(Posted November 8, 2009)
OK, I know. Henry David Thoreau, famed writer, thinker and Unitarian Universalist is dead. So I wasn’t really with him yesterday at Duluth’s UU church. But I was with some of his modern day pals; fellow UU’ers who were helping the Lake Superior Writers put on a book sale and reading series at the new digs of the Unitarian Universalists on College Street in Duluth.
The day was too darn nice to be in a church, even one as environmentally sensitive as the new UU structure. I drove into Duluth a bit early. The autumnal sun and southerly breeze warmed the air to temperatures more appropriate for late September. With time to kill, I did what any native Duluthian would do. I drove to the end of Park Point, climbed a sand dune, and found a place to worship the glorious day. The truth of it is that spending time on Park Point in sixty degree weather in early November isn’t “killing time”; it’s relishing every moment of life God has seen fit to bless you with. That’s what I did. It’s likely what Thoreau would do.
I sat in the brilliant sun, listening to the gentle tapping of Lake Superior against the rose red sand of the Point, straining to ignore the sounds of children and cars and dogs and screeching trucks competing with the lake’s deftly whispered voice.
I don’t do enough of this, I thought. Rene’ is right. I need to slow down.
But then, of course, it was time to get back to the business of hawking books. I uncoiled my legs, rose from the ground, and brushed the sand of the Point off my jeans before driving back up the hill to Thoreau’s church. After unpacking my wares and organizing my table, I sold a few books to strangers, talked to some folks I knew, and made a new friend. Fortuitously, my new friend (a lady poet) wandered into the Irish pub I’d chosen to launch my “slowing down” protocol after the book fair. She joined me and ordered a pint (I was already deep into my second). We shared a few laughs while we waited for time to pass: her spouse was meeting her at the pub; mine was driving down the hill to meet me for dinner. When my glass was empty, I said my adieu and left the lady poet to her pint, a growing crowd, and an empty table. After spending a bit of time with her, I’m uncertain if she’s one of Henry Thoreau’s pals or not. But I do like her poetry.
Catch me this week, from Thursday to Sunday, at Canterbury Downs in Shakopee. And if you’re a pal of Thoreau’s, make sure you let me know how he’s doing.
Peace.
Mark
