Heard and saw my warbler (?) of the 23d and 24th on Mr. Emerson's pines. It is the smallest bird I have seen this year. Sits still amid the pines not far below the top and sings very sweetly, loud and clear, and seems further off than it is, beginning first with very fine wiry notes and then increasing in volume and melody till it ends with tweeter tweeter tweeter ter twe. Some of it a martin-like warble. Has sometimes a harsh scolding note.
It is all light, perhaps ashy-white, beneath; has a little narrow forked tail; ashy (?) under wings, which are considerably shorter than tail; and light above and below eye; perhaps a whitish bar on wings; olivaceous(?) above.
I think it may be the golden-crested wren, though I hardly saw the upper parts, or possibly the small blue-gray flycatcher.
I do not find the male blossoms of the red cedar open yet.
P. M. — To Indian Cedar Hill.
April 25, 2014
Quite warm and the frogs are snoring on the meadow. I swelter under my greatcoat.
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 25, 1854
The frogs are snoring on the meadow. See April 11, 1854 ("Hear a slight snoring of frogs on the bared meadows. Is it not the R. palustris?"); May 6, 1858 (“There was a universal snoring of the R. palustris all up and down the river on each side . . . and probably it began in earnest last evening on the river. It is a hard, dry, unmusical, fine watchman’s-rattle-like stertoration, swelling to a speedy conclusion, lasting say some four or five seconds usually . . . Each shore of the river now for its whole length is all alive with this stertorous purring. It is such a sound as I make in my throat when I imitate the growling of wild animals. I have heard a little of it at intervals for a week, in the warmest days, but now at night it [is] universal all along the river. If the note of the R. halecina, April 3d, was the first awakening of the river meadows, this is the second . . .Yet how few distinguished this sound at all, and I know not one who can tell what frog makes it, though it is almost as universal as the breeze itself.”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Pickerel frog (Rana palustris) and A Book of Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The first frogs to begin calling
I swelter under my greatcoat. . . .(I have not left it at home yet) See April 26, 1854 (“It is now so warm that I go back to leave my greatcoat for the first time, and the cooler smell of possible rain is refreshing”; April 26, 1852 (“I begin now to leave off my greatcoat.”)
Many shad-flies in the air and alighting on my clothes. See May 1, 1854 (“The water is strewn with myriads of wrecked shad-flies, erect on the surface, with their wings up like so many schooners all headed one way.”);May 1, 1858 (“Ephemerae quite common over the water. ”); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Insect Hatches in Spring (millers, perla, shad-flies or ephemera)
Increasing lieferungs of heat, each awakening some new bird or quadruped or reptile. See April 6, 1860 (“Vegetation thus comes forward rather by fits and starts than by a steady progress. Some flowers would blossom tomorrow if it were as warm as to-day, but cold weather intervening may detain them a week or more. The spring thus advances and recedes repeatedly, — its pendulum oscillates, — while it is carried steadily forward. Animal life is to its extent subject to a similar law. It is in warm and calm days that most birds arrive and reptiles and insects and men come forth.”); April 7, 1860 (“This is the Rana halecina day, — awakening of the meadows, — though not very warm.. . .Probably, then, when it is about 50 at this season, the river being low, they are to be heard in calm places.”); April 9, 1856 (“It has probably been 70° or more; and the last two days have been nearly as warm. This degree of heat, then, brings the Fringilla juncorum and pine warbler and awakes the hyla. “) April 13, 1859 (“The hylodes and wood frogs are other degrees on the thermometer of the season, indicating that the weather has attained a higher temperature than before and winter fairly ended, but this note marks what you may call April heat (or spring heat).”); May 6, 1858 (“I think that the different epochs in the revolution of the seasons may perhaps be best marked by the notes of reptiles. They express, as it were, the very feelings of the earth or nature. They are perfect thermometers, hygrometers, and barometers.”)
