April 11.
At this season the
reflections grow more distinct
every moment.
Deciduous tree
Evening on river.
Now apparently
is the very time to tap
birches of all kinds.
April 11, 1856
The reflections grow more distinct every moment. At last the outline of the hill is as distinct below as above. And every object appears rhymed by reflection. Maple in the swamp answers to maple, birch to birch. At this season the reflections of deciduous trees are more remarkable than when they are in leaf, because, the branches being seen, they make with their reflections a more wonderful rhyme. It is not mere mass or outline corresponding to outline but a kind of geometrical figure. My nature may be as still as this water, but it is not so pure, and its reflections are not so distinct. April 11, 1852
The black spheres (rather dark brown) in the Rana sylvatica spawn by Hubbard's Grove have now opened and flatted out into a rude broad pollywog form. (This was an early specimen.) April 11, 1858
Rain all day. April 11, 1859
The hills are now decidedly greened as seen a mile off, and the road or street sides pretty brightly so. I have not seen any lingering heel of a snow-bank since April came in. Acer rubrum west side Deep Cut, some well out, some killed by frost; probably a day or two at least. Hazels there are all done; were in their prime, methinks, a week ago at least. The early willow still in prime. Salix humilis abundantly out, how long? Epigæa abundantly out (probably 7th at least). Stow's cold pool three quarters full of ice.
My early sedge, which has been out at Cliffs apparently a few days (not yet quite generally), the highest only two inches, is probably Carex umbellata.
April 11, 1860
reflections at this season
make wonderful rhyme.
make wonderful rhyme.
Maple to maple,
birch to birch, their reflections
make wonderful rhyme.
I hear the clear loud
whistle of a purple finch
from the Whiting's elm.
Evening on river.
Fine full moon —
river smooth.
April 11, 1854
April 11, 1854
Now apparently
is the very time to tap
birches of all kinds.
April 11, 1856
The black spheres in the
Rana sylvatica spawn
now pollywog form.
The reflections grow more distinct every moment. At last the outline of the hill is as distinct below as above. And every object appears rhymed by reflection. Maple in the swamp answers to maple, birch to birch. At this season the reflections of deciduous trees are more remarkable than when they are in leaf, because, the branches being seen, they make with their reflections a more wonderful rhyme. It is not mere mass or outline corresponding to outline but a kind of geometrical figure. My nature may be as still as this water, but it is not so pure, and its reflections are not so distinct. April 11, 1852
Deciduous tree
I hear the clear, loud whistle of a purple finch, somewhat like and nearly as loud as the robin, from the elm by Whiting’s. The maple which I think is a red one, just this side of Wheildon's, is just out this morning . . . Dr. Harris says that that early black-winged, buff edged butterfly is the Vanessa Antiopa, and is introduced from Europe, and is sometimes found in this state alive in winter. The orange-brown one with scalloped wings, and smaller somewhat, is Vanessa Progne. April 11, 1853
The clear loud whistle
of a purple finch – nearly
as loud as the robin.
That early black-winged
buff edged butterfly is the
V. Antiopa.
Evening on river. Fine full moon; river smooth. Hear a slight snoring of frogs on the bared meadows. Is it not the R. palustris? This the first moon to walk by. April 11, 1854
 | ||
Evening on river
full moon – the snoring of frogs
on the bared meadows.
Awake to see the ground white with snow, and it is still snowing, the sleet driving from the north at an angle of certainly not more than thirty or thirty-five degrees with the horizon, as I judge by its course across the window panes. By midafternoon the rain has so far prevailed that the ground is bare. As usual, this brings the tree sparrows and F. hyemalis into the yard again. April 11, 1855
Awake, driving sleet
angled across the window –
ground white with snow.
April 11, 1855
And hear in the old place, the pitch pine grove on the bank by the river, the pleasant ringing note of the pine warbler. Its a-che, vitter 'vitter, m'tter 'vitter, vitter m'tter, m'tter m'tter, 'vet rings through the open pine grove very rapidly. I also heard it at the old place by the railroad, as I came along. It is remarkable that I have so often heard it first in these two localities, i.e. where the railroad skirts the north edge of a small swamp densely filled with tall old white pines and a few white oaks, and in a young grove composed wholly of pitch pines on the otherwise bare, very high and level bank of the Assabet. When the season is advanced enough, I am pretty sure to hear its ringing note in both those places. April 11, 1856
The pine warbler in
the pitch pine grove on the
bank by the river.
also where the railroad
skirts a small swamp densely filled
with tall old white pines.
How much we had lost out of Concord River without realizing it. This is the critical season of a river, when it is fullest of life, its flowering season, the wavelets or ripples on its surface answering to the scales of the fishes beneath. If salmon, shad, and alewives were pressing up our river now, as formerly they were, a good part of the villagers would thus, no doubt, be drawn to the brink at this season . . .The very fishes in countless schools are driven out of a river by the improvements of the civilized man. . . I can hardly imagine a greater change than this produced by the influence of man in nature. Our Concord River is a dead stream in more senses than we had supposed. In what sense now does the spring ever come to the river, when the sun is not reflected from the scales of a single salmon, shad, or alewife? No doubt there is some compensation for this loss, but I do not at this moment see clearly what it is. April 11, 1857
The black spheres (rather dark brown) in the Rana sylvatica spawn by Hubbard's Grove have now opened and flatted out into a rude broad pollywog form. (This was an early specimen.) April 11, 1858
The black spheres in the
Rana sylvatica spawn
now pollywog form.
Rain all day. April 11, 1859
The hills are now decidedly greened as seen a mile off, and the road or street sides pretty brightly so. I have not seen any lingering heel of a snow-bank since April came in. Acer rubrum west side Deep Cut, some well out, some killed by frost; probably a day or two at least. Hazels there are all done; were in their prime, methinks, a week ago at least. The early willow still in prime. Salix humilis abundantly out, how long? Epigæa abundantly out (probably 7th at least). Stow's cold pool three quarters full of ice.
 |
| April 11, 2020 |
April 11, 1860
I hear that Judge Minott of Haverhill once told a client, by way of warning, that two millers who owned mills on the same stream went to law about a dam, and at the end of the lawsuit one lawyer owned one mill and the other the other. April 11, 1861
*****
See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Elms and the Purple Finchand note to April 10, 1861 ("Purple finch.")
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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