this sequoia every time I go to the Luxembourg Gardens.

Well, now I’m cheating a bit, but I do visit this sequoia every time I go to the Luxembourg Gardens.