Monday, August 31, 2009

The history of a shower

August 31.



P. M. — To Fair Haven Hill.

Was caught in five successive showers, and took refuge in Hayden's barn, under the cliffs, and under a tree. 

A thunder-cloud, seen from a hilltop, as it is advancing rapidly across the sky on one side, whose rear at least will soon strike us. The dark-blue mass (seen edgewise) with its lighter upper surface and its copious curving rain beneath and behind, like an immense steamer holding its steady way to its port, with tremendous mutterings from time to time, a rush of cooler air, and hurried flight of birds. 

These later weeds, — chenopodiums, Roman wormwood, amaranth, etc., — now so rank and prevalent in the cultivated fields which were long since deserted by the hoers, now that the potatoes are for the most part ripened, are preparing a crop for the small birds of the fall and winter, those pensioners on civilization. These weeds require cultivated ground, and Nature perseveres each year till she succeeds in producing a bountiful harvest by their seeds, in spite of our early assiduity. Now that the potatoes are cared for, Nature is preparing a crop of chenopodium and Roman wormwood for the birds.

Now especially the crickets are seen and heard on dry and sandy banks and fields, near their burrows, and some hanging, back down, to the stems of grass, feeding. I entered a dry grassy hollow where the cricket alone seemed to reign, — open like a bowl to the sky. 

While I stand under a pine for shelter during the rain, on Fair Haven Hill-side, I see many sarsaparilla plants fallen and withering green, i. e. before changing. It is as if they had a weak hold on the earth, on the subterranean stocks. 

The nightshade berries are handsome, not only for their clear red, but the beautifully regular form of their drooping clusters, suggesting a hexagonal arrangement for economy of room. 

There was another shower in the night (at 9 p. m.), making the sixth after 1.30 p. m. It was evidently one cloud thus broken into six parts, with some broad intervals of clear sky and fair weather. 

It would have been convenient for us, if it had been printed on the first cloud, "Five more to come!" Such a shower has a history which has never been written. One would like to know how and where the cloud first gathered, what lands and water it passed over and watered, and where and when it ceased to rain and was finally dissipated.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, August 31, 1859


These weeds require cultivated ground, and now that the potatoes are cared for, Nature is preparing a crop of chenopodium and Roman wormwood for the birds.
 See May 13, 1856 ("Wheeler says that many a pasture, if you plow it up after it has been lying still ten years, will produce an abundant crop of wormwood, and its seeds must have lain in the ground."); August 8, 1851 ("As I recross the string-pieces of the bridge, I see the water-bugs swimming briskly in the moonlight and scent the Roman wormwood in the potato fields."); August 26, 1859 ("Potato vines have taken a veil of wormwood."); August 31, 1854 ("Wormwood pollen yellows my clothes commonly")

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Late Blackberries






August 27.

A little more rain last night.

What were those insects, some winged, with short backs and say half an inch long, others wingless and shorter, like little coils of brass wire (so marked), in dense droves together on trees and fences, — apparently harmless, — especially a week or ten days ago ?

I was telling Jonas Potter of my lameness yesterday, whereat he says that he "broke" both his feet when he was young, — I imagined how they looked through his wrinkled cowhides, — and he did not get over it for four years, nay, even now he sometimes felt pains in them before a storm.

All our life, i.e. the living part of it, is a persistent dreaming awake. The boy does not camp in his father's yard. That would not be adventurous enough, there are too many sights and sounds to disturb the illusion; so he marches off twenty or thirty miles and there pitches his tent, where stranger inhabitants are tamely sleeping in their beds just like his father at home, and camps in their yard, perchance. But then he dreams uninterruptedly that he is anywhere but where he is.

I often see yarrow with a delicate pink tint, very distinct from the common pure-white ones.

What is often called poverty, but which is a simpler and truer relation to nature, gives a peculiar relish to life, just as to be kept short gives us an appetite for food.

Vilfa vaginaflora
(?) well out.

The first notice I have that grapes are ripening is by the rich scent at evening from my own native vine against the house, when I go to the pump, though I thought there were none on it.

The children have done bringing huckleberries to sell for nearly a week. They are suspected to have berries [sic] in them.

On the 23d I gathered perfectly fresh and large low black-berries, peculiarly sweet and soft, in the shade of the pines at Thrush Alley, long after they are done in open fields. They seem like a different variety from the common, they are so much sweeter, tenderer, and larger. They do not grow densely but sparingly, now resting on the ground in the shade of their leaves, perfectly ripe. These that have ripened slowly and perfectly in the shade are the sweetest and tenderest, have the least of the bramble berry about them.

