I've been thinking about the past today: not ancient history but not so long ago either. I have one particular day in mind, when we went to visit Walden Pond in 2006. It wasn't completely planned, but when we realized how close we were to Walden during a long drive from Boston to a little village in Nova Scotia that we were calling home, I couldn't resist the call.
I have a beautiful photograph of my daughter, standing on the edge of the pond on a rainy afternoon, pondering life. I remember standing there, watching her, hoping that the curious toe dipped in the water would have a permanent effect on her. So far so good. I picked up a stone from the beach and brought it home with me, feeling a bit guilty about the fact that if every visitor picked up a souvenir, the place would look a little bare. But I couldn't resist.
When I left the little house in Nova Scotia, it wrenched me so deeply to move from the only place I've lived in my life that actually felt like home, that I was moved to leave the precious stone behind. I wanted to leave some part of me there that I could always think of as a kind of anchor that attached me to my only real home. My little daughter Mei Ling and I found a wonderful Waldorf garden to hide the stone in.
It's probably not there anymore, but I like to imagine that it is.
Comments