Tuesday, September 4, 2012

We Came, We Saw, We Concord

Tyson came for a visit, and we started out on Saturday morning determined to have a good time.  And, do you know what's a good time?  Concord, Massachusetts, yo.  Cradle of Transcendentalism and the Alcotts, dawgs.  

After eating sandwiches from the local wine and cheese shop (James and Tyson both got the French picnic, which included brie, apples, and french ham . . . on a baguette, what?) we headed to the Concord Museum to see the most amazing Annie Lebowitz exhibit, and, obviously, a reproduction of Emerson's study.

While we were walking through the museum's rooms containing Thoreau's artifacts, Edie became particularaly interested in a bust of Henry David.  The nearest docent was first charmed, and then astounded by this significance, like maybe Edie had known him in a past life.  She asked James if Edie might respond this profoundly to, say, a bust of George Washington, to which James admitted that he really didn't know.  She then helpfully suggested we get a Thoreau bust for Edie's bedroom at home.

As this was happening, another docent and a very enthusiastic visitor were having a lively conversation about Thoreau's habit of making hand carved flutes for children.  The woman visitor kept insisting he did this all the time, for local children including the children of Bronson Alcott, and the docent was all, uh, yeah, I don't know, lady.  We just have the one flute here.  

After the museum, we headed up to the cemetery to see the graves of the men and women who made Concord so famous.  It was appropriately moving, and as we headed back to the car after Emerson's grave, we saw the flute lady and an obviously like-minded friend picnicking on Thoreau's grave.  Blanket, sandwiches, the whole nine yards.  It was quite a scene.  

I mean, after that, what more is there to do but see the cemetery bog, which of course we did.  And when I say "see", what I really mean is "throw rocks into it so we can see the boggy water not ripple like normal water, and the hole made with our rock close up lickity-split because bogs are creepy living entities".  

And that was just Saturday.


  1. True story: I went to prom with Ralph Waldo Emerson the Third's twin brother Steve. The name itself skipped a generation or two, but the twins really were direct descendants.

    My main claim to fame.

  2. You should get a bust for Edie, There is a book which I think you would enjoy, it's one of Jenny's favorite books, so I read it one afternoon, it has a bust of Thoreau in it, the book is called why does allen always use a comma instead of a period? Or "Diamond in the Window" by Jane Langton

  3. Cemetery bog sounds only slightly less creepy than the bog of eternal stench.