Where I Lived, and What I Lived For

yadefenceagainsttherain,withoutplasteringorchimney,thewallsbeingofrough,weather-stainedboards,withwidechinks,whichmadeitcoolatnight.Theuprightwhitehewnstudsandfreshlyplaneddoorandwindowcasingsgaveitacleanandairylook,especiallyinthemorning,whenitstimbersweresaturatedwithdew,sothatIfanciedthatbynoonsomesweetgumwouldexudefromthem.Tomyimaginationitretainedthroughoutthedaymoreorlessofthisauroralcharacter,remindingmeofacertainhouseonamountainwhichIhadvisitedtheyearbefore.Thiswasanairyandunplasteredcabin,fittoentertainatravellinggod,andwhereagoddessmighttrailhergarments.Thewindswhichpassedovermydwellingweresuchassweepovertheridgesofmountains,bearingthebrokenstrains,orcelestialpartsonly,ofterrestrialmusic.Themorningwindforeverblows,thepoemofcreationisuninterruptedbutfewaretheearsthathearit.Olympusisbuttheoutsideoftheeartheverywhere. TheonlyhouseIhadbeentheownerofbefore,ifIexceptaboat,wasatent,whichIusedoccasionallywhenmakingexcursionsinthesummer,andthisisstillrolledupinmygarretbuttheboat,afterpassingfromhandtohand,hasgonedownthestreamoftime.Withthismoresubstantialshelteraboutme,Ihadmadesomeprogresstowardsettlingintheworld.Thisframe,soslightlyclad,wasasortofcrystallizationaroundme,andreactedonthebuilder.Itwassuggestivesomewhatasapictureinoutlines.Ididnotneedtogooutdoorstotaketheair,fortheatmospherewithinhadlostnoneofitsfreshness.ItwasnotsomuchwithindoorsasbehindadoorwhereIsat,evenintherainiestweather.TheHarivansasays,“Anabodewithoutbirdsislikeameatwithoutseasoning.”Suchwasnotmyabode,forIfoundmyselfsuddenlyneighbortothebirdsnotbyhavingimprisonedone,buthavingcagedmyselfnearthem.Iwasnotonlynearertosomeofthosewhichcommonlyfrequentthegardenandtheorchard,buttothosewilderandmorethrillingsongstersoftheforestwhichnever,orrarely,serenadeavillager,—thewood-thrush,theveery,thescarlettanager,thefield-sparrow,thewhippoorwill,andmanyothers. Iwasseatedbytheshoreofasmallpond,aboutamileandahalfsouthofthevillageofConcordandsomewhathigherthanit,inthemidstofanextensivewoodbetweenthattownandLincoln,andabouttwomilessouthofthatouronlyfieldknowntofame,ConcordBattleGroundbutIwassolowinthewoodsthattheoppositeshore,halfamileoff,liketherest,coveredwithwood,wasmymostdistanthorizon.Forthefirstweek,wheneverIlookedoutontheponditimpressedmelikeatarnhighuponthesideofamountain,itsbottomfarabovethesurfaceofotherlakes,and,asthesunarose,Isawitthrowingoffitsnightlyclothingofmist,andhereandthere,bydegrees,itssoftripplesoritssmoothreflectingsurfacewasrevealed,whilethemists,likeghosts,werestealthilywithdrawingineverydirectionintothewoods,asatthebreakingupofsomenocturnalconventicle.Theverydewseemedtohanguponthetreeslaterintothedaythanusual,asonthesidesofmountains. ThissmalllakewasofmostvalueasaneighborintheintervalsofagentlerainstorminAugust,when,bothairandwaterbeingperfectlystill,buttheskyovercast,mid-afternoonhadalltheserenityofevening,andthewood-thrushsangaround,andwasheardfromshoretoshore.Alakelikethisisneversmootherthanatsuchatimeandtheclearportionoftheairaboveitbeingshallowanddarkenedbyclouds,thewater,fulloflightandreflections,becomesalowerheavenitselfsomuchthemoreimportant.Fromahilltopnearby,wherethewoodhadbeenrecentlycutoff,therewasapleasingvistasouthwardacrossthepond,throughawideindentationinthehillswhichformtheshorethere,wheretheiroppositesidesslopingtowardeachothersuggestedastreamflowingoutinthatdirectionthroughawoodedvalley,butstreamtherewasnone.ThatwayIlookedbetweenandovertheneargreenhillstosomedistantandhigheronesinthehorizon,tingedwithblue.Indeed,bystandingontiptoeIcouldcatchaglimpseofsomeofthepeaksofthestillbluerandmoredistantmountainrangesinthenorth-west,thosetrue-bluecoinsfromheaven’sownmint,andalsoofsomeportionofthevillage.Butinotherdirections,evenfromthispoint,Icouldnotseeoverorbeyondthewoodswhichsurroundedme.Itiswelltohavesomewaterinyourneighborhood,togivebuoyancytoandfloattheearth.Onevalueevenofthesmallestwellis,thatwhenyoulookintoityouseethatearthisnotcontinentbutinsular.Thisisasimportantasthatitkeepsbuttercool.WhenIlookedacrossthepondfromthispeaktowardtheSudburymeadows,whichintimeoffloodIdistinguishedelevatedperhapsbyamirageintheirseethingvalley,likeacoininabasin,alltheearthbeyondthepondappearedlikeathincrustinsulatedandfloatedevenbythissmallsheetofintervertingwater,andIwasremindedthatthisonwhichIdweltwasbutdryland. Thoughtheviewfrommydoorwasstillmorecontracted,Ididnotfeelcrowdedorconfinedintheleast.Therewaspastureenoughformyimagination.Thelowshrub-oakplateautowhichtheoppositeshorearose,stretchedawaytowardtheprairiesoftheWestandthesteppesofTartary,affordingampleroomforalltherovingfamiliesofmen.“Therearenonehappyintheworldbutbeingswhoenjoyfreelyavasthorizon,”—saidDamodara,whenhisherdsrequirednewandlargerpastures. Bothplaceandtimewerechanged,andIdweltnearertothosepartsoftheuniverseandtothoseerasinhistorywhichhadmostattractedme.WhereIlivedwasasfaroffasmanyaregionviewednightlybyastronomers.Wearewonttoimaginerareanddelectableplacesinsomeremoteandmorecelestialcornerofthesystem,behindtheconstellationofCassiopeia’sChair,farfromnoiseanddisturbance.Idiscoveredthatmyhouseactuallyhaditssiteinsuchawithdrawn,butforevernewandunprofaned,partoftheuniverse.IfitwereworththewhiletosettleinthosepartsneartothePleiadesortheHyades,toAldebaranorAltair,thenIwasreallythere,oratanequalremotenessfromthelifewhichIhadleftbehind,dwindledandtwinklingwithasfinearaytomynear