Remember when I went to Walden Pond the first time to find an expectant Thoreau with hand outstretched, ready to receive a teeny pie? I snapped iphone pictures with frivolity, never thinking I would have a book deal and therefore would have to deal with high resolution anything.
Remember when I went to Walden Pond the second time for the express purpose of taking high resolution photos of the same transcendental writer with a very fancy schmancy camera so that these delightful and charming photos would end up in my book, forever sealing my fate as an adorable-adventurous-pie-baker who bakes endearing-highly-photogenic-pies?
It would seem that my (Aaron’s) fancy schmancy camera was on the wrong setting. I had foolishly set the camera on the ‘high’ setting thinking that I would end up with ‘high’ resolution photos… oh my pie friends, I was wrong. It would seem that ‘raw’ was the correct camera setting.. as in underbaked… the dread of all pie bakers (and orderers of well done steaks) everywhere. Nonetheless, ‘raw’ is what I was looking for, and after a rather exhaustive conversation with an unhelpful Nikon customer service representative I figured out the correct way to take high resolution photos.
So, I was off to Walden Pond for the third (knock on wood, I don’t live here anymore, so I can’t come back) time. However, to keep my sanity as well as to not feel quite as judged as I walked around with a pint sized pastry, I brought a friend. I typed ‘Walden Pond’ into my phone, strapped my pies in the backseat, scooped up Erin, and we were off.
And do you know where my smarty-pants phone took us?? To a FAKE WALDEN POND. (the truth is, I should have known better… I’d been there twice before, after all… however, I trusted in technology and blah blah blah, I’m kind of an idiot but who would have thought there was going to be a FAKE WALDEN POND!!!!)
We drove half an hour out of our way, finally made it to Thoreau’s Walden Pond (as opposed to Lynn’s FAKE walden pond… google it, the fake walden pond is real). The two previous times I’d been to this famous pond, the people had been relatively pleasant and while they may have been surprised to see a pie arrive on the scene, no one bothered me or pestered me with questions about it.
This time was different. People were not pleasant and instead of keeping to themselves the few that did approach me were very aggressive about their need to understand why I had a pie and the audacity to take pictures of it. It was a million degrees outside, it was insanely muggy, we were getting eaten alive by mosquitoes, I’d just driven to FAKE WALDEN POND and all I wanted to do was take a few pictures without being approached by yet another person who began the conversation with, ‘I just have to ask…’ and ended it with, ‘that’s strange.’
Thank goodness I had Erin for company because people were dangerously close to getting pied (that’s a good old pie in the face, for those of you who may not know) and somehow, probably because of her quick wit and dry humor, I laughed all afternoon instead of fuming with rage and wasting perfectly good pastry on useless people.
Walden part three… it happened. The most I can say is that I’ve gotten exceptionally good at pie balancing.
Water has never really been my thing. I suppose I don’t mind looking at it, or sitting by it, but I definitely don’t enjoy getting in it. I don’t like the feeling of being wet, and having to wear a bathing suit is just the worst. Which is why winter water is so appealing. There is no pressure to submerge myself and have a good time. Instead I can put on extra layers to go visit winter water, and enjoy the quiet that comes with a place deserted.
A few days ago Mo and I went to Walden Pond, which turned into a lovely little daycation. I had baked a few teeny pies earlier in the week, with the express purpose to take pictures of them about town. We could not have anticipated how ready Walden Pond was to have teeny pies visit.
It was as though Thoreau had been waiting years and years to have a pie in his hands. He’s so contemplative about that little lattice pie, as only Thoreau can be. I imagine if he’d had the opportunity to eat a teeny pie while on his exodus away from society the title of his book may have varied ever so slightly. Walden Pie, perhaps.
We wandered around the chilly pond, greeting the few other people who seem to enjoy winter water as much as I do. There seems to be an unspoken code about greeting other nature walkers. I have never had the urge to greet people while waking around the city, aside from the occasional awkward half smile because I’ve stared at someone too long and been caught out. But there is something about being on a walk around a pond, or up a mountain, or in a forest that requires a change in social acknowledgement. Suddenly, we are interested in how other people’s walks are going, and amid the “hi, how are you’s” and the “how’s it going’s” we discovered just how perfectly teeny pies and nature get along.
It’s apparently a Walden Pond tradition to leave a rock near the site where Thoreau’s small hut was. Some people leave rocks they have picked up along the walk, and some people have rocks specially made for the trip. We left our own kind of tribute to the lovely literate, transcendentalist writer.