Tuesday, June 18, 2013

When bullfrogs were as big as bulls.

June 18.

No fog and very little dew, or perhaps it was a slight rain in the night. I find always some dew in low ground. 

There is a broad crescent of clear sky in the west, but it looks rainy in the east. As yet we are disappointed of rain. 

Almost all birds appear to join the early morning chorus before sunrise on the roost, the matin hymn. I hear now the robin, the chip-bird, the blackbird, the martin, etc., etc., but I see none flying, or, at last, only one wing in the air, not yet illustrated by the sun. 

As I was going up the hill, I was surprised to see rising above the June-grass, near a walnut, a whitish object, like a stone with a white top, or a skunk erect, for it was black below. It was an enormous toadstool, or fungus, a sharply conical parasol in the form of a sugar loaf.

The pileus or cap was six inches long by seven in width at the rim, though it appeared longer than wide. The top of the cap was quite white within and without, hoariest at top of the cone like a mountain-top.. It looked much like an old felt hat; in fact, it was almost big enough for a child's head.

It was so delicate and fragile that its whole cap trembled on the least touch, and, as I could not lay it down without injuring it, I was obliged to carry it home all the way in my hand and erect, while I paddled my boat with one hand.

It was a wonder how its soft cone ever broke through the earth. Such growths ally our age to former periods, such as geology reveals. It suggests a vegetative force which may almost make man tremble for his dominion.

It carries me back to the era of the formation of the coal-measures -- the age of the saurus and pleiosaurus and when bullfrogs were as big as bulls. It made you think of parasols of Chinese mandarins; or it might have been used by the great fossil bullfrog in his walks.

What part does it play in the economy of the world?


H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 18, 1853

Almost all birds appear to join the early morning chorus before sunrise. See June 18, 1860 ("The tumultuous singing of birds, a burst of melody, wakes me up (the window being open) these mornings at dawn. What a matinade to have poured into your slumber!")

July 18. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, June 18

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau
"A book, each page written in its own season,
out-of-doors, in its own locality.”

~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2020

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