In the staycation era, the art of deliberate escape
| Concord, Mass.
Thoreau, I think, might have understood our collective predicament. Or so it seems on this dank April day in a spring that meteorologists are calling New England鈥檚 coldest ever. I am in Concord, Massachusetts, standing in front of a replica of the hut where Henry聽David Thoreau undertook his version of self-isolation at Walden Pond. I peer at it like I expect it to speak.
Have you seen it? It really is small. Ten feet by 15 feet 鈥� the size of a lawnmower shed you could buy at a hardware store. One room, one door, two windows, a fireplace. (In building a dwelling, Thoreau would later write in 鈥淲alden,鈥� 鈥淐onsider first how slight a shelter is absolutely necessary.鈥�) Inside, behind the locked entry but visible through the window: a cot, a three-legged desk, two wooden chairs, and on this day the anachronism of a day-glo sandwich board urging people not to forget the visitor center 100 yards away.
Editor鈥檚 note: As a public service,聽all our coronavirus coverage聽is free. No paywall.
Why We Wrote This
Many are making the most of their own backyards as the virus cancels vacations. Our writer finds that day trips to nearby Walden Pond allow for a slower pace and reflection 鈥� in the spirit of America鈥檚 first social distancer.
The hut, like the visitor center, is beside the parking lot at what is now Walden Pond State Reservation. The park is officially 鈥渃losed to aid in the prevention of the spread of COVID-19.鈥� Yet here and there a few people wander in the chill 鈥� having come for the trails (still accessible, though now routed in one-way loops), or maybe just to escape the house. Occasionally they glance at the tiny hut, which, even though a replica, somehow looks genuine 鈥� antique and careworn and moss-eaten. You can imagine Thoreau huddled inside it, sheltering in place with no plumbing but the pond, no heat but burning wood, no light but candles. Not to mention zero Wi-Fi and definitely too few bars for FaceTime.
Thoreau moved into his hut on July 4, 1845. He lived there alone for two years, two months, and two days. Nine years later he published 鈥淲alden,鈥� describing what he鈥檇 done. And nearly two centuries on, people come here to see where he鈥檇 done it.
As it happens, I wasn鈥檛 supposed to be here. Back in January, in times B.C. (before coronavirus) this was planned as a different kind of travel story: the Monitor鈥檚 Memorial Day kickoff of summer vacation season. The plan was to fly to Washington, D.C., buy bike-share passes, and crisscross the National Mall to document the scenes at the monuments 鈥� the great gatherings of every kind of human that belittle our differences and exalt our community. Fractious times? Sure. But not in these places. Not while reading Abraham Lincoln鈥檚 carved words opposite his enormous hand on his enormous knee. Not while watching Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. emerge indomitable from a stone.
But of course things changed, and there would be no flights or hotels or runabout bicycles handed from one unsanitized tourist to another. So what would there be 鈥� for this story, for this summer, for all of us?
Day trips, it turns out. Or so say the zeitgeist pollsters and travel forecasters. We鈥檙e all going to take short trips 鈥� in our cars, near our homes, with our lunches packed and our face coverings in our pockets. And I figured: I should go on one, too.
So I took a day trip 鈥� two of them, actually. Two visits to Walden Pond, in Concord, an hour from our quarantined home. Where better, I thought, to explore the idea of isolation. It鈥檚 what Thoreau did (albeit for nearly 800 days, not 80). Thoreau was the original social distancer, though his isolation, unlike ours, was not forced.
In two days at Walden, here is some of what I found: winter, and then summer, though just 12 days apart. An empty parking lot, and then one so full it was blocked. Kayakers, picnickers, swimmers in both wet suits and bikinis. Walkers in masks. Fishermen in waders. And a woman who emerged from the water to tell me of having visited Walden more than 500 times.聽
Between those Walden visits I read 鈥淲alden鈥� itself. (Reread it, if you count high school, which I shouldn鈥檛.) And tangentially I tumbled down the rabbit hole of never-ending debate over Thoreau鈥檚 cultural reputation and literary standing. (Was Thoreau a hypocrite? Was Thoreau a fraud? Was Thoreau, in the characterization offered by a 2015 New Yorker headline, 鈥淧ond Scum鈥�?)
