
Walden Study Text
Chapter X: Baker Farm
SOMETIMES I RAMBLED to pine groves, standing like temples, or like fleets at sea,
full-rigged, with wavy boughs, and rippling with light, so soft and green and
shady that the Druids would have forsaken their oaks to worship in them; or
to the cedar wood beyond Flint's Pond, where the trees, covered with hoary blue
berries, spiring higher and higher, are fit to stand before Valhalla , and the
creeping juniper covers the ground with wreaths full of fruit; or to swamps where
the usnea lichen hangs in festoons from the black-spruce trees, and toadstools,
round tables of the swamp gods, cover the ground, and more beautiful fungi adorn
the stumps, like butterflies or shells, vegetable winkles; where the swamp-pink
and dogwood grow, the red alderberry glows like eyes of imps, the waxwork grooves
and crushes the hardest woods in its folds, and the wild holly berries make the
beholder forget his home with their beauty, and he is dazzled and tempted by nameless
other wild forbidden fruits, too fair for mortal taste. Instead of calling on
some scholar, I paid many a visit to particular trees, of kinds which are rare
in this neighborhood, standing far away in the middle of some pasture, or in the
depths of a wood or swamp, or on a hilltop; such as the black birch, of which
we have some handsome specimens two feet in diameter; its cousin, the yellow birch,
with its loose golden vest, perfumed like the first; the beech, which has so neat
a bole and beautifully lichen-painted, perfect in all its details, of which, excepting
scattered specimens, I know but one small grove of sizable trees left in the township,
supposed by some to have been planted by the pigeons that were once baited with
beechnuts near by; it is worth the while to see the silver grain sparkle when
you split this wood; the bass; the hornbeam; the Celtis occidentalis, or false
elm, of which we have but one well-grown; some taller mast of a pine, a shingle
tree, or a more perfect hemlock than usual, standing like a pagoda in the midst
of the woods; and many others I could mention. These were the shrines I visited
both summer and winter.
Once it chanced that I stood in the very abutment of a rainbow's arch, which
filled the lower stratum of the atmosphere, tinging the grass and leaves around,
and dazzling me as if I looked through colored crystal. It was a lake of rainbow
light, in which, for a short while, I lived like a dolphin. If it had lasted
longer it might have tinged my employments and life. As I walked on the railroad
causeway, I used to wonder at the halo of light around my shadow, and would
fain fancy myself one of the elect. One who visited me declared that the shadows
of some Irishmen before him had no halo about them, that it was only natives
that were so distinguished. tells us in his memoirs, that,
after a certain terrible dream or vision which he had during his confinement
in the castle of St. Angelo a resplendent light appeared over the shadow of
his head at morning and evening, whether he was in Italy or France, and it was
particularly conspicuous when the grass was moist with dew. This was probably
the same phenomenon to which I have referred, which is especially observed in
the morning, but also at other times, and even by moonlight. Though a constant
one, it is not commonly noticed, and, in the case of an excitable imagination
like Cellini's, it would be basis enough for superstition. Beside, he tells
us that he showed it to very few. But are they not indeed distinguished who
are conscious that they are regarded at all?

I set out one afternoon to go a-fishing to Fair Haven, through the woods,
to eke out my scanty fare of vegetables. My way led through Pleasant Meadow,
an adjunct of the Baker Farm, that retreat of which a poet has since sung, beginning,
"Thy entry is a pleasant field,
Which some mossy fruit trees yield
Partly to a ruddy brook,
By gliding musquash undertook,
And mercurial trout,
Darting about."
I thought of living there before I went to Walden. I "hooked" the
apples, leaped the brook, and scared the musquash and the trout. It was one
of those afternoons which seem indefinitely long before one, in which many events
may happen, a large portion of our natural life, though it was already half
spent when I started. By the way there came up a shower, which compelled me
to stand half an hour under a pine, piling boughs over my head, and wearing
my handkerchief for a shed; and when at length I had made one cast over the
pickerelweed, standing up to my middle in water, I found myself suddenly in
the shadow of a cloud, and the thunder began to rumble with such emphasis that
I could do no more than listen to it. The gods must be proud, thought I, with
such forked flashes to rout a poor unarmed fisherman. So I made haste for shelter
to the nearest hut, which stood half a mile from any road, but so much the nearer
to the pond, and had long been uninhabited:
"And here a poet builded,
In the completed years,
For behold a trivial cabin
That to destruction steers."
