Wednesday, May 11, 2016

A Book of the Seasons: May 11.


Dews come with the grass –
a small clear drop on one side 
the end of each blade.

The different moods 
of wildness and poetry –
birdsong the keynote.

How many things shall
we not see and be and do
when the partridge drums!

The rain is over.
There is a bow in the east.
The earth is refreshed.

A cold northwest wind. 
I hear they had a snow-storm 
yesterday in Vermont. 

Young fresh-expanding 
oak leaves form a leafy mist 
throughout the forest.



A very cold northwest wind. I hear they had a snow-storm yesterday in Vermont. May 11, 1857

Dews come with the grass. There is, I find on examining, a small, clear drop at the end of each blade, quite at the top on one side. May 11, 1852


I nearly stepped upon a song sparrow and a striped snake at the same time. The bird fluttered away [and I found her nest with five eggs there, which will account for her being so near the snake that was about to devour her. May 11, 1853

Was not that a bay-wing which I heard sing, — ah, twar twe twar, twit twit twit twit, twe? May 11, 1855

How many little birds of the warbler family are busy now about the opening buds, while I sit by the spring! They are almost as much a part of the tree as its blossoms and leaves. They come and give it voice. Its twigs feel with pleasure their little feet clasping them. May 11, 1853

The black and white creeper also is descending the oaks, etc., and uttering from time to time his seeser seeser seeser. What a rich, strong striped blue-black (?) and white bird, much like the myrtle-bird at a little distance, when the yellow of the latter is not seen. May 11, 1856

It must be the myrtle-bird which is now so common in Hubbard's Meadow Woods or Swamp, with a note somewhat like a yellow bird's, striped olive-yellow and black on back or shoulders, light or white beneath, black dim; restless bird; sharp head. May 11, 1853


The willows on the Turnpike now resound with the hum of bees, and i hear the yellowbird and Maryland yellow-throat amid them. These yellow birds are concealed by the yellow of the willows. May 11, 1854

At a distance I hear the first yellow-bird. May 11, 1856

I am in a little doubt about the wrens (I do not refer to the snuff -colored one), whether I have seen more than one. All that makes me doubt is that I saw a ruby, or perhaps it might be called fiery, crest on the last — not golden. May 11, 1854

A bluebird’s nest and five eggs in a hollow apple tree three feet from ground near the old bank swallow pit, made with much stubble and dried grass. Can see the bird sitting from without. May 11, 1856

Warbling vireo. May 11, 1860

Warbling vireo and chewink. May 11, 1857

Golden robin yesterday. May 11, 1859

The red-eye at the spring; quite a woodland note. May 11, 1853

Red-wings do not fly in flocks for ten days past, I think. May 11, 1860

There are many swallows circling low over the river behind Monroe’s, — bank swallows, barn, republican, chimney, and white-bellied. These are all circling together a foot or two over the water, passing within ten or twelve feet of me in my boat. May 11, 1856

A blue heron flies away from the shore of the pond. May 11, 1859 

I am surprised to find the great poplar at the Island conspicuously in leaf, — leaves more than an inch broad, from top to bottom of the tree, and are already fluttering in the wind, — and others near it — conspicuously before any other native tree, as tenderly green, wet, and glossy as if this shower had opened them. May 11, 1854

The earliest of our indigenous trees, then, to leaf conspicuously is the early tremble. May 11, 1854

The birches at a distance appear as in a thin green veil, in their expanding leaves. May 11, 1852

Canoe birch just sheds pollen. Very handsome drooping golden catkins, sometimes two or three together, some five and a quarter inches long. May 11, 1855

The full-grown white maples are as forward in leafing now as the young red and sugar ones are now, only their leaves are smaller than the last. May 11, 1854

Only the lower limbs of bass begin to leaf yet, -- yesterday. . . . Some young elms begin to leaf. Butternut leafs apparently to-morrow. May 11, 1855

Young, or fresh-expanding, oak leaves are very handsome now, showing their colors. It is a leafy mist throughout the forest. May 11, 1859

The witch-hazel has one of the broadest leaves now. May 11, 1859

I see at Damon’s Spring some dandelion seeds all blown away, and other perfectly ripe spheres much more at Clamshell. May 11, 1860

