Old Election Day

May 31.

Old Election. Cold weather. Many go a-fishing to-day in earnest, and one gets forty pouts in river.

P. M. — To Miles Meadow by boat. A cold southeast wind. Blue-eyed grass, apparently in pretty good season.  

See a greater telltale, and this is the only one I have seen probably; distinguished by its size. It is very watchful, but not timid, allowing me to come quite near, while it stands on the lookout at the water's edge. It keeps nodding its head with an awkward jerk, and wades in the water to the middle of its yellow legs; goes off with a loud and sharp phe phe phe phe. It acts the part of the telltale, though there are no birds here, as if it were with a flock. Remarkable as a sentinel for other birds.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 31, 1854

Greater telltale. See September 14, 1854 ("A flock of thirteen tell tales, great yellow-legs, start up with their shrill whistle from the midst of the great Sudbury meadow, and away they sail in a flock..."). But see JJ Audubon ("It is true that the Tell-tale is quite loquacious enough; nay, you, reader, and I, may admit that it is a cunning and watchful bird, ever willing to admonish you or me, or any other person whom it may observe advancing towards it with no good intent, that it has all along watched us. But then, when one has observed the habits of this bird for a considerable time, in different situations, and when no other feathered creatures are in sight, he will be convinced that the Tell-tale merely intends by its cries to preserve itself, and not generously to warn others of their danger.")


Old Election Day. By the Provincial Charter and later the Constitution  of Massachusetts, General Election Day occurred on the last Wednesday of May. This was one of the traditional and principal holidays in Massachusetts. Election day changed in 1832 to the first Wednesday in January; after the change, Annual Training Day and Muster took place on old election day in May. Other festivities of election week continued as Anniversary Week.   See Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, Volume 13  and Journal, May 27, 1857:

I hear the sound of fife and drum the other side of the village, and am reminded that it is May Training. Some thirty young men are marching in the streets in two straight sections, with each a very heavy and warm cap for the season on his head and a bright red stripe down the legs of his pantaloons, and at their head march two with white stripes down their pants, one beating a drum, the other blowing a fife...Thus they march and strut the better part of the day, going into the tavern two or three times, to abandon themselves to unconstrained positions out of sight, and at night they may be seen going home singly with swelling breasts.

~ Zphx

May 31. See A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, May 31

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 © 2009-2021

Early summer in Hubbard's Close

May 30.

May 30, 2014

I see now green high blueberries, and gooseberries in Hubbard's Close, as well as shad-bush berries and strawberries. 

In this dark, cellar-like maple swamp are scattered at pretty regular intervals tufts of green ferns, Osmunda cinnamomea,  above the dead brown leaves, broad, tapering fronds, curving over on every side from a compact centre, now three or four feet high. 

Wood frogs skipping over the dead leaves, whose color they resemble.

Arethusa bulbosa (Dragon's mouth)

I am surprised to find arethusas abundantly out in Hubbard's Close, maybe two or three days, though not yet at Arethusa Meadow, probably on account of the recent freshet. It is so leafless that it shoots up unexpectedly. It is all color, a little hook of purple flame projecting from the meadow into the air. Some are comparatively pale. This high-colored plant shoots up suddenly, all flower, in meadows where it is wet walking. A superb flower.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 30, 1854

Wood frog ~ See May 27, 1852 ("Catch a wood frog (Rana sylvatica), the color of a dead leaf. He croaks as I hold him, perfectly frog-like.”)


Arethusa  abundantly out at Hubbard's Close. . . .  See May 30, 1852 ("The bulbous arethusa, the most splendid, rich, and high-colored flower thus far, methinks, all flower and color, almost without leaves, and looking much larger than it is, and more conspicuous on account of its intense color. A flower of mark. It appeared two or three times as large as reality when it flashed upon me from the meadow."); June 1, 1855(“Arethusa out at Hubbard’s Close; say two or three days at a venture, there being considerable.“); May 29, 1856 ("Arethusa bulbosa at Hubbard’s Close apparently a day or two.”).

May 30 See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, May 30

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 © 2009-2021

Insects on the water.

May 29.

P. M. — To Cedar Swamp by Assabet. 

The white maple keys have begun to fall and float down the stream like the wings of great insects. 

Dandelions and mouse-ear down have been blowing for some time and are seen on water. These are interesting as methinks the first of the class of downy seeds which are more common in the fall. 