So the Muse fables. But therein, as I found, dwelt now John Field, an Irishman,
and his wife, and several children, from the broad-faced boy who assisted his
father at his work, and now came running by his side from the bog to escape
the rain, to the wrinkled, -like, cone-headed infant that sat upon its
father's knee as in the palaces of nobles, and looked out from its home in the
midst of wet and hunger inquisitively upon the stranger, with the privilege
of infancy, not knowing but it was the last of a noble line, and the hope and
cynosure of the world, instead of John Field's poor starveling brat. There we
sat together under that part of the roof which leaked the least, while it showered
and thundered without. I had sat there many times of old before the ship was
built that floated his family to America. An honest, hard-working, but shiftless
man plainly was John Field; and his wife, she too was brave to cook so many
successive dinners in the recesses of that lofty stove; with round greasy face
and bare breast, still thinking to improve her condition one day; with the never
absent mop in one hand, and yet no effects of it visible anywhere. The
which had also taken shelter here from the rain, stalked about the room like
members of the family, too humanized, methought, to roast well. They stood and
looked in my eye or pecked at my shoe significantly. Meanwhile my host told
me his story, how hard he worked "bogging" for a neighboring farmer,
turning up a meadow with a spade or bog hoe at the rate of ten dollars an acre
and the use of the land with manure for one year, and his little broad-faced
son worked cheerfully at his father's side the while, not knowing how poor a
bargain the latter had made. I tried to help him with my experience, telling
him that he was one of my nearest neighbors, and that I too, who came a-fishing
here, and looked like a loafer, was getting my living like himself; that I lived
in a tight, light, and clean house, which hardly cost more than the annual rent
of such a ruin as his commonly amounts to; and how, if he chose, he might that I did not use tea, nor
coffee, nor butter, nor milk, nor fresh meat, and so did not have to work to
get them; again, as I did not work hard, I did not have to eat hard, and it
cost me but a trifle for my food; but as he began with tea, and coffee, and
butter, and milk, and beef, he had to work hard to pay for them, and when he
had worked hard he had to eat hard again to repair the waste of his systemand
so it was as broad as it was long, indeed it was broader than it was long, for
he was discontented and wasted his life into the bargain; and yet he had rated
it as a gain in coming to America, that here you could get tea, and coffee,
and meat every day. But the only true America is that country where you are
at liberty to pursue such a mode of life as may enable you to do without these,
and where the state does not endeavor to compel you For I purposely talked to him as if he were a philosopher,
or desired to be one. I should be glad if if that were the consequence of men's beginning to redeem
themselves. A man will not need to study history to find out what is best for
his own culture. But alas! I told him, that as he worked so hard
at bogging, he required thick boots and stout clothing, which yet were soon
soiled and worn out, but I wore light shoes and thin clothing, which cost not
half so much, though he might think that I was dressed like a gentleman (which,
however, was not the case), and in an hour or two, without labor, but as a recreation,
I could, if I wished, catch as many fish as I should want for two days, or to support me a week. If he and his family would live simply, they
might all go a-huckleberrying in the summer for their amusement. John heaved
a sigh at this, and his wife stared with arms a-kimbo, and both appeared to
be wondering if they had capital enough to begin such a course with, or arithmetic
enough to carry it through. It was sailing by dead reckoning to them, and they
saw not clearly how to make their port so; therefore I suppose they still take
life bravely, after their fashion, face to face, giving it tooth and nail, not
having skill to split its massive columns with any fine entering wedge, and
rout it in detail;thinking to deal with it roughly, as one should handle
a thistle. But they fight at an overwhelming disadvantageliving, John
Field, alas! without arithmetic, and failing so.
"Do you ever fish?" I asked. "Oh yes, I catch a mess now and
then when I am lying by; good perch I catch."What's your bait?"
"I catch shiners with fishworms, and bait the perch with them." "You'd
better go now, John," said his wife, with glistening and hopeful face;
but John demurred.
The shower was now over, and a rainbow above the eastern woods promised a
fair evening; so I took my departure. When I had got without I asked for a drink,
hoping to get a sight of the well bottom, to complete my survey of the premises;
but there, alas! are shallows and quicksands, and rope broken withal, and bucket
irrecoverable. Meanwhile the right culinary vessel was selected, water was seemingly
distilled, and after consultation and long delay passed out to the thirsty onenot
yet suffered to cool, not yet to settle. Such gruel sustains life here, I thought;
so, shutting my eyes, and excluding the motes by a skilfully directed undercurrent,
I drank to genuine hospitality the heartiest draught I could. I am not squeamish
in such cases when manners are concerned.
As I was leaving the Irishman's roof after the rain, bending my steps again
to the pond, my haste to catch pickerel, wading in retired meadows, in sloughs
and bog-holes, in forlorn and savage places,
to me who had been sent to school and college; but as I ran down the hill toward
the reddening west, with the rainbow over my shoulder, and some faint tinkling
sounds borne to my ear through the cleansed air, from I know not what quarter,
my Good Genius seemed to sayGo fish and hunt far and wide day by dayfarther
and widerand rest thee by many brooks and hearth-sides without misgiving.
Rise free from care before
the dawn, and seek adventures. Let the noon find thee by other lakes, and the
night overtake thee everywhere at home. There are no larger fields than these,
no worthier games than may here be played. Grow wild according to thy nature,
like these sedges and brakes, which will never become English hay. Let the thunder
rumble; what if it threaten ruin to farmers' crops? That is not its errand to
thee. Take shelter under the cloud, while they flee to carts and sheds. Let
not to get a living be thy trade, but thy sport. Enjoy the land, but own it
not. Through want of enterprise and faith men are where they are, buying and
selling, and spending their lives like serfs.
O Baker Farm!
"Landscape where the richest element
Is a little sunshine innocent." ...
"No one runs to revel
On thy rail-fenced lea." ...
"Debate with no man hast thou,
With questions art never perplexed,
As tame at the first sight as now,
In thy plain russet gabardine dressed." ...
"Come ye who love,
And ye who hate,
Children of the Holy Dove,
And Guy Faux of the state,
And hang conspiracies
From the tough rafters of the trees!"
Men come tamely home at night only from the next field or street, where their
household echoes haunt, and their life pines because it breathes its own breath
over again; their shadows, morning and evening, reach farther than their daily
steps. We should come home from far, from adventures, and perils, and discoveries
every day, with new experience and character.
Before I had reached the pond some fresh impulse had brought out John Field,
with altered mind, letting go "bogging" ere this sunset. But he, poor
man, disturbed only a couple of fins while I was catching a fair string, and
he said it was his luck; but when we changed seats in the boat luck changed
seats too. Poor John Field!I trust he does not read this, unless he will
improve by itthinking to live by some derivative old-country mode in this
primitive new countryto catch perch with shiners. It is good bait sometimes,
I allow. With his horizon all his own, yet he a poor man, born to be poor, with
his inherited Irish poverty or poor life, his Adam's grandmother and boggy ways,
not to rise in this world, he nor his posterity, till their wading webbed bog-trotting
feet get to their heels. To Chapter XI
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