Successful Sauntering

We, as essay students, know that a good essayist is made by several things, one of which being the ability to write in a contained manner, but present it as though it were done in a more stream-of-consciousness fashion. This is said to us by an essayist, whom we cannot trust, now knowing his criteria is based on nothing other than contradictions.
So, what then?
I must assume that Henry David Thoreau was indeed crafting his work on a structured basis, but cannot fully believe it. His essay "Walking" seems to resolve itself by the end, but only because it stops. I feel as though he could have continued on for the rest of his life, because this essay is clearly about much more than a lazy stroll through a park. This is a story about his walk of life, his views on the variations of "walks" that others take, and the paths he's traveled, favored, ignored (and yet taken firm note of), or otherwise disliked all together.
We find Thoreau blatantly pitying, and, at times despising those who do not value a walk as he does. But, as already stated, this isn't about a walk at all. His pages suggest the mere acceptance and appreciation of all facets of life. Real life, what he calls "wildness" transcribing this word to simply mean truth, responding to his own idea over and over again. It would be easy to say that Thoreau is pretentious in his grand speech of his own Grand Marche, but really this is a lazy reaction to have. So eloquently phrased opinions should be regarded in a more thoughtful light. I only wish I had a better education on his writing, because I want so eagerly to defend his taste, but I hardly know the man, so my opinion is unfortunately, at the moment, just that.
I still say he's right, though.
I'm such a fan of "fun facts" and am tickled at the many times he suggests origins of words, or flat out drops them as facts. These clever insertions act as little bubbles in the cup of whatever dry drink he's delivering. His humor is so fitting to the topic, because the essay itself seems to go round and round in circles, and we are then directly taken on a sort of jumpy walk through his mind. When taking into account the many things mentioned, whether it's the climates effect on a person, or the nurturing attitude towards the forest, or the frank disdain towards a smell of a scholar, his writing gives word to an overwhelming bank of detail, acting as a bias guidebook to any passing reader, transforming a casual saunter into an all encompassing notion of life in general. The greatest part is, Thoreau see's no difference whatsoever in the two.