The Viola lanceolata is now abundant. May 11, 1853

Viola pedata sheds pollen,-- the first I have chanced to see. May 11, 1855

Yellow violet, almost; say to-morrow. May 11, 1860

Uvularia perfoliata out in rain. . . . Just after plucking it I perceived what I call the meadow fragrance, though in the woods; but I afterward found that this flower was peculiarly fragrant, and its fragrance like that, so it was probably this which I had perceived. May 11, 1859

The Thalictrum anemonoides is a perfect and regular white star, but methinks lacks the interesting red tinge of the other. May 11, 1854

It is a warm afternoon, and great numbers of painted and spotted tortoises are lying in the sun in the meadow. May 11, 1853

Wishing to get one of the little brook pickerel, of Hubbard's ditches, in the arethusa meadow, I took a line in my pocket, and, baiting with a worm and cutting a pole there, I caught two directly. May 11, 1858

You can hardly walk in a thick pine wood now, especially a swamp, but presently you will have a crow or two over your head, either silently flitting over, to spy what you would be at and if its nest is in danger, or angrily cawing. It is most impressive when, looking for their nests, you first detect the presence of the bird by its shadow. May 11, 1855

I hear the distant drumming of a partridge.. . .It is as palpable to the ear as the sharpest note of a fife. . . .Beginning slowly and deliberately, the partridge's beat sounds faster and faster from far away under the boughs and through the aisles of the wood until it becomes a regular roll. How many things shall we not see and be and do, when we walk there where the partridge drums! May 11, 1853

A partridge-nest, with eleven fresh eggs, at foot of a chestnut, one upon another. It is quite a deep cavity amid the leaves, with some feathers of the bird in it. May 11, 1859

I hear some kind of owl partially hooting now at 4 P.M., I know not whether far off or near. May 11, 1855

The rain is over. There is a bow in the east. The earth is refreshed; the grass is wet. The air is warm again and still. The rain has smoothed the water to a glassy smoothness. I suspect that summer weather may be always ushered in in a similar manner, — thunder-shower, rainbow, smooth water, and warm night. A rainbow on the brow of summer. May 11, 1854

Now, some time after sunset, the robins scold and sing, the Maryland yellow-throat is heard amid the alders and willows by the waterside, and the peetweet and black birds, and sometimes a kingbird, and the tree-toad. May 11, 1854

The toads are heard to ring more generally and louder than before. All creatures are more awake than ever. May 11, 1854

The mountains are something solid which is blue, a terra firma in the heavens; but in the heavens there is nothing but the air. Blue is the color of the day, and the sky is blue by night as well as by day, because it knows no night. May 11, 1853

The different moods or degrees of wildness and poetry of which the song of birds is the keynote. May 11, 1853

The true poet will ever live aloof from society, wild to it, as the finest singer is the wood thrush, a forest bird. May 11, 1854



***


There is a small, clear drop at the end of each blade. See May 13, 1860: ("Each dewdrop is a delicate crystalline sphere trembling at the tip of a fresh green grass-blade.")

I hear they had a snow-storm yesterday in Vermont. See April 12, 1855 ("From the Cliff Hill the mountains are again thickly clad with snow, and, the wind being northwest, this coldness is accounted for. I hear it fell fourteen or fifteen inches deep in Vermont.")

I nearly stepped upon a song sparrow so near a snake that was about to devour her. See May 19, 1856 ("Saw a small striped snake in the act of swallowing a Rana palustris . . .. The snake, being frightened, released his hold, and the frog hopped off to the water. ")

How many little birds of the warbler family are busy now about the opening buds . . . They are almost as much a part of the tree as its blossoms and leaves. They come and give it voice. See May 7, 1852 ("For now, before the leaves, they begin to people the trees in this warm weather."); (May 15, 1859 (“Now, when the warblers begin to come in numbers with the leafing of the trees, the woods are so open that you can easily see them. ”);May 15, 1860 ("Deciduous woods now swarm with migrating warblers, especially about swamps.”);May 18, 1856 ("The swamp is all alive with warblers about the hoary expanding buds of oaks, maples, etc., and amid the pine and spruce."); May 23, 1857("This is the time and place to hear the new-arriving warblers, the first fine days after the May storm. When the leaves generally are just fairly expanding,")

It must be the myrtle-bird which is now so common in Hubbard's Meadow Woods or Swamp. See May 1, 1855 ("The myrtle-bird is one of the commonest and tamest birds now. It catches insects like a pewee, darting off from its perch and returning to it, and sings something like a-chill chill, chill chill, chill chill, a-twear, twill twill twee,"); May 4, 1855 ("Myrtle-birds numerous, and sing their tea lee, tea lee in morning"); May 7, 1852 (" One or more little warblers in the woods this morning are new to the season, myrtlebirds among them.")