Elder-berry clusters swell and become heavy and therefore droop, bending the bushes down, just in proportion as they ripen. Hence you see the green cymes perfectly erect, the half-ripe drooping, and the perfectly ripe hanging straight down on the same bush.

I think that some summer squashes had turned yellow in our yard a fortnight or more ago.

There are various ways in which you can tell if a watermelon is ripe. If you have had your eye on the patch much from the first, and so know which formed first, you may presume that these will ripen soonest ; or else you may incline to those which lie nearest the centre of the hill or root, as the oldest. Next the dull dead color and want of bloom are as good signs as any. Some look green and livid and have a very fog or mildew of bloom on them, like a fungus. These are as green as a leek through and through, and you'll find yourself in a pickle if you open one. Others have a dead dark greenness, the circulations being less rapid in their cuticles and their blooming period passed, and these you may safely bet on. If the vine is quite green and lively, the death of the quirl at the root of the stem is almost a sure sign. For fear we should not discover it before, this is placed for a sign that there is redness and ripeness (if not mealiness) within.

Of two otherwise similar, take that which yields the lowest tone when struck with your knuckles, i. e., which is hollowest. The old or ripe ones sing base; the young, tenor or falsetto. Some use the violent method of pressing to hear if they crack within, but this is not to be allowed. Above all no tapping on the vine is to be tolerated, suggestive of a greediness which defeats its own purpose. It is very childish.

One man told me that he couldn't raise melons because his children would cut them all up. I thought that he convicted himself out of his own mouth, and was not fit to be the ruler of a country according to Confucius' standard, that at any rate he could not raise children in the way they should go. I once saw one of his boys astride of my earliest watermelon, which grew near a broken paling, and brandishing a case-knife over it, but I instantly blowed him off with my voice from a neighboring window before serious damage was done, and made such an ado about [it] as convinced him that he was not in his father's dominions, at any rate. This melon, though it lost some of its bloom then, grew to be a remarkably large and sweet one, though it bore to the last a triangular scar of the tap which the thief had designed on it.

I served my apprenticeship and have since done considerable journey-work in the huckleberry-field, though I never paid for my schooling and clothing in that way. It was itself some of the best schooling I got, and paid for itself. Occasionally in still summer forenoons, when perhaps a mantua-maker was to be dined, and a huckleberry pudding had been decided on, I, a lad of ten, was dispatched to the huckleberry hills, all alone. My scholastic education could be thus far tampered with and an excuse might be found. No matter how few and scarce the berries on the near hills, the exact number necessary for a huckleberry pudding could surely be collected by 11 o'clock. My rule in such cases was never to eat one till my dish was full.

At other times when I had companions, some used to bring such curiously shaped dishes that I was often curious to see how the berries disposed of themselves in them. Some brought a coffee-pot to the huckleberry- field, and such a vessel possessed this advantage at least, that if a greedy boy had skimmed off a handful or two on his way home, he had only to close the lid and give his vessel a shake to have it full again. This was done all round when we got as far homeward as the Dutch house. This can probably be done with any vessel that has much side to it.

I once met with a whole family — father and mother and children — ravaging a huckleberry-field in this wise: they cut up the bushes, and, as they went, beat them over the edge of a bushel basket, till they had it full of berries, ripe and green, leaves, sticks, etc., and so they passed along out of my sight like wild men.

See Veratrum viride completely withered and brown from top to bottom, probably as early as skunk-cabbage.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, August 27, 1859
All our life is a persistent dreaming awake. See November 12, 1859 ("I do not know how to distinguish between our waking life and a dream. Are we not always living the life that we imagine we are?"); October 29, 1857 ("There are some things of which I cannot at once tell whether I have dreamed them or they are real"); August 8, 1852 ("When the play - it may be the tragedy of life - is over, the spectator goes his way. It was a kind of fiction, a work of the imagination only, so far as he was concerned.") May 24, 1851 ("I frequently awake with an atmosphere about me as if my unremembered dreams had been divine, as if my spirit had journeyed to its native place”).

I often see yarrow with a delicate pink tint. See July 5, 1856 ("Pink-colored yarrow.")

