A Blessed Land We Walk

"In short, all good things are wild and free. There is something in a strand of music, whether produced by an instrument or by the human voice, - take the sound of a bugle in a summer night, for instance, - which by its wildness, to speak without satire, reminds me of the cries emitted by wild beasts in their native forests. It is so much of their wildness as I can understand. Give me for my friends and neighbors wild men, not tame ones." Henry David Thoreau

I can't think of a more anti-artificial intelligence world than the above statement. A simple man taking a walk in the real world wrote this. The voices of our loved ones, or a new piece of music created from your heart and soul, remind us we are human, we are alive and we matter. On this Memorial Day, 2026, I wanted to share how I encountered Walden's Pond in Concord, MA, for the first time.

My computer was acting up, and I called IT to have a look. Claude, an imposing and knowledgeable Canadian, took a look and said, go to lunch - I'll take care of this. My job with a high-tech consulting firm in Waltham, MA, allowed me to step out the door when fresh air was needed, and this was that day. I hopped in my car with my lunch and drove. I have no sense of direction. The women in my family all have broken radar and as I drove toward Concord for the first time, there it was. A marker for Walden's Pond appeared and this circle of water, easily trotted as I munched my sandwich. Wow, I thought, this is it? The great Henry David wrote so many great things about it, and I could walk it on my break?

It was so beautiful, peaceful, and I knew Concord held a hefty history, as I passed an ancient cemetery holding the bones of those who settled our country. But alas, my lunch hour was closing fast, and the consulting must commence! I hustled back in the wrong direction - true to my ancestors - and realized I was lost. My peaceful tranquility walking where Thoreau walked was turning to panic. I pulled into a police station to ask for directions back to Waltham. Just as I was entering the lobby, a large bee flew into my hair and buzzed loudly! I tossed my head and flailed my arms about, trying to dislodge it, while screaming.

Needless to say, the cop at the desk quickly stood up and put his hand on his revolver. "I'm lost!" I sputtered. "How do I get back to Waltham?! He ushered me to the door while giving directions, and I was off.

I loved living in New England. Once, while my friend and I, along with my visiting sister, were canoeing on the Sudbury River, as we banked for a quick lunch, some crazy Minutemen and Red Coats jumped out from different sides, complete with muskets and period outfits, yelling Halt! Apparently they were a re-enactment on that part of the river. They were going to arrest us on behalf of the British Crown, but I said I was barefoot, and my sandals were in the boat. "Just kidding!" they laughed and let us go. What an adventure, paddling past the lush greenery and purple spires of wildflowers on a winding river! So magnificent!

What does any of this have to do with Memorial Day? Every town in the United States has a history, a marker, a plaque of those who came before and gave their lives for our freedom. I had a job, a car, food, and freedom. I could stumble on one of the greats on my lunch break. All the towns we've been privileged to live in have a history, a cemetery of crooked gravestones that tell a tale, and who fought for our freedom somewhere. We are so blessed, like Henry David Thoreau, to walk this land.

Note: The above picture was taken of a veteran, one of several who gathered at our community Veterans' Memorial, where we last lived, here in Florida. As the flags were raised and their stories told, they wore the experience of those wars on their faces. I cried through the whole thing.