There are myriads of shad-flies fluttering over the dark and still water under the hill, one every yard or two, continually descending, almost falling, to the surface of the water as if to drink and then rising again, again to fall upon it, and so on. I see the same one fall and rise five or six feet thus four or five times; and now comes along a large dragon-fly and snatches one. Other smaller insects, light-colored, are fluttering low close to the water, and in some places are swarms of small black moths.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 29, 1854

Today's entry includes an extended comment on the fugitive slave trial, in Boston, of Anthony Burns. This material and more from June 9, 1854, toned down, would be worked into HDT's "Slavery in Massachusetts." ("These days it is left to one Mr. Loring to say whether a citizen of Massachusetts is a slave or not. ... Why, the United States Government never performed an act of justice in its life!...Rather than thus consent to establish hell upon earth, — to be a party to this establishment, — I would touch a match to blow up earth and hell together." ) ~ Zphx.

See Thoreau Transforms His Journal into “Slavery in Massachusetts”


The white maple keys have begun to fall and float down the stream like the wings of great insects. See May 21, 1853 ("The white maple keys are nearly two inches long by a half-inch wide, in pairs, with waved inner edges like green moths ready to bear off their seeds.");  May 30, 1853 ("The white maple keys falling and covering the river."); June 2, 1855 ("From that cocoon of the Attacus cecropia which I found. . . came out this forenoon a splendid moth. "); June 6, 1855 ("The white maple keys are about half fallen. It is remarkable that this happens at the time the emperor moth (cecropia) comes out.”); June 9, 1858 ("White maple keys are abundantly floating.”)

To be serene and successful we must be at one with the universe.

May 28.

By boat to Lee's Cliff.  The River is still so high that I am obliged to lower my mast at the bridges. Even this spring the arches of the stone bridge were completely concealed by the flood, and yet at midsummer I can sail under them without lowering my mast. 

At the old bridge at the hill, the water being quite smooth, I see a water-bug cross straight from the south to the north side, about six rods, furrowing the water in a waving line, there being no other insects near him on the surface. It takes but about a minute. 

Red clover at Clamshell, a day or two.

See that common snake Coluber eximius of De Kay, — checkered adder, etc., etc., — forty-one inches long. A rather light brown above, with large dark-brown, irregularly quadrangular blotches, margined with black, and similar small ones, on the sides; abdomen light salmon-white, — whitest toward the head, — checkered with quadrangular blotches; very light bluish-slate in some lights and dark-slate or black in others. 

I should think from Storer's description that his specimen had lost its proper colors in spirits. He describes not the colors of a living snake, but those which alcohol might impart to it. It is as if you were to describe the white man as very red in the face, having seen a drunkard only. 

The huckleberries, excepting the late, are now generally in blossom, their rich clear red contrasting with the light-green leaves; frequented by honey-bees, full of promise for the summer. One of the great crops of the year. These are the blossoms of the Vacciniece, or Whortleberry Family, which affords so large a proportion of our berries. The crop of oranges, lemons, nuts, and raisins, and figs, quinces, etc., etc., not to mention tobacco and the like, is of no importance to us compared with these. 

The berry-promising flower of the Vacciniece. This crop grows wild all over the country, — wholesome, bountiful, and free, — a real ambrosia — and yet men — the foolish demons that they are — devote themselves to culture of tobacco, inventing slavery and a thousand other curses as the means, — with infinite pains and inhumanity go raise tobacco all their lives. Tobacco is the staple instead of huckleberries.

It would be worth the while to ask ourselves weekly, Is our life innocent enough? Do we live inhumanely, toward man or beast, in thought or act? To be serene and successful we must be at one with the universe. The least conscious and needless  injury inflicted on any creature is to its extent a suicide. What peace — or life — can a murderer have?

As I sail down toward the Clamshell Hill about an hour before sunset, the water is smoothed like glass, though the breeze is as strong as before. How is this?

