Yesterday, I wrote these words in my notebook:

I am sitting in a park. To be honest, calling this place a park is being generous. I’m in a public space in Queens, NY, which—though officially named a park—is more concrete than anything else. It’s a playground with swings and a jungle gym and benches and a few grassy areas that are carefully designed to break up the space, functioning more as medians than recreational areas. I dislike this place, but my daughter loves it, so here I sit.

It’s quiet here today, not hot enough out to bring in the mass of kids engaging in water-based warfare in an effort to cool down. It’s a good day to listen to the soundscape of this particular place. As one would expect, there are a lot of traffic noises—trucks struggling into gear, cars traveling by, the occasional roar of a motorcycle, and the horns of the impatient. This place is under a flight path today, so low flying planes drown out everything else at regular intervals. Underneath it all is the droning of insects in the few trees.

It is this last sound—the insects in that blend with the roar of various engines—that inspires this entry.

Later this week I’m traveling to Walden Pond to begin recording sounds for Not Less Than the Good. From earlier visits I know that I will not be recording pure nature sounds. There is a major road nearby that creates a constant drone of traffic noise. The pond is not far from Boston, so the possibility of plane and helicopter traffic is real. The pond is also open for swimming and lounging, adding the revelry of visiting families to the soundscape.

Whether I want it or not, the sounds of modern life are encroaching on Walden Pond and will be a part of any recording made there. A while ago I considered what this means for my project. I can either record the present day soundscape as is, or I can go to other, more remote places, and try to approximate what it sounded like when Thoreau lived in these woods.

To my mind, this decision has a lot to do with how I choose to conceptualize Walden Pond in Not Less Than the Good. I think that were I to record in other places, attempting to recreate the original sound of the space, I would be portraying Walden Pond as more important than it is in relation to Walden and Thoreau’s ideas; I’d be portraying it as a place of power and magic, a holy land. It is not these things. Thoreau developed his ideas while living in this place, but he could of done that in any secluded place.

His ideas are powerful and life-altering, as attested to by the enduring popularity of his work. The power in his writing comes from his own mind; there is nothing special about the place he lived while he conceived and developed his ideas. Any similar place would have afforded him the time and space to develop these ideas. Thoreau advocates for us to connect with nature right around us. Walden Pond was his local environment. Our own local spaces are where the magic is for each of us.

I think that trying to recreate the original sound of Walden Pond (within the context of my project) would feel like giving too much power and credit to the place itself. Rather, by presenting it as it is now, I hope to document the actual power of this place that both preserves it among the increasing local development and draws so many visitors to walk in the woods and swim in the pond where Thoreau did so long ago. Would it be preserved and protected were it not the place where Thoreau lived and wrote?

Next to the site of Thoreau’s cabin is a pile of stones. Many have been stacked in little piles and some have been written on (people’s names and dates, mostly). These are signs of visitors hoping to connect with this place. The desire to visit and look for meaning—though I’m not sure what value that meaning might hold—is responsible both for the preservation of this place and the physical changes—the large beach house, the parking lots, and the fences lining the hiking trails to deter further erosion of he land.

I find this idea of Walden pond the most interesting. A place that is remembered and preserved for what happened here, and at the same being changed by people who visit. In this state, it reminds us of the importance of all wild places, and the urgent need to preserve them. These places are important because we are connected to them, we come from them. It is easy to forget that, sitting as I do in a park in Queens. Modern life in this country has largely separated us from nature, except when she pushes her way into our lives with foul weather or unwanted pests. This idea was important to Thoreau, and the attention to preserving wild spaces is certainly part of his legacy.

I’m going to record everything that’s there and present it as is. No trying edit out the cars or the swimmers. I can’t quite articulate why. I feel like I’m writing my way around an important idea. More time and thought is required, I guess. I’ll keep my ears and my mind open when I’m at Walden Pond. Maybe I’ll find my own answer in that solitude.