I hear the woods filled with the hum of insects, as if my hearing were affected; and thus the summer's quire begins. See April 17, 1859 (“The air which was so lately void and silent begins to resound as it were with the breathing of a myriad fellow-creatures . . . gradually the spaces of the air are filled . . . we hear but little music in the world which charms us more than this sound produced by the vibration of an insect's wing and in some still and sunny nook in spring.”); April 28, 1860 ("I am advertised of the approach of a new season, as yesterday. The air is not only warmer and stiller, but has more of meaning or smothered voice to it, now that the hum of insects begins to be heard. You seem to have a great companion with you, are reassured by the scarcely audible hum, as if it were the noise of your own thinking”)
Even as living green blades are everywhere pushing up amid the sere ones. See April 25, 1859 ("I got to-day and yesterday the first decided impression of greenness beginning to prevail, summer-like . .. I am suddenly advertised that a new season has arrived.") See also April 14, 1854 ("There is a general tinge of green now discernible through the russet on the bared meadows and the hills, the green blades just peeping forth amid the withered ones."); April 23, 1854 ("How thickly the green blades are starting up amid the russet! "); April 24, 1859 (“From the amid the withered blades spring up ranks of green life like a fire . . . the renewal of life.”); April 28, 1854 ("Perhaps the greenness of the landscape may be said to begin fairly now . . . during the last half of April the earth acquires a distinct tinge of green, which finally prevails over the russet.") and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Brown Season
This must be my warblers of April 18th, April 23d and 24th . . . I saw it yesterday. See April 18, 1854 ("Saw another warbler about the same size, in the same localities, somewhat creeper-like, very restless, more like the Tennessee warbler than any, methinks. Light-slate or bluish-slate head and shoulders, yellowish backward, all white beneath, and a distinct white spot on the wing; a harsh grating note[?]."); April 23, 1854 ("Had a glimpse of a very small warbler on a pitch pine, and heard a pleasant and unusual whistle from him."); April 24, 1854 ("Hear amid the white cedars the fine, clear singing warbler of yesterday, whose harsh note I may have heard the 18th, very clear and fast.")
The fertile fruit-stems of the sensitive fern by the side of the Flint's Pond path, more than a foot high. See May 13, 1860 ("The sensitive fern is only six inches high. — apparently the latest of all")
Saw my thrush of the 18th by the pond. See April 18, 1854 ("Was surprised to see a wagtail thrush. . . which inquisitively followed me along the shore over the snow, hopping quite near.")
The abele will probably blossom to-morrow. See April 26, 1855 ("The silvery abele, probably to-day or yesterday, but I do not see pollen.")
Many shad-flies in the air and alighting on my clothes.
The summer approaches by almost insensibly increasing lieferungs of heat, each awakening some new bird or quadruped or reptile.
At first we were compelled to take off our mittens, then to unbutton our greatcoat, and now, perhaps, to take it off occasionally (I have not left it at home yet), and wear thin boots. For some time we have done with little fire, nowadays let it go out in the afternoon.
Each creature awaits with confidence its proper degree of heat.
The first partridge drums in one or two places, as if the earth's pulse now beat audibly with the increased flow of life. It slightly flutters all Nature and makes her heart palpitate.
At first we were compelled to take off our mittens, then to unbutton our greatcoat, and now, perhaps, to take it off occasionally (I have not left it at home yet), and wear thin boots. For some time we have done with little fire, nowadays let it go out in the afternoon.
Each creature awaits with confidence its proper degree of heat.
The first partridge drums in one or two places, as if the earth's pulse now beat audibly with the increased flow of life. It slightly flutters all Nature and makes her heart palpitate.
Saw a golden crested wren in the woods near Goose Pond. (This must be my warblers of April 18th, April 23d and 24th.) It sounded far off and like an imitation of a robin, (and of a golden robin, which later I often mistook for him) — a long strain and often repeated.
I was quite near it before I was aware of it, it sounding still like a faint imitation of a robin. Some chickadees and yellow redpolls were first apparent, then my wren on the pitch pines and young oaks.
He appeared curious to observe me. A very interesting and active little fellow, darting about amid the tree-tops, and his song quite remarkable and rich and loud for his size.
Begins with a very fine note, before its pipes are filled, not audible at a little distance, then woriter weter, etc., etc., winding up with teter teter, all clear and round. His song is comical and reminds me of the thrasher.
This was at 4 p. m., when most birds do not sing. I saw it yesterday, pluming itself and stretching its little wings. Our smallest bird, methinks, except the hummingbird.
As I stand listening for the wren, and sweltering in my greatcoat, I hear the woods filled with the hum of insects, as if my hearing were affected; and thus the summer's quire begins. The silent spaces have begun to be filled with notes of birds and insects and the peep and croak and snore of frogs, even as living green blades are everywhere pushing up amid the sere ones.
As I stand listening for the wren, and sweltering in my greatcoat, I hear the woods filled with the hum of insects, as if my hearing were affected; and thus the summer's quire begins. The silent spaces have begun to be filled with notes of birds and insects and the peep and croak and snore of frogs, even as living green blades are everywhere pushing up amid the sere ones.
I heard that same snoring which I hear on the river meadows, on an inland meadow this afternoon, where I think no bullfrogs are. Are they not then the palustris, or else the shad frog?
There are now many new insects in the air.
Black ducks still on Flint's.