So my day trips bloomed into something more, which is maybe what we should wish from our day trips if they鈥檙e all we have. It鈥檚 what Thoreau would have wanted.
On that first visit in April you could feel Thoreau there. You could not help thinking of his circumstances 175 years ago when he decamped to this place, and how strangely those circumstances echo our own. You could picture Thoreau in his Home Depot shed, grappling with isolation, being sheltered on a circumscribed parcel of earth.
And feeling like he had no idea what was coming next.
Like us.聽
鈥淭ravel recovery鈥�
鈥淎 man must generally get away some hundreds or thousands of miles from home before he can be said to begin his travels,鈥� wrote Thoreau. 鈥淲hy not begin his travels at home? Would he have to go far or look very closely to discover novelties?鈥�
Why not, indeed? But before we return to Walden (the pond) or even 鈥淲alden鈥� (the book), what about the pandemic-prompted travel question that led to this adventure in the first place 鈥� will Americans even go on vacation this summer?
Not as intended, they won鈥檛. Already, 66% of Americans have canceled their summer vacation plans, leaving unclear the matter of whether they鈥檒l substitute different ones, according to MMGY Global, a travel industry marketing firm. MMGY identifies three factors affecting consumer willingness to travel: perception of safety, economic factors, and isolation orders.聽
鈥淎s many of us continue to lead lives sheltered in place, the simplest of travel activities seem fantastical,鈥� says Katie Briscoe, MMGY鈥檚 president. 鈥淲hen will travelers feel safe to step on a plane? When will hotels welcome guests again?鈥�
Not for a while, according to a Harris poll. A majority of Americans say they鈥檒l wait at least seven months before they鈥檒l fly on a plane, and four months before they鈥檒l stay in a hotel, which for most of the country essentially wipes out overnight travel for the entire summer. Some 58% of travelers say that restaurants will be off their itineraries until July or later. As for cruises, 57% say they won鈥檛 get on a ship for 鈥渁 year or longer,鈥� and 23% say they鈥檒l 鈥渘ever鈥� take another cruise again.聽
鈥淧eople just feel safer controlling their own experience,鈥� says Ms. Briscoe. 鈥淲hether that be in their car, around friends and family, or just back in trusted and familiar places, this represents the beginning of travel recovery.鈥�
There are some exceptions to the general travel collapse that illustrate what the analysts describe. At the same time that two-thirds of people have scuttled their vacation plans and canceled the flights and hotel rooms that go with them, campground operators are being swamped with reservations. Warren Meyer, owner of Recreation Resource Management, runs 150 campgrounds and day-use recreation sites on public parks and land across the United States. 鈥淭hose of us two or three hours away [from travelers鈥� homes] are going to be mobbed this summer,鈥� he predicts. Reservations at RRM-run sites are running 20% ahead of their 2019 rates. 鈥淲e鈥檙e going to be full everywhere, all the time.鈥�
鈥淧eople are not scared of camping,鈥� he says. You travel in your own car; you sleep in your own shelter; you keep your distance while cooking your own dinner in the ventilated outdoors. Plus, in times of uncertainty, it becomes increasingly attractive, he says, to pay $25 to camp under the red rocks in Sedona, Arizona, instead of $400 to stay in a lodge at Yellowstone.
Mr. Meyer has seen this kind of dynamic before. During the Great Recession, campsite occupancy never fell. The cheap travel option thrived. Similarly, after 9/11, in the summer of 2002 when people still didn鈥檛 want to fly, 鈥渨e had a record camping year,鈥� he notes.