The inhumanity of science concerns me, as when I am tempted to kill a rare snake that I may ascertain its species. I feel that this is not the means of acquiring true knowledge.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 28, 1854

Even this spring the arches of the stone bridge were completely concealed by the flood, and yet at midsummer I can sail under them without lowering my mast. See May 8, 1854 (“The water has fallen a foot or more, but I cannot get under the stone bridge, so haul over the road.”); May 10, 1854 ("I drag and push my boat over the road at Deacon Farrar's brook, carrying a roller with me. . . . I make haste back with a fair wind and umbrella for sail.”); April 17, 1856 (“I make haste to take down my sail at the bridges, but at the stone arches forgot my umbrella, which was un avoidably crushed in part.”); April 22, 1857 (“We have to roll our boat over the road at the stone bridge”)

The huckleberries . . . now generally in blossom, their rich clear red contrasting with the light-green leaves, . . . full of promise for the summer. . . .See May 27, 1855 ("How interesting the huckleberries now generally in blossom . . . — countless wholesome red bells, beneath the fresh yellow green foliage!”)

The inhumanity of science concerns me, as when I am tempted to kill a rare snake that I may ascertain its species.  See April 26, 1857 ("I have the same objection to killing a snake that I have to the killing of any other animal, yet the most humane man that I know never omits to kill one.”) Cf. Wordsworth,The Tables Turned ("We murder to dissect. Enough of Science and of Art . . . Come forth, and bring with you a heart that watches and receives.")

To be serene and successful we must be at one with the universe. See  February 20, 1857 ("I see that one could not be completely described without describing the other. I am that rock by the pond-side.?) May 12, 1857 (“He is a brother poet, this small gray bird (or bard), whose muse inspires mine. . . .One with the rocks and with us.”)
 

May 28. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, May 28

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 ©  2009-2021

Two vireos

yellow-throated vireo

May 27.

The red-eye is an indefatigable singer, — a succession of short bars with hardly an interval long continued, now at 3 p. m. 

I see and hear the yellow-throated vireo. It is somewhat similar (its strain) to that of the red-eye, prelia pre-li-ay, with longer intervals and occasionally a whistle like tlea tlow, or chowy chow, or tully ho on a higher key. It flits about in the tops of the trees. 

I find the pensile nest of a red-eye between a fork of a shrub chestnut near the path. It is made, thus far, of bark and different woolly and silky materials.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 27, 1854

The red-eye is an indefatigable singer. . . See  May 27, 1853 ("The vireo, too, is heard more than ever on the elms; his note begins to prevail."); May 29, 1855("The red-eye, its clear loud song in bars continuously repeated and varied”); June 11, 1856 ("The red-eye sings incessant”);  June 11, 1852 ("The red-eye sings now in the woods, perhaps more than any other bird. “);  June 12, 1853 ("The red-eyed vireo is the bird most commonly heard in the woods.”) See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The Red-eyed Vireo

I see and hear the yellow-throated vireo. . . . See August 20, 1854 (“yellow-throated vireo, heard and saw, on hickories (have I lately mistaken this for red-eye ?)”); May 28, 1855 ("Do I not hear a short snappish, rasping note from a yellow-throat vireo?"); May 29, 1855 ( "Also the yellow-throated vireo—its head and shoulders as well as throat yellow (apparently olive-yellow above), and its strain but little varied and short, not continuous.”); May 19, 1856 ("Hear and see a yellow-throated vireo, which methinks I have heard before. . . .singing indolently, ullia — eelya, and sometimes varied to eelyee.”)

The season of grass, now everywhere green and luxuriant, vibrating with motion and light.

May 26

Rye four feet high. The luxuriant and rapid growth of this hardy and valuable grass is always surprising. It makes the revolution of the seasons seem a rapid whirl. How quickly and densely it clothes the earth! Thus early it suggests the harvest and fall.

At sight of this deep and dense field all vibrating with motion and light, winter recedes many degrees in my memory. This the early queen of grasses. It always impresses us at this season, with a sense of genialness and bountifulness.

Grasses universally shoot up like grain now. Pastures look as if they were mowing-land. The season of grass, now everywhere green and luxuriant.

Some young red oaks have already grown eighteen inches, i. e. within a fortnight, before their leaves have two-thirds expanded. They have accomplished more than half their year's growth, as if, being held back by winter, their vegetative force had accumulated and now burst forth like a stream which has been dammed. They are properly called shoots.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 26, 1854

Rye four feet high. The luxuriant and rapid growth of this hardy and valuable grass is always surprising. May 14, 1853 ("The dark bluish-green of that rye, already beginning to wave,"); May 15, 1860 ("The springing sorrel, the expanding leafets, the already waving rye tell of June.");  May 22, 1853 ("The rye, which, when I last looked, was one foot high, is now three feet high and waving and tossing its heads in the wind . . .I am never prepared for this magical growth of the rye. I am advanced by whole months, as it were, into summer. . . . This is the first truly lively summer Sunday, what with lilacs, warm weather, waving rye, . . . falling apple blossoms, . . .and the wood pewee.")

