Sunday, 14 September 2014

Henry Thoreau | Life in the Woods + Rustic Country Bread



I am grateful for civilisation. Nor do I entertain any romantic illusions about the ennobling quality of primitive existence and its innocent communion with nature. Life in the woods, it seems, is a constant battle against the encroachment of nature - harsh, unrelenting, indifferent and so too are its people. It is not always a welcoming feeling; often one of enclosure, of being crushed under the weight of centuries gone by. But I wonder if solitude is incompatible with civilised life and what it is that each year pulls me back, to the mountains, to confront only the bare facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it is to live and to die.

I 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. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms.
Henry Thoreau, Walden, or Life in the Woods

Thoreau had a profound effect on me during my formative years, an effect so deep I have not been able to shake off even when I could no longer share his transcendental views or his championship of provincialism.