Thoreau's Cabin and My Cabin

Five years ago, with much anticipation and trepidation,  I left Tokyo, Japan, one of the largest metropolitan areas of the world. I decided to move to rural Park County, Colorado, where I had a small cabin. During those first months on the land, I decided to write a blog, chronicling my new hopefully more “authentic” life. Yes, I could hear Thoreau laughing—no doubt a chuckle rather than a belly laugh. He’s considered humorless by some scholars, but that’s only if you don’t appreciate the satire on almost every page of Walden.* And also if you don’t appreciate his somewhat whimsical approach to hairstyling.

The blog did not last beyond the first entry, except for a brief attempt to jump start it two years later. As I admitted even then, my early 21st century life seemed to bear little resemblance to the one lived by Thoreau in the mid-19th century. What was simplicity then is far, far simpler than today’s version.

The charming picture of Thoreau’s simple cabin was drawn by T’s sister, Sophia, an amateur artist. He was not happy with it. She didn’t quite get the cabin right and the pictured trees did not grow in the area, but she was his sister, so what could he do?

For a good view and discussion of Thoreau’s cabin, which visitors to Walden Pond can now see as a replica, go to youtube; click here to start the tour.

As for my early attempt at a blog, embarrassment was probably stronger than my tendency to inertia. A few comparisons and contrasts will show why:

1. Thoreau’s cabin—which he built himself from salvage—was 10’ wide by 15’ long, shingled and plastered. It had “a garret and a closet, a large window on each side, two trap-doors, one door at the end, and a brick fireplace opposite.” No mention is made in Walden of an outhouse; presumably he had one, though. His bathtub was Walden Pond—at least in the warmer months. Total cost of the cabin was $28.

My cabin, nicknamed Mudbiscuit, is a 34-foot park model RV consisting of two rooms and a bathroom, as well as a now-enclosed front porch. The living room/kitchen is 12’ wide x 15’ long—about the size of Thoreau’s entire cabin. It has built-in cabinets, counters, a double sink, and shelves (cellars having gone out of fashion), three windows and sliding glass doors. There are wood shingles on the outside and paneling inside; a high ceiling, peaking at 9 feet; all requisite wiring and plumbing, ceiling lights. Fixtures, such as fridge and stove, were added later. There is a small bedroom with large closet and a bathroom with sink, cabinet, shower and tub.  Cost was $31,281, and I believe a similar model would cost nearly double that today. Here’s how the southwest side of the cabin looked in 2007.

2. Thoreau’s furniture—which he made himself or found in the attics of others—consisted of a bed, a table, a desk and 3 chairs. A neighbor offered him a mat, which he declined, reasoning that he could just wipe his feet on the ground outside the door.  Apparently he anticipated by more than a century the late Erma Bombeck, who advised mid-20th century homemakers to avoid putting something that needs to be cleaned on top of something else that has to be cleaned.

Similarly, my living room/kitchen has a sofa bed, a table/desk, 2 chairs (plus several folding ones hidden away), and a stool. There the similarity stops. Add to that one bookcase, a shelving unit for Internet modem and router, telescope, and fan. Ignoring Ms. Bombeck’s advice, I bought 3 braided rugs. In the space facing the bathroom, a storage unit for food and clothes, and a set of plastic drawers; in the bedroom, a twin bed, a large shelving unit, 2 night tables, 2 lamps. A friend of Linda’s bought me a propane refrigerator.

This view of the interior dates back to 2010, my official move-in year,  when I was still sleeping on a borrowed bed and had not yet added many of the items in the above list.

3. Thoreau reminds his readers that he paid nothing for curtains, “for I have no gazers to shut out but the sun and moon, and I am willing that they should look in.” If the sun is “sometimes too warm a friend, I find it still better economy to retreat behind some curtain which nature has provided, than to add a single item to the details of housekeeping”.

I’m with Thoreau here on reducing housekeeping tasks and on the pleasures of letting the sun and moon gaze in—sometimes, that is. On summer mornings, I love waking up to the sun, which I can see rising from my bedroom window. The southwest-facing windows of the main room offer a beautiful view of sunsets and the nighttime sky, moon or not, providing clouds don’t mask the starlight.

However, with the high altitude sun (8700’) in the summer and my sliding doors facing southwest, thermal shades proved one of my best investments. (When I was here in colder months, they certainly helped insulate as well.) Seeking out “some curtain that nature has provided” would require a short hike to the property across the road, where there are many evergreen trees. Mudbiscuit is surrounded by open pasture land, although there’s a small cottonwood grove visible from my east window—shade for a number of birds and other small creatures. Here’s a view of Mudbiscuit as the southwest side looks today after a deck was added, solar panels doubled and thermal shades pulled.

Despite these differences—which highlight the consumerism and necessary comforts of the 21st century, I’m no longer embarrassed to write about the connections between Thoreau and me. It’s interesting to explore Thoreau’s writings and set my choices in juxtaposition to those of this most American of philosophers. Thoreau’s stay at Walden lasted 2 years and 2 months; mine has totaled just about the same amount of time over a 5-year period. He wrote an amazing book about his stay; the least I can do is jumpstart this humble blog.

*Walter Harding, editor of an annotated 1995 version of Walden, makes a case for this.