They have accomplished more than half their year's growth, . . . They are properly called shoots. See May 15, 1859 ("I see an oak shoot (or sprout) already grown ten inches, when the buds of oaks and of most trees are but just burst generally. . . . Very properly these are called shoots."); May 25, 1853 ("Many do most of their growing for the year in a week or two at this season. They shoot - they spring - and the rest of the Year they harden and mature,")

May 26. See  A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, May 26

A loud and very rich song, in character between that of a robin and a red-eye.

"A robin with singing lessons."

May 25.

5.30 A. M. — To Hill.  Hear and see by the sassafras shore the rose-breasted grosbeak, a handsome bird with a loud and very rich song, in character between that of a robin and a red-eye. It sings steadily like a robin. Rose breast, white beneath, black head and above, white on shoulder and wings.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 25, 1854

See May 21, 1856 ("What strong colored fellows, black, white, and fiery rose-red breasts! Strong-natured, too, with their stout bills. A clear, sweett singer, like a tanager but hoarse somewhat, and not shy.");  May 24, 1855 (" Hear a rose-breasted grosbeak. At first think it a tanager, but soon I perceive its more clear and instrumental — should say whistle, if one could whistle like a flute; a noble singer, reminding me also of a robin; clear, loud and flute-like; . . . Song not so sweet as clear and strong.")

The morning came in and awakened me early...

Andromeda polifolia

May 24. 

The morning came in and awakened me early, — for I slept with a window open. There are dewy cobwebs on the grass.

4.30 A. M. — To Cliffs. A considerable fog, but already rising and retreating to the river. As I go along the causeway the sun rises red, with a great red halo, through the fog. 

When I reach the hill, the fog over the river already has its erectile feathers up. The level expanse of it far in the east, now lit by the sun, with countless tree-tops like oases seen through it, reminds of vast tracts of sand and of the seashore. It is like a greater dewy cobweb spread over the earth. It gives a wholly new aspect to the world, especially in that direction. 

The sun is eating up the fog. As I return down the hill, my eyes are cast toward the very dark mountains in the northwest horizon.

May 24, 2014

P.M.  Wade into Beck Stow's. The water is so cold at first that I think it not prudent to stand long in it, but when I get further from the bank it is comparatively warm.  

Surprised to find the Andromeda Polifolia in bloom and apparently past its prime at least a week or more. It is in water a foot and a half deep, and rises but little above it. The water must have been several inches higher when it began to bloom. 

A timid botanist would never pluck it. Its flowers are more interesting than any of its family, almost globular, crystalline white, even the calyx, except its tips, tinged with red or rose. 

Properly called water andromeda: you must wade into water a foot or two deep to get it.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 24, 1854

Dark mountains in the northwest horizon.  See May 24, 1860 ("Looking into the northwest horizon, I see that Wachusett is partially concealed by a haze. This is one of the values of mountains in the horizon, that they indicate the state of the atmosphere. I should not have noticed this haze if I had not looked toward the mountains .")

May 24. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, May 24 

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 © 2009-2021

Instead of down the ravine we bushwalk down the now quiet deep woods to the main Kendall trail heading more east ,  as the sun is getting low then one of her instinctive bush-walks turn right down very faint loogging roads straight to Clifford corner.

The moist woods are deep full of oven birds and thrushes.

At moose trail she thinks she may see a moose track. then hears the Swainsons thrush.  we cut corners to the ridge trail. she calls in a black throated blue. a stunning sky from lower view (curved rain in sunset). We are 200 yds from home 8 Pm when the rain begins.

Past Clifford corner

the deep moist woods are full of 

ovenbirds and thrushes. 

May 24, 2014

The wood pewee sings now in the woods behind the spring in the heat of the day. [We soon get through with Nature.]

May 23. 

The wood pewee sings now in the woods behind the spring in the heat of the day (2 p. m.), sitting on a low limb near me, pe-a-wee, pe-a-wee, etc., five or six times at short and regular intervals, looking about all the while, and then, naively, pee-a-oo, emphasizing the first syllable, and begins again. It flies off occasionally a few feet, catches an insect and returns to its perch between  the bars, not allowing this to interrupt their order.