Still, RRM has to weather the lockdown if it鈥檚 going to flourish in the summer. Before some states began to ease restrictions in May, 143 of the company鈥檚 150 facilities were shuttered. And RRM, like every business, has a breaking point 鈥� Mr. Meyer says the company will be in big trouble if it doesn鈥檛 open by Memorial Day.
Of course, only 14% of Americans camp. Whereas almost everyone, say the analysts, will day trip.
But where to? To do what? No one knows how long many attractions, such as museums and theme parks, will remain closed or limited. A currently invaluable benefit of day trips is 鈥渇lexibility,鈥� William Schaffner, a health policy expert at Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tennessee, told AFAR Magazine. 鈥淪ocial distancing in a variety of forms is going to be with us for a long time.鈥�
It鈥檚 easy enough to maintain distance, though, if you drive Chicago鈥檚 suburbs with a map of Frank Lloyd Wright houses in your lap, or exit Miami for a day of snorkeling in nearby Bahia Honda State Park in the Florida Keys.
In sum: Think 鈥渉yperlocal.鈥� That鈥檚 the buzzword of the moment among travel industry insiders. We鈥檒l be staying near, not going far. Maybe we鈥檒l be discovering about our own backyards what Dorothy went to Oz and back to figure out. Except no balloons 鈥� we鈥檒l be driving. According to MMGY Chief Executive Officer Clayton Reid, 鈥�2020 could well become the year of the car鈥� 鈥� a likelihood abetted by gas prices that are now lower in 20 states than at any time in U.S. history (inflation adjusted).
The great American day trip is on.
Solitude as companion
鈥淚 went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately.鈥澛�
So begins perhaps the most iconic line among Thoreau鈥檚 many. But the reality of it wasn鈥檛 that simple 鈥� nor anywhere near that iconic.
The Thoreau who went to Walden was far from the prophet he鈥檚 often made out to be. He was mostly just a young man at loose ends 鈥� 27 years old, no attachments, few prospects, little idea of his path. He had gone to New York chasing a writer鈥檚 life and returned to Concord homesick and unsuccessful. He had started a school with his brother, John, only to lose both the school and, far worse, his brother, when John died of complications from cutting his finger. In the spring of 1845 Thoreau could have been the sad second cousin in a Jane Austen novel. He was hungry for something. His prospects of finding it were slim. If he decided to go live in the woods, there was no one to stop him.
None of which makes his 鈥渆xperiment鈥� in deliberate living less brave or ambitious. When you go to Walden, that鈥檚 part of what you sense. You walk the rolling, rocky ground around the pond and climb the small slope to where the tiny cabin was, and you can鈥檛 help but think of the New England winter, and the cold, and the snow. You think of the fire he burned incessantly, and the wood he chopped to feed it. You think of the food he laid up and the vermin that ate it. You think of how hard it must have been, for all his claims about his leisure.
It鈥檚 easy to get 鈥淲alden鈥� wrong. I know I did, before reading it again. Somewhere along the line we stopped letting the experience breathe and turned it into a few quotes handed down on tablets.
鈥淪implicity, simplicity, simplicity!鈥�
鈥淭he mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.鈥�
鈥淚f a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer.鈥�
You can see them on posters on Google, just two clicks away. They sound like a man who brooks no dissent, is unwavering, who never entertains doubt. But Thoreau was full of doubt, and he let his mind waver 鈥� a lot.聽
He both hated work and exalted it, was both an introvert and an extrovert. On the one hand, he said, 鈥淚 never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude.鈥� On the other, he decreed, 鈥淚 think that I love society as much as most, and am ready enough to fasten myself like a bloodsucker for the time to any full-blooded man that comes in my way. I am naturally no hermit.鈥� Every idea he encountered, he tried on, desperate to feel each one as tangibly as a stone in a hand.
We too often mistake 鈥淲alden鈥� as a book about finding: finding the path, finding the truth, finding the way. But it鈥檚 not. It鈥檚 a book about searching.
