Almost no American writer of his time mentions food as frequently as he – and that, along with the ”autumnal tints” of the New England he so loved, the falling leaves of hectic red, yellow and brown that, in his words, ”teach us how to die,” and the smells of the deep, dark, lovely woods of Massachusetts at this season have always conspired in my mind, for some reason, to associate this great Concord writer with the feast of Thanksgiving. (New York Times, 1982)

Nothing says “I’m ignoring current events” like listening to a radio play.

Thanks to an investigation into the cabin’s foundation, Schablitsky and her team of archaeologists have uncovered a stunning breadth of objects that provide insight into the lives of the enslaved and free Black residents of the Bayly property. (Atlas Obscura)

. . . I decided to pull a Thoreau and go camping near my home. Nothing wild, just me, my tent and a few important supplies. I kissed my wife goodbye, walked two miles into a New England forest and spent the night.  (Inside Hook)