The fertile fruit-stems of the sensitive fern by the side of the Flint's Pond path, more than a foot high, are a rich ornament to the ground, brown, four or five inches long, and turned to one side, contrasting with the lighter rachis (?).
Saw my thrush of the 18th by the pond. It appears dark-olive, ferruginous on rump and tail, with a dark streak slanting from each cheek and flesh-colored legs.
The red cedar has fairly begun to-day; maybe the first yesterday. Put the red yesterday and the white to-day. As I approach the red cedars now, I perceive a delicious strawberry-like fragrance in the air, like that from the arbor-vita.
The creeping juniper apparently open, but not yet open.
Though I see some amber on the sweet-fern, I am in doubt whether to say to-day or to-morrow.
The wild red cherry (if that is one near Everett's), privet, and buckthorn are beginning to leaf out.
The abele will probably blossom to-morrow.
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 25, 1854
I swelter under my greatcoat. . . .(I have not left it at home yet) See April 26, 1854 (“It is now so warm that I go back to leave my greatcoat for the first time, and the cooler smell of possible rain is refreshing”; April 26, 1852 (“I begin now to leave off my greatcoat.”)
Many shad-flies in the air and alighting on my clothes. See May 1, 1854 (“The water is strewn with myriads of wrecked shad-flies, erect on the surface, with their wings up like so many schooners all headed one way.”);May 1, 1858 (“Ephemerae quite common over the water. ”); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Insect Hatches in Spring (millers, perla, shad-flies or ephemera)
I hear the woods filled with the hum of insects, as if my hearing were affected; and thus the summer's quire begins. See April 17, 1859 (“The air which was so lately void and silent begins to resound as it were with the breathing of a myriad fellow-creatures . . . gradually the spaces of the air are filled . . . we hear but little music in the world which charms us more than this sound produced by the vibration of an insect's wing and in some still and sunny nook in spring.”); April 28, 1860 ("I am advertised of the approach of a new season, as yesterday. The air is not only warmer and stiller, but has more of meaning or smothered voice to it, now that the hum of insects begins to be heard. You seem to have a great companion with you, are reassured by the scarcely audible hum, as if it were the noise of your own thinking”)
Even as living green blades are everywhere pushing up amid the sere ones. See April 25, 1859 ("I got to-day and yesterday the first decided impression of greenness beginning to prevail, summer-like . .. I am suddenly advertised that a new season has arrived.") See also April 14, 1854 ("There is a general tinge of green now discernible through the russet on the bared meadows and the hills, the green blades just peeping forth amid the withered ones."); April 23, 1854 ("How thickly the green blades are starting up amid the russet! "); April 24, 1859 (“From the amid the withered blades spring up ranks of green life like a fire . . . the renewal of life.”); April 28, 1854 ("Perhaps the greenness of the landscape may be said to begin fairly now . . . during the last half of April the earth acquires a distinct tinge of green, which finally prevails over the russet.") and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Brown Season
["Golden"- crested wren] .It is the smallest bird I have seen this year . . . Our smallest bird, methinks, except the hummingbird. Note. Thoreau first misidentified the ruby-cowned as a warbler and also misidentiifed the ruby-crowned as the golden-crowned. He was put in doubt when he saw a red crest on what he had been calling the golden-crested wren, and did not truly identify a golden-crested wren until Christmas 1859. See note to December 25, 1859. See also See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau: the ruby-crowned or crested wren.
Black ducks still on Flint's. See April 27, 1860 ("The hurry of the duck migration is, methinks, over"); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the American Black Duck
Put the red yesterday and the white to-day. See April 24, 1854 ("The white cedar female blossoms are open."); see also April 24, 1855 ("The sprigs of red cedar, now full of the buff-colored staminate flowers, like fruit, are very rich. The next day they shed an abundance of pollen in the house. It is a clear buff color, while that of the white cedar is very different, being a faint salmon." )
The first partridge drums in one or two places, as if the earth's pulse now beat audibly with the increased flow of life. It slightly flutters all Nature and makes her heart palpitate. See April 19, 1860 ("Toward night, hear a partridge drum. You will hear at first a single beat or two far apart and have time to say, "There is a partridge," so distinct and deliberate is it often, before it becomes a rapid roll."); April 29, 1857 ("A partridge there drums incessantly. C. says it makes his heart beat with it, or he feels it in his breast."); June 22, 1851("My pulse must beat with Nature”). See also A Book of Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Partridge.
April 25, 2014
The first partridge drums –
earth’s pulse now beats audibly
with the flow of life.
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The first partridge drums
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 © 2009-2024
https://tinyurl.com/hdt-540425
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