We soon get through with Nature. She excites an expectation which she cannot satisfy. The merest child which has rambled into a copsewood dreams of a wilderness so wild and strange and inexhaustible as Nature can never show him. The red-bird which I saw on my companion's string on election days I thought but the outmost sentinel of the wild, immortal camp, — of the wild and dazzling infantry of the wilderness, — that the deeper woods abounded with redder birds still; but, now that I have threaded all our woods and waded the swamps, I have never yet met with his compeer, still less his wilder kindred.

The red-bird which is the last of Nature is but the first of God. The White Mountains, likewise, were smooth mole hills to my expectation. We condescend to climb the crags of earth. It is our weary legs alone that praise them. That forest on whose skirts the red-bird flits is not of earth. 

I expected a fauna more infinite and various, birds of more dazzling colors and more celestial song.

How many springs shall I continue to see the common sucker (Catostomus Bostoniensis) floating dead on our river! 

Will not Nature select her types from a new fount? The vignette of the year. This earth which is spread out like a map around me is but the lining of my inmost soul exposed. In me is the sucker that I see. No wholly extraneous object can compel me to recognize it. I am guilty of suckers. I go about to look at flowers and listen to the birds.

There was a time when the beauty and the music were all within, and I sat and listened to my thoughts, and there was a song in them. I sat for hours on rocks and wrestled with the melody which possessed me. I sat and listened by the hour to a positive though faint and distant music, not sung by any bird, nor vibrating any earthly harp. When I walked with a joy which knew not its own origin. When I was an organ of which the world was but one poor broken pipe. I lay long on the rocks, foundered like a harp on the seashore, that knows not how it is dealt with. I sat on the earth as on a raft, listening to music that was not of the earth, but which ruled and arranged it. 

Man should be the harp articulate. When your cords were tense.

Think of going abroad out of one's self to hear music, — to Europe or Africa! Instead of so living as to be the lyre which the breath of the morning causes to vibrate with that melody which creates worlds — to sit up late and hear Jenny Lind!

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 23, 1854


We soon get through with Nature. She excites an expectation which she cannot satisfy. Compare May 10, 1853 ("I pray for such inward experience as will make nature significant") and August 7, 1853 ("Is it not as language that all natural objects affect the poet? He sees a flower or other object, and it is beautiful or affecting to him because it is a symbol of his thought, and what he indistinctly feels or perceives is matured in some other organization. The objects I behold correspond to my mood.")

How many springs shall I continue to see the common sucker (Catostomus Bostoniensis) floating dead on our river! In me is the sucker that I see. See note to March 28, 1857 "I can remember now some thirty years — after a fashion — of life in Concord, and every spring there are many dead suckers floating belly upward on the meadows."

I sat for hours on rocks and wrestled with the melody which possessed me.  See January 1, 1852 ("Perhaps the only thing that spoke to me on this walk was the bare, lichen-covered gray rock at the Cliff, in the moonlight, naked and almost warm as in summer."); February 20, 1857 ("If I were to discover that a certain kind of stone by the pond-shore was affected, say partially disintegrated, by a particular natural sound, as of a bird or insect, I see that one could not be completely described without describing the other. I am that rock by the pond-side. ")

When I walked with a joy which knew not its own origin. July 16, 1851("This earth was the most glorious musical instrument, and I was audience to its strains. To have such sweet impressions made on us, such ecstasies begotten of the breezes ! I can remember how I was astonished. I said to myself, — I said to others, — " There comes into my mind such an indescribable, infinite, all-absorbing, divine, heavenly pleasure, a sense of elevation and expansion, and [I] have had nought to do with it. I perceive that I am dealt with by superior powers.1 This is a pleasure, a joy, an existence which I have not procured myself.”)

to sit up late and hear Jenny Lind. See August 30, 1856 (“I get my new experiences still, not at the opera listening to the Swedish Nightingale, but at Beck Stow's Swamp listening to the native wood thrush. ”)

See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau May 23

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 © 2009-2021

Now the springing foliage is like a sunlight on the woods

May 22.