Beginning slowly and deliberately, the partridge's beat sounds faster and faster from far away under the boughs and through the aisles of the wood until it becomes a regular roll.
See April 19, 1860 ("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 25, 1854 ("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 a distance I hear the first yellow-bird. . . . All these willows blossom. . . See May 10, 1853 ("At this season the traveller passes through a golden gate on causeways where these willows are planted, as if he were approaching the entrance to Fairyland; and there will surely be found the yellowbird, and already from a distance is heard his note, a tche tche tche tcha tchar tcha, — ah, willow, willow."); May 10, 1858 (" For some days the Salix alba have shown their yellow wreaths here and there, suggesting the coming of the yellowbird, and now they are alive with them.");May 11, 1854 ("The willows on the Turnpike now resound with the hum of bees, and I hear the yellowbird and Maryland yellow-throat amid them. These yellow birds are concealed by the yellow of the willows."); May 12, 1853(" The yellowbird has another note, tchut tchut tchar te tchit e war. ").See also A Book of the Seasonsthe Summer YellowbirdWillows on the Causeway;

It is most impressive when, looking for their nests, you first detect the presence of the bird by its shadow. See September 16, 1852("I detect the transit of the first [hawk] by his shadow on the rock, and look toward the sun for him. Though he is made light beneath to conceal him, his shadow betrays him.")

Golden robin yesterday.
See. May 10, 1853 (“Hear higher the clear whistle of the oriole. New days, then, have come, ushered in by the warbling vireo, yellowbird, Maryland yellow-throat, and small pewee, and now made perfect by the twittering of the kingbird and the whistle of the oriole amid the elms, which are but just beginning to leaf out, thinking of his nest there, -. . .The warbling vireo promised warmer days, but the oriole ushers in summer heats.”); May 10, 1858 ("The oriole is seen darting like a bright flash with clear whistle from one tree-top to another over the street.”)

Red-wings do not fly in flocks for ten days past, I think
. See April 30, 1855 ("Red-wing blackbirds now fly in large flocks, covering the tops of trees—willows, maples, apples, or oaks—like a black fruit , and keep up an incessant gurgling and whistling"); May 5, 1859 ("Red-wings fly in flocks yet."). May 13, 1860 ("Red wings are evidently busy building their nests.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Red-wing in Early Spring

Warbling vireo.
 See May 4, 1855 ("I think I hear a warbling vireo"); May 6, 1852 ("Hear the first warbling vireo this morning on the elms. This almost makes a summer. "):May 9, 1859 ("Hear the warbling vireo and oven-bird.");May 10, 1853 (“ New days, then, have come, ushered in by the warbling vireo, yellowbird, Maryland yellow-throat, and small pewee"); May 10, 1858 ("The warbling vireo cheers the elms with a strain for which they must have pined. "); May 13, 1856 ("Hear a warbling vireo"); May 13, 1855 ("The air is filled with the song of birds, — warbling vireo, gold robin, yellowbirds, and occasionally the bobolink.."); May 29, 1855("the warbling vireo, with its smooth-flowing, continuous, one-barred, shorter strain, with methinks a dusky side-head )

Dandelion seeds all blown away, and other perfectly ripe spheres. See May 9, 1858 ("A dandelion perfectly gone to seed, a complete globe, a system in itself.")

The senecio shows its yellow. See May 23, 1853 ("I am surprised by the dark orange-yellow of the senecio. At first we had the lighter, paler spring yellows of willows, dandelion, cinquefoil, then the darker and deeper yellow of the buttercup; and then this broad distinction between the buttercup and the senecio, as the seasons revolve toward July.")

