Tramping with Henry in mind

 Here’s Henry David Thoreau, writing in his journal, Jan. 19, 1858:

To insure health, a man’s relation to Nature must come very near to a personal one; he must be conscious of a friendliness in her; when human friends fail or die, she must stand in the gap to him. I cannot conceive of any life which deserves the name, unless there is a certain tender relation to Nature. This it is which makes winter warm, and supplies society in the desert and wilderness. Unless Nature sympathizes with and speaks to us, as it were, the most fertile and blooming regions are barren and dreary …

I do not see that I can live tolerably without affection for Nature. If I feel so no softening toward the rocks, what do they signify?

I do not think much of that chemistry that can extract corn and potatoes out of a barren (soil), but rather of that chemistry that can extract thoughts and sentiments out of the life of a man on any soil. It is in vain to write on the seasons unless you the seasons in you.

For years, I’ve been walking through woods and creek bottoms. When I’ve crossed old farms, it’s not because I wanted to farm them for crops. It’s because the land somehow gets a harvest of “thoughts and sentiments” out of me.