5.30 a. m. — Up Assabet.  Now begins the slightly sultryish morning air into which you awake early to hear the faint buzz of a fly or hum of other insect. The teeming air, deep and hollow, filled with some spiritus, pregnant as not in winter or spring, with room for imps, — good angels and bad, — many chambers in it, infinite sounds. I partially awake the first time for a month at least. As if the cope of the sky lifted, the heat stretched and swelled it as a bladder, and it remained permanently higher and more infinite for the summer. Suggesting that the night has not been, with its incidents.

10 a. m. — To Fair Haven by boat. I rest in the orchard, doubtful whether to sit in shade or sun. Now the springing foliage is like a sunlight on the woods. I am first attracted and surprised when I look round and off to Conantum, at the smooth, lawn-like green fields . The air so clear — as not in summer — makes all things shine, as if all surfaces had been washed by the rains of spring and were not yet soiled or begrimed or dulled. 

You see even to the mountains clearly. The grass so short and fresh, the tender yellowish-green and silvery foliage of the deciduous trees lighting up the landscape, the birds now most musical, the sorrel beginning to redden the fields with ruddy health, — all these things make earth now a paradise. 

How many times I have been surprised  thus, on turning about on this very spot, at the fairness of the earth!

At Lee's Cliff. --First observe the creak of crickets. It is quite general amid these rocks. The song suggests lateness, but only as we come to a knowledge of eternity after some acquaintance with time. It is only late for all trivial and hurried pursuits. It suggests a wisdom mature, never late, being above all temporal considerations, which possesses the coolness and maturity of autumn amidst the aspiration of spring and the heats of summer. They sit aside from the revolution of the seasons. Their strain is unvaried as Truth. 

Only in their saner moments do men hear the crickets. In their song they ignore our accidents. They are not concerned about the news. A quire has begun which pauses not for any news, for it knows only the eternal. 

I hear also pe-a-wee pe-a-wee, and then occasionally pee-yu, the first syllable in a different and higher key emphasized, — all very sweet and naive and innocent.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 22, 1854

I hear also pe-a-wee pe-a-wee, and then occasionally pee-yu. See  May 22, 1853 ("The wood pewee’s warm note is heard") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Eastern Wood-Pewee and  note to May 26, 1852

The tender yellowish-green and silvery foliage of the deciduous trees lighting up the landscape, the birds now most musical — all these things make earth now a paradise. See May 17, 1852   (“The sun comes out and lights up the tender expanding leaves, and all nature is full of light and fragrance, and the birds sing without ceasing, and the earth is a fairyland. ”); May 18, 1852 (“this tender foliage, putting so much light and life into the landscape, is the remarkable feature at this date.”); May 18, 1851("The landscape has a new life and light infused into it. And to the eye the forest presents the tenderest green.”)

How many times I have been surprised thus, on turning about on this very spot, at the fairness of the earth! See  May 17, 1853 ("I was surprised, on turning round, to behold the serene and everlasting beauty of the world.”); October 7, 1857 ("When I turn round half-way up Fair Haven Hill, by the orchard wall, and look northwest, I am surprised for the thousandth time at the beauty of the landscape”); March 18, 1858 ("When I get two thirds up the hill, I look round and am for the hundredth time surprised by the landscape of the river valley and the horizon with its distant blue scalloped rim.”).  See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Reminiscence and Prompting

Cobwebs on grass.

May 21. 

A slight fog in morning.  Cobwebs on grass, the first I have noticed. This is one of the late phenomena of spring. These little dewy nets or gauze, a faery's washing spread out in the night, are associated with the finest days of the year, days long enough and fair enough for the worthiest deeds. When these begin to be seen, then is not summer come?

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 21, 1854

Cobwebs on grass . . .the finest days of the year, days long enough and fair enough for the worthiest deeds. See May 24, 1854(“The morning came in and awakened me early, — for I slept with a window open. There are dewy cobwebs on the grass.”); July 18, 1852 {"This is a fit morning for any adventure. It is one of those everlasting mornings, with cobwebs on the grass, which are provided for long enterprises.")

Now the time for washing winds -- when the choke-berry is in bloom, - bright and breezy days blowing off apple blossoms.

May 20.

Very low thunder-clouds and showers far in the north at sunset, the wind of which, though not very strong, has cooled the air. See the lightning, but can not hear the thunder. I see in the northwest first rise, in the rose-tinted horizon sky, a dark, narrow, craggy cloud, narrow and projecting as no cloud on earth, seen against the rose-tinged sky, — the crest of a thunder-storm, beautiful and grand. 