The children have done bringing huckleberries to sell for nearly a week
. See July 13, 1852 ("It is impossible to say what day — almost what week — the huckleberries begin to be ripe, unless you are acquainted with, and daily visit, every huckleberry bush in the town"); August 4, 1852 (“Most huckleberries and blueberries and low blackberries are in their prime now.”); August 4, 1854 ("On this hill (Smith's) the bushes are black with huckleberries. ...Now in their prime. Some glossy black, some dull black, some blue; and patches of Vaccinium vacillans inter mixed."); August 4. 1856 ("This favorable moist weather has expanded some of the huckleberries to the size of bullets"); August 28, 1856 ("Huckleberries are about given up")


On the 23d I gathered perfectly fresh and large low black-berries. . . long after they are done in open fields. . . .
See July 31, 1856 (“How thick the berries — low blackberries, Vaccinium vacillans, and huckleberries — on the side of Fair Haven Hill! ”) August 4, 1852 (“Most huckleberries and blueberries and low blackberries are in their prime now.”); August 19, 1856 ("What countless varieties of low blackberries! Here, in this open pine grove, I pluck some large fresh and very sweet ones when they are mostly gone without. So they are continued a little longer to us");  August 23, 1856 ("Now for high blackberries, though the low are gone.” ;August 28, 1856 (“low blackberries done, high blackberries still to be had.”);  See also August 10, 1853 ("August, royal and rich . . .It is glorious to see those great shining high blackberries, now partly ripe . . ."); August 17, 1853 ("The high blackberries are now in their prime; the richest berry we have.”); August 22, 1852 ("Is not the high blackberry our finest berry?");); August 27, 1857 ("Detected a, to me, new kind of high blackberry on the edge of the cliff beyond Conant's wall on Lee's ground,"); ; August 31, 1857 ("An abundance of fine high blackberries behind Britton's old camp on the Lincoln road, now in their prime there, which have been overlooked. Is it not our richest fruit?")

Elder-berry clusters swell and become heavy and therefore droop, bending the bushes down, just in proportion as they ripen. See August 22, 1852 ("The elder bushes are weighed down with fruit partially turned, and are still in bloom at the extremities of their twigs."); August 23, 1856 ("Elder-berries, now looking purple, are weighing down the bushes along fences by their abundance."); August 29, 1854 ("The cymes of elder-berries, black with fruit, are now conspicuous."

Friday, August 21, 2009

Love Flood

Last night
the thought of you
brought a flood of longing
to be in your thoughts likewise
when your desire overflows.

Thinking of you
thinking of me
thinking of you.

I want to fill you with love.
Why must I spill it so?



Zphx

June twenty-four two thousand two




across the dusky lake
the voice of a loon
penetrates lost time.



Zphx

if god does not exist

if god does not exist
you are the sun the moon
the stars and the sky
and i am the wind.
if god does not exist.

if god does not exist
you are the grass the trees
the moss and the earth
and i am the tide.
if god does not exist.

if god does not exist
i am the clouds the rain
the storm and the sea
and you are my soul.
if god does not exist.

ebb and flow
ebb and flow

earth sky wind and tide:
if god does not exist
why do i love you so?

Zphx

A Wild Ride

August 21.

Below, the river turns again to the right, the canon is very narrow, and we see in advance but a short distance. The water is swift, and there is no landing place. From around this curve comes a mad roar, and down we are carried, with a dizzying velocity, to the head of another rapid. High over our heads on either side are overhanging granite walls. The sharp bend cuts off our view, so a few minutes will carry us into unknown waters.

I stand on deck, supporting myself with a strap fastened on either side to the gunwale, and away we go on one long winding chute. The excitement is so great that we forget the danger -- a wild, exhilarating ride for ten miles -- until we hear the roar of a great fall below, back on our oars and succeed in landing.

John Wesley Powell,
Exploration of the Colorado River of the West and Its Tributaries, August 21, 1869

Monday, August 17, 2009

Early frost


August 17.


Frost in low ground this Morning.


That was purple grass which I saw to-day. I see also the saw-grass in the shorn fields

H.D. Thoreau, 
Journal, August 17, 1859

Sunday, August 16, 2009

The Persied Meteor Shower


I wish I had no wishes
or what is the same:
Unlimited.
Finite starbright,
I wish I had three wishes.



Zphx 8/14/09

Sunday, August 2, 2009

Midsummer

August 2. 

