One reason why the lately shorn fields shine so and reflect so much light is that a lighter-colored and tender grass, which has been shaded by the crop taken of, is now exposed, and also a light and fresh grass is springing up there. Yet I think it is not wholly on this account, but in a great measure owing to a clearer air after rains which have succeeded to misty weather.
I am going over the hill through Ed. Hosmer's orchard, when I observe this light reflected from the shorn fields, contrasting affectingly with the dark smooth Assabet, reflecting the now dark shadows of the woods. The fields reflect light quite to the edge of the stream.
The peculiarity of the stream is in a certain languid or stagnant smoothness of the water, and of the bordering woods in a dog-day density of shade reflected darkly in the water.
Today i see in various parts of the town the yellow butterflies in fleets in the road, on bare damp sand, twenty or more collected within a diameter of five or six inches in many places.
They are a greenish golden, sitting still near together, and apparently headed one way if the wind blows. At first, perhaps, you do not notice them, but, as you pass along, you disturb them, and the air is suddenly all alive with them fluttering over the road, and, when you are past, they soon settle down in a new place.
How pretty these little greenish-golden spangles! Some are a very pale greenish yellow. The farmer is not aware how much beauty flutters about his wagon. I do not know what attracts them thus to sit near together, like a fleet in a haven; why they collect in groups.
Almost every bush now offers a wholesome and palatable diet to the wayfarer, — large and dense clusters of Vaccinium vacillans, largest in most moist ground, sprinkled with the red ones not ripe; great high blueberries, some nearly as big as cranberries, of an agreeable acid; huckleberries of various kinds, some shining black, some dull-black, some blue; and low blackberries of two or more varieties. The broods of birds just matured find thus plenty to eat.
It is a windy day like yesterday, yet almost constantly I hear borne on the wind from far, mingling with the sound of the wind, the z-ing locust, scarcely like a distinct sound.
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, July 26, 1854
They are a greenish golden, sitting still near together, and apparently headed one way if the wind blows. At first, perhaps, you do not notice them, but, as you pass along, you disturb them, and the air is suddenly all alive with them fluttering over the road, and, when you are past, they soon settle down in a new place.
How pretty these little greenish-golden spangles! Some are a very pale greenish yellow. The farmer is not aware how much beauty flutters about his wagon. I do not know what attracts them thus to sit near together, like a fleet in a haven; why they collect in groups.
Almost every bush now offers a wholesome and palatable diet to the wayfarer, — large and dense clusters of Vaccinium vacillans, largest in most moist ground, sprinkled with the red ones not ripe; great high blueberries, some nearly as big as cranberries, of an agreeable acid; huckleberries of various kinds, some shining black, some dull-black, some blue; and low blackberries of two or more varieties. The broods of birds just matured find thus plenty to eat.
It is a windy day like yesterday, yet almost constantly I hear borne on the wind from far, mingling with the sound of the wind, the z-ing locust, scarcely like a distinct sound.
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, July 26, 1854
July 26. Wednesday .
Polygonum hydropiperoides first obvious.
Mikania , a day or two .
Lilies open about 6 A. M.
Methinks I have heard toads within a week.
A white mildew on ground in woods this morning.
P. M. — To lime-kiln via rudbeckia.
Ate an early apple from one of my own trees .
Amaranthus, apparently three or four days. The under sides of its lower leaves are of a rich pale lake-color. This appears to have nothing to do with their maturity, since very young and fresh ones are so.
I see these in Hosmer's onion garden, where he is weeding, and am most attracted by the weeds.
One reason why the lately shorn fields shine so and reflect so much light is that a lighter-colored and tender grass, which has been shaded by the crop taken off, is now exposed, and also a light and fresh grass is springing up there. Yet I think it is not wholly on this account, but in a great measure owing to a clearer air after rains which have succeeded to misty weather.
I am going over the hill through Ed. Hosmer's orchard, when I observe this light reflected from the shorn fields, contrasting affectingly with the dark smooth Assabet, reflecting the now dark shadows of the woods. The fields reflect light quite to the edge of the stream.
The peculiarity of the stream is in a certain languid or stagnant smoothness of the water, and of the bordering woods in a dog-day density of shade reflected darkly in the water.
Alternate cornel berries, a day or two.
To-day I see in various parts of the town the yellow butterflies in fleets in the road, on bare damp sand (not dung), twenty or more collected within a diameter of five or six inches in many places . They are a greenish golden , sitting still near together, and apparently headed one way if the wind blows. At first, perhaps, you do not notice them, but, as you pass along, you disturb them, and the air is suddenly all alive with them fluttering over the road, and, when you are past, they soon settle down in a new place. How pretty these little greenish-golden spangles! Some are a very pale greenish yellow. The farmer is not aware how much beauty flutters about his wagon. I do not know what attracts them thus to sit near together like a fleet in a haven; why they collect in groups. I see many small red ones elsewhere on the sericocarpus, etc., etc.
Rudbeckia, apparently three or four days at least; only the middle flower yet for most part.
Rusty cotton grass how long.
Green grapes have for some days been ready to stew .
Diplopappus linariifolius.
Aster dumosus.
Almost every bush now offers a wholesome and palatable diet to the wayfarer,
- large and dense clusters of Vaccinium vacillans, largest in most moist ground, sprinkled with the red ones not ripe;
- great high blueberries, some nearly as big as cranberries, of an agreeable acid;
- huckleberries of various kinds, some shining black, some dull-black, some blue;
- and low blackberries of two or more varieties.
Gymnadenia [ sic ] , maybe five or six days in swamp southeast of lime kiln ; one without any spurs .
It is a windy day and hence worse [ ? ] in respect to birds, like yesterday, yet almost constantly I hear borne on the wind from far, mingling with the sound of the wind, the z-ing of the locust, scarcely like a distinct sound.
Vernonia, begun in centre a day .
Light reflected from the shorn fields, contrasting affectingly with the dark smooth Assabet, reflecting the now dark shadows of the woods. See July 23, 1854 (" There is a peculiar light reflected from the shorn fields, as later in the fall, when rain and coolness have cleared the air."); July 24, 1852("There is a short, fresh green on the shorn fields, the aftermath. When the first crop of grass is off, and the aftermath springs, the year has passed its culmination "); July 24, 1860 ("Many a field where the grass has been cut shows now a fresh and very lit-up light green as you look toward the sun."); July 28, 1852 ("There is a yellowish light now from a low, tufted, yellowish, broad-leaved grass, in fields that have been mown.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Haymaking
Yellow butterflies. See July 14, 1852 ("See to-day for the first time this season fleets of yellow butterflies in compact assembly in the road..."); July 19, 1856 ("Fleets of yellow butterflies on road."); July 22, 1853("Yellow butterflies in the road.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Yellow Butterflies
I hear borne on the wind from far, mingling with the sound of the wind, the z-ing locust. See June 14, 1854 ("Harris's other kind, the dog-day cicada (canicularis), or harvest-fly. He says it begins to be heard invariably at the beginning of dog-days; he (Harris) heard it for many years in succession with few exceptions on the 25th of July."); July 17, 1856 (“A very warm afternoon. Thermometer at 97° at the Hosmer Desert. I hear the early locust.”); July 18, 1851 ("I first hear the locust sing, so dry and piercing, by the side of the pine woods in the heat of the day"); July 22, 1860 ("First locust heard.")
July 26. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, July 26
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
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