Two marsh hawks skimming low over the meadows

September 25 

A very fine and warm afternoon after a cloudy morning. 

Carry Aunt and Sophia a-barberrying to Conantum. 

Scare up the usual great bittern above the railroad bridge, whose hoarse qua qua, as it flies heavily off, a pickerel-fisher on the bank imitates. 

See two marsh hawks skimming low over the meadows and another, or a hen-hawk, sailing on high. 

See where the moles have been working in Conant’s meadow,—heaps of fresh meadow mould some eight inches in diameter on the green surface, and now a little hoary. 

We get about three pecks of barberries from four or five bushes, but I fill my fingers with prickles to pay for them. With the hands well defended, it would be pleasant picking, they are so handsome, and beside are so abundant and fill up so fast. I take hold the end of the drooping twigs with my left hand, raise them, and then strip downward at once as many clusters as my hand will embrace, commonly bringing away with the raceme two small green leaves or bracts, which I do not stop to pick out. When I come to a particularly thick and handsome wreath of fruit, I pluck the twig entire and bend it around the inside of the basket. Some bushes bear much larger and plumper berries than others. Some also are comparatively green yet. 

Meanwhile the catbird mews in the alders by my side, and the scream of the jay is heard from the wood-side. 

When returning, about 4.30 P. M., we observe a slight mistiness, a sea-turn advancing from the east, and soon after felt the raw east wind, — quite a contrast to the air we had before, — and presently all the western woods are partially veiled with the mist. Aunt thought she could smell the salt marsh in it. 

At home, after sundown, I observe a long, low, and uniformly level slate-colored cloud reaching from north to south throughout the western horizon, which I suppose to be the sea-turn further inland, for we no longer felt the east wind here.

In the evening go to Welch’s (?) circus with C. Approaching, I perceive the peculiar scent which belongs to such places, a certain sourness in the air, suggesting trodden grass and cigar smoke. The curves of the great tent, at least eight or ten rods in diameter, —the main central curve and wherever it rested on a post,—suggest that the tent was the origin of much of the Oriental architecture, the Arabic perhaps. There is the pagoda in perfection. 

It is remarkable what graceful attitudes feats of strength and agility seem to require.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, September 25, 1855


Carry Aunt and Sophia a-barberrying to Conantum . . . We get about three pecks of barberries from four or five bushes, but I fill my fingers with prickles to pay for them.”) See September 18, 1856 ("By boat to Conantum, barberrying . . .With all my knack, it will be some days before I get all the prickles out of my fingers.”);  October 1, 1853 ("A-barberrying by boat to Conantum, carrying Ellen, Edith, and Eddie . . . Got three pecks of barberries.”)

Scare up the usual great bittern above the railroad bridge. See September 20, 1855 ("The great bittern, as it flies off from near the rail road bridge, filthily drops its dirt and utters a low hoarse kwa kwa; then runs and hides in the grass, and I land and search within ten feet of it before it rises.") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, American Bittern (the Stake-Diver)

See two marsh hawks skimming low over the meadows and another, or a hen-hawk, sailing on high. See September 25, 1851 ("Hawks, too, I perceive, sailing about in the clear air, looking white against the green pines, like the seeds of the milkweed. There is almost always a pair "); September 25, 1857 ("Looking round, I see a marsh hawk beating the bushes on that side.")

See where the moles have been working in Conant’s meadow. See September 25, 1859 ("Moles work in meadows.")

The scream of the jay is heard from the wood-side. See September 25, 1851 ("In these cooler, windier, crystal days the note of the jay sounds a little more native.") See also August 7, 1853 ("Do I not already hear the jays with more distinctness, as in the fall and winter?"); September 21, 1859 (" Jays are more frequently heard of late."); October 6, 1856 ("The jay's shrill note is more distinct of late about the edges of the woods, when so many birds have left us.") and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Blue Jay

Meanwhile the catbird mews in the alders by my side. See September 25, 1858 ("The catbird still mews occasionally, and the chewink is heard faintly.") See also September 29, 1854 ("The catbird still mews."); October 4, 1857 ("Hear a catbird and chewink, both faint.")

A sea-turn advancing from the east.  See April 30, 1856 ("Early in the afternoon, or between one and four, the wind changes . . . and a fresh cool wind from the sea produces a mist in the air."); See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Sea-turn

September 25. See A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, September 25

A slight mistiness - 

a sea-turn advancing and 

soon the raw east wind.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Two marsh hawks skimming low over the meadows

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 © 2009-2025

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