Curators of Meteorites, Inspectors of Snow-Storms

It tickled me, perhaps more than one might expect, when I read that the author of a column on the back page of the British Catholic weekly, The Tablet, “is the curator of meteorites at the Vatican Observatory.”

Tickled as I was, I turned to the friend sitting beside me, showed him the author bio, and said, “Charles, can that really be a fulltime job?”

I’m a job-seeker these days, so I guess I think that way sometimes.

Help Wanted: Large institutional religious organization seeks curator of meteorites.

Help Wanted: Archivist of tree bark to organize collection of Protestant sect.

Help Wanted: Buddhist dot.org seeks indexer of creeks and streams.

And then I thought of that old pal of mine, Henry David Thoreau, and some of the “jobs” he had in and around Concord, Massachusetts and the pond called Walden:

For a long time I was reporter to a journal, of no very wide circulation, whose editor has never yet seen fit to print the bulk of my contributions, and, as is too common with writers, I got only my labor for my pains. However, in this case my pains were their own reward.

For many years I was self-appointed inspector of snow-storms and rain-storms, and did my duty faithfully; surveyor, if not of highways, then of forest paths and all across-lot routes, keeping them open, and ravines bridged and passable at all seasons, where the public heel had testified to their utility.

I have looked after the wild stock of the town, which give a faithful herdsman a good deal of trouble by leaping fences; and I have had an eye to the unfrequented nooks and corners of the farm; though I did not always know whether Jonas or Solomon worked in a particular field to-day; that was none of my business. I have watered the red huckleberry, the sand cherry and the nettle-tree, the red pine and the black ash, the white grape and the yellow violet, which might have withered else in dry seasons.

It felt good to read that again.

[For a bit of Thoreauvian fun, click here.]