That fine z-ing of locusts in the grass which I have heard for three or four days is an August sound. It suggests a certain maturity in the year -- a certain moral and physical sluggishness and standstill at midsummer.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, August 2, 1859


moral and physical sluggishness and standstill at midsummer. See July 31, 1856 (" As I make my way amid rank weeds still wet with the dew, the air filled with a decaying musty scent and the z-ing of small locusts, I hear the distant sound of a flail, and thoughts of autumn occupy my mind, and the memory of past years. ") and A Book of the Seasons: Midsummer midlife blues


Aug. 2. I try the current above Dodd's. There is a southwest breeze. A loose board moves faster than one with a sunk box, but soon drifts diagonally across and lodges at fifty feet. The box, sunk fourteen inches below the board, floats one hundred feet in nine minutes; sunk two and a half feet, in nine and a quarter minutes; sunk five and a half feet, it is not half-way in thirteen minutes, or, allowing for its starting this time a little out of the wind and current, say it is twenty minutes in going a hundred feet. 

I should infer from this that the swiftest and most uninterrupted current under all conditions was neither at the surface nor the bottom, but nearer the surface than the bottom. If the wind is down-stream, it is at the surface; if up-stream, it is beneath it, and at a depth proportionate to the strength of the wind. I think that there never ceases to be a downward current. 

Rudely calculating the capacity of the river here and comparing it with my boat's place, I find it about as two to one, and such is the slowness of the current, viz. nine minutes to four and a half to a hundred feet.

If you are boating far it is extremely important to know the direction of the wind. If it blows strong up-stream, there will be a surface current flowing upward, another beneath flowing downward, and a very feeble one (in the lake-like parts) creeping downward next the bottom. A wind in which it is not worth the while to raise a sail will often blow your sailless boat up-stream. 

The sluggishness of the current, I should say, must be at different places as the areas of cross-sections at those places. 

That fine z-ing of locusts in the grass which I have heard for three or four days is, methinks, an August sound and is very inspiriting. It is a certain maturity in the year which it suggests. My thoughts are the less crude for it. There is a certain moral and physical sluggishness and standstill at midsummer.

 I think that clams are chiefly found at shallow and slightly muddy places where there is a gradually shelving shore. Are not found on a very hard bottom, nor in deep mud. 

All of the river from the southwest of Wayland to off the Height of Hill [sic] below Hill's Bridge is meadowy. This is the true Musketaquid. 

The buttonwood bark strews the streets, — curled pieces. Is it not the effect of dry weather and heat? As birds shed their feathers, or moult, and beasts their hair. Neat rolls of bark (like cinnamon, but larger), light and dark brown.

What are these things?


November 21.

I saw Fair Haven Pond with its island, and meadow between the island and the shore, and a strip of perfectly still and smooth water in the lee of the island, and two hawks, fish hawks perhaps, sailing over it. I did not see how it could be improved.

Yet i do not know what these things can be.

The hawks and the ducks keep so aloof! and Nature is so reserved!

I begin to see only when I cease to understand.

How adapted these forms and colors to my eye! A meadow and an island! I am made to love the pond and the meadow, as the wind is made to ripple the water.



H. D. Thoreau,
Journal, November 21, 1850  (see also 

Visions Illuminations Inspirations)


These forms and colors
so adapted to my eye
cannot be improved.

We are made to love
pond and meadow as the wind
to ripple water.


Fair Haven Pond with its island, and meadow between the island and the shore, and a strip of perfectly still and smooth water in the lee of the island, and two hawks. . . See February 14, 1851 ("One afternoon in the fall, November 21st, I saw Fair Haven Pond with its island and meadow; between the island and the shore, a strip of perfectly smooth water in the lee of the island; and two hawks sailing over it; and something more I saw which cannot easily be described . . ."); .April 14, 1852 ("Fair Haven Pond -- the pond, the meadow beyond the button-bush and willow curve, the island, and the meadow between the island and mainland with its own defining lines -- are all parted off like the parts of a mirror. A fish hawk is calmly sailing over all . . . "); See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Fair Haven Pond

Yet i do not know what these things can be. . . .Nature is so reserved! See November 30, 1858 ("In my account of this bream I cannot go a hair's breadth beyond the mere statement that it exists."); May 1850 ("In all my rambles I have seen no landscape which can make me forget Fair Haven. I still sit on its Cliff in a new spring day, and look over the awakening woods and the river, and hear the new birds sing, with the same delight as ever. It is as sweet a mystery to me as ever, what this world is.")


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