To live deliberately
It is on my second trip to Walden, on a May day suddenly gleaming and warm, that I meet Christina Davis. She comes out of the pond, after wading in Thoreau鈥檚 cove.
鈥淎ren鈥檛 you cold?鈥� someone asks her. She isn鈥檛. You get used to it, she says. She swims here every year on May 1. She鈥檚 been coming since 1996 and now has been here more than 500 times.
We sit down to talk. What kind of person visits a site 500 times? Ms. Davis doesn鈥檛 mind trying to explain 鈥� emphasis on 鈥渢ry,鈥� she says, since she鈥檚 not fully sure herself. She is a poet, author, and curator of the Woodberry Poetry Room at Harvard University鈥檚 Lamont Library. But in 1996, she鈥檇 just finished three years of graduate study at Oxford University and discovered she needed to come home to America. 鈥淭urned out I was more American than I鈥檇 thought,鈥� she says. 鈥淚 needed to reacquaint myself.鈥� She was living in New York then, and at loose ends. One day she ventured north by train to Boston and then Concord, and then by foot two miles from the station to the pond. A pilgrimage. She鈥檚 never stopped making them. 鈥淵ou have your pilgrimages, don鈥檛 you?鈥� she says.聽
Over the years she鈥檚 done most of the things you can do at Walden. She鈥檚 sat on rocks and written poems with her ankles in the water. She鈥檚 ice skated. She鈥檚 made friends. 鈥淎ll while you feel a personal relationship with this person called Henry.鈥�
She shyly quotes something she has written: 鈥淚t is with this I have formed a family.鈥�
As shadows grow, we walk on pine needles up the path to the original site of Thoreau鈥檚 hut. Ms. Davis stops, points at the brown wooden sign. 鈥淣ow that鈥檚 a sentence,鈥� she says. 鈥淚t鈥檚 a poem, that sentence. It鈥檚 perfect.鈥�
Her awe causes me to look again 鈥� better yet, causes me to forget the quote books and commencement speeches that have dulled the line to me. Here it is, Thoreau in full: 鈥淚 went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.鈥�
After Ms. Davis leaves, I linger for a moment on the ground where the hut had been, marked now by granite posts and chains around the periphery. The afternoon is ending, and no one is here. There are only the sounds of shouts far across the water and now and then the echoed thunk of an oar on a boat hull.
As I write this, lockdowns are being lifted on various timetables in various places. Of course unlike Thoreau鈥檚 isolation, ours has involved lamps, not candles; bathrooms, not pits. We have had the internet and Zoom and Netflix. But right now it can feel like we know as little about what comes next as Thoreau did when he made his experiment.
Soon, as summer unspools, we鈥檒l all travel again 鈥� just not as far as we鈥檇 planned. We鈥檒l think hyperlocal. We鈥檒l forget our overstuffed vacation itineraries of old and dial down the pressure. We鈥檒l day trip.
Maybe, as I did on my outing, you鈥檒l reacquaint yourself with your local Thoreau, or that nearby wonder that turns out no less wonderful for its modesty, or someplace you鈥檝e seen plenty but never really looked at. If you鈥檙e fortunate, you鈥檒l meet your Christina Davis. You鈥檒l go slower, you鈥檒l expect less, you鈥檒l discover unimagined things precisely because you didn鈥檛 think you had to.
鈥淲ould [we] have to go far or look very closely to discover novelties?鈥� Thoreau asked. At Walden, beside a common New England pond in an ordinary New England woods, one doesn鈥檛 think so. One thinks we can make discoveries in our own backyards for a very long time.
And as we do, maybe we鈥檒l find our way back to the place all our quarantines and social distancing have made us hungriest for. Maybe we鈥檒l be able to say about ourselves what Thoreau was finally able to say in 鈥淲alden.鈥�
鈥淎t present I am a sojourner in civilized life again.鈥�
Editor鈥檚 note: As a public service,聽all our coronavirus coverage聽is free. No paywall.
