I usually read a few books per month but Thoreau's Walden put a halt to that routine. For the last two months, all I've read is that book and I'm not chiefly perturbed for this reason. It is one of the most known works of transcendentalist philosophy and it does pack a punch from a literary angle. I took my sweet time with it, re-read many portions of it — yet I've found myself witless trying to write about it. To this point, I'm convinced whatever I put into words isn't going to be the summation of all the thoughts I had reading Walden.

For anyone who never had any clue about what is Walden — it's a collection of essays by Henry David Thoreau when he went to live by the Walden pond, in the cabin he built by himself. The essays range from the natural beauty of the Walden pond, the habitat, and ecosystem around it, the virtues of living a simple life to prioritize what's more important in life — enlightenment, knowledge, contentedness, transcendentalism; to socio-political engines of then and condition of men.

Yet in retrospect, it's not the philosophy of the world and life that pops back up in my mind immediately when I think of Walden, it's the battle of ants! In one essay, Thoreau was describing his non-human "brute neighbors", as he calls them, and how his life was affected by them. A peculiar mice species that never saw any human before made a nest under his house. A rabbit that burrowed and went about its business knocking on his house every day. A family of partridge that frequented the clearing near his house; Thoreau thought of them as his hens and chickens and he imagined them to be intelligent. If those birds are truly like chickens, I know who'd very much disagree in this case.

One day he witnessed a large-scale war among red ants and black ants, which were double the size of their opponent. But reds were more in number. Thoreau went on saying, these battles are no less horrifying and massive than the human wars, and the ants were far more resolute than human soldiers, yet no history of their wars is recorded in history. And then he proceeded to give an enticing description of the battle, dramatizing it with combatants and their angles, climaxes, and aftermath — making it ultimately recorded, permanently. Perhaps the most famous ant war in history? Here I am, re-imagining a war among different species of ants and a field filled with dead ants 250 years later and wondering why am I fixated on this particular thing from the book. Although I suspect, and in a sort of uncanny manner that I'm chiefly intrigued by the way he portrayed something so common and inconsequential from a human perspective that it seemed grand.

And the second thing is the description of Walden pond itself. Thoreau boasted the purity of the water of the pond and the innate beauty of it in so many words that the pond has attained mythical status. You'd think there are no ponds purer, deeper than Walden in the whole wide world! In winter, the pond would freeze and some people would come and cut down ice cubes and haul them back. I wondered whether I could get an ice cube of Walden water from here and now!

Perhaps Thoreau exaggerated the attributes of the pond a bit. That doesn't bother me. Why would you doubt a pond's purity and quality of life on the bank of it when you live in a concrete box?
I've been thinking about an off-the-grid lifestyle for a few years now. Living in a lake house is a dream I've cherished for long. Away from civilization and the concrete jungle of men. Thoreau's habitat, the wild animals he cohabited with, and the seasonal changes that decorate Walden with distinct features — reading them only called to me, to take the initiative. Or at least, to plan ahead.
I've met people who immediately put on a smirk listening to this or reading this—as they assume I cannot possibly spend time in a secluded cabin without internet and modernity. I know they speak out of their own inability, doubt, and fear, and they are right in assessing their weakness, while they wrongfully project it onto me. Where I know pretty well, I can be content living such a life without any issues.

However, it is not about separating yourself from society or living in solitary. Such was not the case with Thoreau as well, as he had many visitors regularly. These visitors are not ones who break the serenity of such a habitat, they enforce it. Living in nature and being a social animal doesn't have to be mutually exclusive. However, choosing the right company is imperative. It is highly unlikely I'm going to be friends with someone who likes to Bar-B-Q in the woods, stereo volume turned up high.

I think I'll visit the book someday again, hopefully in a similar setting the book boasts.