The steadily increasing sound of toads and frogs along the river with each successive warmer night is one of the most important peculiarities of the season. Their prevalence and loudness is in proportion to the increased temperature of the day. It is the first earth-song, beginning with the croakers, (the cricket's not yet), as if the very meads at last burst into a meadowy song. 

Methinks we always have at this time those washing winds as now, when the choke-berry is in bloom, — bright and breezy days blowing off some apple blossoms.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 20, 1854

The steadily increasing sound of toads . . with each successive warmer night . . . See May 16, 1855 ("We hear these last two or three warm days the loud sound of toads borne on or amid the rippling wind.")

Methinks we always have at this time . . .  bright and breezy days blowing off some apple blossoms. . . See May 19, 1860 ("There is a stong southwest wind after the rain, rather novel and agreeable, blowing off some apple blossoms.”); May 27 1852 ("The road is white with the apple blossoms fallen off, as with snowflakes.”); June 1, 1855 ("A very windy day, . . . scattering the remaining apple blossoms.”)

Nature's pace

May 19

A washing day, — a strong rippling wind, and all things bright.

Now for four or five days, - though they are now for the most part large, or since the 15th came in , the young and tender oak leaves, disposed umbrella-wise about the extremities of last year's twigs , have been very attractive from their different tints of red. Those of the black and white oaks are, methinks, especially handsome, the former already showing their minute and tender bristles, and all hand somely lobed. Some of the black oak leaves are like a rich, dark-red velvet; the white oak have a paler and more delicate tint, somewhat flesh-colored  though others are more like the black, — what S. calls a maroon red.

The white pine shoots are now two or three inches long generally, — upright light marks on the body of dark green. Those of the pitch pine are less conspicuous. Hemlock does not show yet.

With what unobserved secure dispatch nature advances! The amelanchiers have bloomed, and already both kinds have shed their blossoms and show minute green fruit. There is not an instant's pause! 

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 19, 1854

Nature advances without an instant's pause. See  May 23, 1841 ("All nature is a new impression every instant") September 13, 1852 ("How earnestly and rapidly each creature, each flower, is fulfilling its part while its day lasts! Nature never lost a day, nor a moment.")

May 19.  See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, May 19

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 © 2009-2021

Oak catkins

May 18.

To Pedrick's meadow. 

Viola lanceolata, two days at least. 

Celandine yesterday.

The V. pedata beginning to be abundant. 


Chinquapin was probably a little later to leaf, and will be to flower, than the shrub oak. Its catkins, light green, remind me of those of the swamp white oak.  

Now for the tassels of the shrub oak; I can find no pollen yet about them, but, as the oak catkins in my pitcher, plucked yesterday, shed pollen to-day, I think I may say that the bear shrub oak, red and black oaks open to-morrow.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 18, 1854

Viola lanceolata, two days at least. V. pedata beginning to be abundant. See May 5, 1859 (V. pedata and lanceolata rarer yet, or not seen. ”); May 6, 1855 (“Viola lanceolata,yesterday at least. ”); May 6, 1859 ("Viola pedata begins to be common about white pine woods there.”) May 13, 1858 ( Viola lanceolata, how long?”); May 17, 1853 ("tV. pedata there [by the Corner Spring] presents the greatest array of blue of any flower as yet.“);

The globe is the richer for the variety of its inhabitants.

May 17.

The water is now tepid in the morning to the hands, as I slip my hands down the paddle. Hear the wood pewee, the warm weather sound. 

I sail up the stream, but the wind is hardly powerful enough to overcome the current, and sometimes I am almost at a standstill where the stream is most contracted and swiftest, and there I sit carelessly waiting for the struggle between wind and current to decide itself. It is a pleasing delay, to be referred to the elements, and meanwhile I survey the shrubs on shore.

The large green keys of the white maples are now conspicuous, looking like the wings of insects. Azalea nudiflora in woods begins to leaf now.

There is a surprising change since I last passed up the Assabet; the fields are now clothed with so dark and rich a green, and the wooded shore is all lit up with the tender, bright green of birches fluttering in the wind and shining in the light, and red maple keys are seen at a distance against the tender green of birches and other trees.