The Ranunculus abortivus [Kidneyleaf Crowfoot] well out; say five days? See May 16, 1859 ("Ranunculus abortivus well out (when?), southwest angle of Damon's farm.");May 25, 1858 ("See an abundance of Ranunculus abortivus in the wood-path behind Mr. E.'s house, going to seed and in bloom. The branches are fine and spreading, about eight or ten inches high.")

Yellow violet, almost; say to-morrow.
See May 16, 1853 ("Yellow violets yesterday at least. "); May 18, 1856 ("E. Emerson finds half a dozen yellow violets."); May 25, 1852 ("The large yellow woods violet (V. pubescens) by this brook now out");

Arum triphyllum out
. See May 1, 1857 ("Plucked the Arum triphyllum, three inches high, with its acrid corm.”); May 19, 1851 ("Find the Arum triphyllum . . in Conant's Swamp.")

Young, or fresh-expanding, oak leaves are very handsome now, showing their colors.
It is a leafy mist throughout the forest. See May 15, 1854 ("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. . . . Oak leaves are as big as a mouse's ear.”); May 15, 1860 ("Looking from the Cliffs through the haze, the deciduous trees are a mist of leaflets.”)

Uvularia perfoliata out in rain. 
 See September 22, 1852 ("Sophia has in her herbarium and has found in Concord these which I have not seen this summer ...Uvularia perfoliata”); May 30, 1857 ("By the path near the northeast shore of Flint's Pond, just before reaching the wall by the brook, I . . .am surprised to find ... the Uvularia perfoliata, which I have not found hereabouts before. . . . It is considerably past its prime”); May 3, 1858 ("Ride to Flint's Pond to look for Uvularia perfoliata. ... It apparently will not bloom within ten days”); May 16, 1858 (“The Uvularia perfoliata, which did not show itself at all on the 3d, is now conspicuous, and one is open but will not shed pollen before to-morrow. It has shot up about ten inches in one case and bloomed within thirteen days!!”)

Just after plucking it I perceived what I call the meadow fragrance, See May 6, 1855 ("that unaccountable fugacious fragrance, as of all flowers,”); May 27, 1855 ("The meadow fragrance to-day.”); May 15, 1856 ("Perceive some of that delicious meadow fragrance coming over the railroad causeway”); May 27, 1855 ("The meadow fragrance to-day”); May 27, 1856 ("perceived the meadow fragrance”); May 27, 1857 ("I perceived that rare meadow fragrance on the 25th.”); June 3, 1860 ("I perceive the meadow fragrance.”)

Large black birch stumps all covered with pink scum from the sap. See April 26, 1856 ("The white birch at Clamshell, which I tapped long ago, still runs and is partly covered with a pink froth. Is not this the only birch which shows this colored froth?")

It is a warm afternoon, and great numbers of painted and spotted tortoises are lying in the sun in the meadow. See May 10, 1857 ("Now the Emys picta lie out in great numbers, this suddenly warm weather.")

Wishing to get one of the little brook  pickerel, See April 18, 1858 ("I saw in those ditches many small pickerel, landlocked, which appeared to be transversely barred! They bury themselves in the mud at my approach.")

I suspect that summer weather may be always ushered in in a similar manner, — thunder-shower, rainbow, smooth water, and warm night. See May 17, 1852 (' Does not summer begin after the May storm?") See also March 13, 1855 ("Rainbow in east this morning."); April 9, 1855 ("With April showers, me thinks, come rainbows. Why are they so rare in the winter?"); April 18, 1855 ("Am overtaken by a sudden sun-shower, after which a rainbow. ");May 10, 1857 (" Before night a sudden shower with some thunder and lightning; the first."); May 13, 1860 ("The third sultry evening in my chamber. A faint lightning is seen in the north horizon."); May 20, 1856 ("Was awaked and put into sounder sleep than ever early this morning by the distant crashing of thunder, and now ... I hear it in mid-afternoon, muttering, crashing in the muggy air in mid-heaven,... like the tumbling down of piles of boards, and get a few sprinkles in the sun. Nature has found her hoarse summer voice again. . .")

The sky is blue by night as well as by day
. See note to January 21, 1853 (''The blueness of the sky at night — the color it wears by day — is an everlasting surprise to me.")








A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, May 11
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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