Walden

Thoreau details his typical routine after hoeing the bean fields, which includes an afternoon swim in the pond and a stroll to Concord. He remarks that he observes the village residents, whom he views as curiously as “if they had been prairie dogs, each sitting at the mouth of its burrow, or running over to a neighbor’s to gossip” (287). 

Often staying in the village after nightfall, Thoreau learns to guide himself back to Walden Pond in the dark. Unable to see the path, he feels his way along the pines, observing openings between them. His feet and hands thus become attuned to the way home. 

One afternoon near the end of Thoreau’s first summer, Thoreau is accosted by Concord police when he enters the village. They tell Thoreau that they are jailing him for refusing to pay a poll tax. Thoreau explains that his refusal constitutes a moral rejection of “the state which buys and sells men, women, and children, like cattle at the door of its senate-house” (293). He further muses that it is in men’s nature to try and coerce others into their faulty way of living. 

After a night in jail, Thoreau returns to Walden Pond. He reflects on the absurdity of the situation, rhetorically asking, “You who govern public affairs, what need have you to employ punishments?” He posits that “The virtues of a superior man are like the wind; the virtues of a common man are like the grass; the grass, when the wind passes over it, bends” (295-296).

Whenever he feels weary of mankind, Thoreau replenishes his spirit. He takes his boat out onto the pond and spends his time fishing or playing his flute. Mostly, he prefers to sit in the boat, drifting in a dreamlike state between sleeping and waking.

Thoreau describes the scenery of Walden Pond as being “on a humble scale” (301). Though he finds it beautiful, he reflects that it is not especially grand or memorable. For Thoreau, the remarkable quality of the pond is its “depth and purity” (301) and its ability to reflect the subtle changes in its surrounding environment. At different times of day, the water can appear blue, green, or entirely clear and transparent. This reflective quality takes on metaphysical significance for Thoreau, who meaningfully remarks that some believe the pond is “bottomless” (306). He reflects: “Walden is a perfect forest mirror […]  It is a mirror which no stone can crack, whose quicksilver will never wear off, whose gilding Nature continually repairs” (323). 

Locals tell many varying—and sometimes conflicting—stories of how the pond came to be, from accounts of how they personally dug the pond to a legend of Native American punishment. Contemplating the white stones that surround the pond, Thoreau muses that its name might have some etymological connection to the way it is “walled-in” (314). He observes that the stones were likely cut by railroad workers. Thus, the pond is an amalgam of nature and mankind’s obligation to construct enclosed spaces. 

Thoreau speaks of other local ponds, including White Pond and Flint’s Pond, observing their distinct qualities. He wryly disapproves of Flint’s Pond’s name:

What right had the unclean and stupid farmer, whose farm abutted on this sky water, whose shores he has ruthlessly laid bare, to give his name to it? Some skin-flint, who loved better the reflecting surface of a dollar, or a bright cent, in which he could see his own brazen face […] (335).

Thoreau would rather the pond were named for the nature that surrounds it, such as the native flora and fauna. He calls these ponds “great crystals on the surface of the earth, Lakes of Light” (341). He proclaims that they may be too good for this human-inhabited earth.