The birches burst out suddenly into leaf and make a great show. It is the first to clothe large tracts of deciduous woodlands with green, and perchance it marks an epoch in the season, the transition decidedly and generally from bare twigs to leaves. When the birches have put on their green sacks, then a new season has come. The light reflected from their tender yellowish green is like sunlight.

A rill empties in above the stone-heaps, and I see where it ran out of June-berry Meadow, and I am impressed as it were by the intelligence of the brook, which for ages in the wildest regions, before science is born, knows so well the level of the ground and through whatever woods or other obstacles finds its way. Who shall distinguish between the law by which a brook finds its river, the instinct by which a bird performs its migrations, and the knowledge by which a man steers his ship round the globe? The globe is the richer for the variety of its inhabitants.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 17, 1854

The earth is all fragrant as one flower.

May 16.

The rich crimson leaf-buds of the grape are rapidly unfolding, scattered along the vine; and the various leaves unfolding are flower-like, and taken together are more interesting than any flower.

Quite warm; cows already stand in water in the shade of the bridge.

Look into several red-wing blackbirds' nests which are now being built, but no eggs yet. They are generally hung between two twigs, say of button-bush. I notice at one nest what looks like a tow string securely tied about a twig at each end about six inches apart, left loose in the middle. It was not a string, but I think a strip of milkweed pod, etc., maybe a foot long and very strong. How remarkable that this bird should have found out the strength of this, which I was so slow to find out!

Land at Conantum by the red cherry grove above Arrowhead Field. 

It is a splendid day, so clear and bright and fresh; the warmth of the air and the bright tender verdure putting forth on all sides make an impression of luxuriance and genialness, so perfectly fresh. A sweet scent fills the air from the expanding leafets or some other source. 

The earth is all fragrant as one flower. And bobolinks tinkle in the air. Nature now is perfectly genial to man.

I notice the dark shadow of Conantum Cliff from the water. Why do I notice it at this season particularly? Is it because a shadow is more grateful to the sight now that warm weather has come? Or is there anything in the contrast between the rich green of the grass and the cool dark shade?

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 16, 1854

The earth is all fragrant as one flower . . .  See May 16, 1852 ("The whole earth is fragrant as a bouquet held to your nose. A fine, delicious fragrance, which will come to the senses only when it will.")

It is suddenly very warm

May 15

Looking off from hilltop. Trees generally are now bursting into leaf. The aspect of oak and other woods at a distance is somewhat like that of a very thick and reddish or yellowish mist about the evergreens. In other directions, the light, graceful, and more distinct yellowish-green forms of birches are seen, and, in swamps, the reddish or reddish-brown crescents of the red maple tops, now covered with keys. 

Oak leaves are as big as a mouse's ear, and the farmers are busily planting. It is suddenly very warm and looks as if there might be a thunder-shower coming up from the west.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 15, 1854

Looking off from hilltop. Trees generally are now bursting into leaf. . . .like that of a very thick and reddish or yellowish mist about the evergreens. . . . See May 15, 1860 ("Looking from the Cliffs through the haze, the deciduous trees are a mist of leaflets, against which the pines are already darkened.”)

The leafing goes on now rapidly, these warm and moist showery days.

May 14.

P. M. — To Hill by boat. 

A St. Domingo cuckoo, black-billed with red round eye, a silent, long, slender, graceful bird, dark cinnamon (?) above, pure white beneath. It is in a leisurely manner picking the young caterpillars out of a nest (now about a third of an inch long) with its long, curved bill. Not timid. 

Black willows have begun to leaf, — if they are such in front of Monroe's. 

White ash and common elm began to leaf yesterday, if I have not named the elm before. The former will apparently open to-morrow. 

The black ash, i. e. that by the river, may have been open a day or two. 

Apple in bloom.

Swamp white oak perhaps will open to-morrow.

Celtis has begun to leaf. 

I think I may say that the white oak leaves have now fallen; saw but one or two small trees with them day before yesterday. 

Sumach began to leaf, say yesterday. 

Pear opened, say the 12th. 

The leafing goes on now rapidly, these warm and moist showery days.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 14, 1854

Apple in bloom. See  May 13, 1859 ("Apple in bloom")

The leafing goes on now rapidly, these warm and moist showery days. See  May 11, 1859 ("It is a leafy mist throughout the forest"); May 15, 1859 ("Looking off from hilltop. Trees generally are now bursting into leaf."); See also  A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Leaf-Out