Paradero incierto.

In 1845, Henry David Thoreau, that impertinent, cantankerous, vegetarian idealist and early steward of nature that we so dearly love and admire, decided to leave the society of his town of Concord, MA, for the sublime experience of a fully self-dependent life out in the forest. He was but a mile and some away from his home town, and the sounds (and sights) of locomotive trade and travel came to him through the woods. He also entertained many a visitor, both the expected and the uninvited, and waxed philosophical on a myriad of subjects touching on all aspects of contemporary New England society. For two years he carried on this existence, having built a humble but sufficient cabin by lake Walden, fruit of his own labor, and striving to provide as many necessaries as possible from his very own hands. The result of this undertaking is a 200-plus page manifesto on the existential journey required of any person fit to call themselves a member of the human race.

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So I decided to backpack the Leatherwood Wilderness over Thanksgiving break. I figured what better time to keep away from relatives and enjoy some good ol’ peace and quite, with only nature to keep me company? Yes indeed, the benevolent old Mother regularly beckons me to her buxom, and how can I resist her awe-inspiring, liberating pull?

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