A school of a thousand little pouts about three quarters of an inch long.

July 15. 

P. M. — To Hubbard's Close and Walden. 

Carrots by railroad, how long? 

I notice the froth concealing a grub, not only on trees and bushes, but on Potentilla Norvegica, Lechea (great-fruited), etc., etc., Pycnanthemum muticum, even Lobelia inflata, red clover, Aster puniceus. This spots my clothes when going through bushes. 

Both small hypericums, Canadense and mutilum, apparently some days at least by Stow's ditch.

Bobolinks are heard — their link, link — above and amid the tall rue which now whitens the meadows.

Checkerberry, a day or two. 

Spiranthes gracilis well out, in dry, slender grass by roadside. 

I do not notice the krigia out in my afternoon walks, and so it is not known by many, but in the morning its disk is very commonly seen. 

When I crossed the entrance to the pond meadow on a stick, a pout ran ashore and was lodged so that I caught it in the grass, apparently frightened. While I held it, I noticed another, very large one approach the shore very boldly within a few feet of me. Going in to bathe, I caught a pout on the bottom within a couple of rods of the shore. It seemed sick. Then, wading into the shallow entrance of the meadow, I saw a school of a thousand little pouts about three quarters of an inch long without any attending pout, and now have no doubt that the pout I had caught (but let go again) was tending them, and the large one was the father, apparently further off. The mother had perhaps gone into deep water to recruit after her air-bath. The young were pretty shy; kept in shallow water, and were taking pretty good care of themselves. If the water should suddenly fall, they might be caught in the meadow. 

Ludwigia alternifolia not quite; in a day or two. 

Amid the high grass or rushes by that meadow-side started a water adder. It was about three feet long, but large round in proportion, with about one hundred and forty abdominal plates and a long, slender tail. It was black above, with indistinct transverse brown bands. Under its head white; first half of belly white, with triangular of conical dark brown red marks on sides; the white gradually becomes more narrow and yellowish for the latter half of the abdomen, bordered by more numerous and still darker reddish marks, becoming confluent and alternating with silvery ones, giving a handsome regularly mottled or spotted look. Silvery across the belly. The barred part dark-reddish. Under the tail no reddish.

Corylus rostrata differs from  common in the twig being smooth and not glandular-hairy. 

Scutellaria galericulata, some time. Polygonum sagittatum, almost. 

That green sponge plant gathered yesterday is remarkably slow to dry; though it has been many hours exposed to the sun and wiped with many papers and has been a whole day exposed to the air, it is far from dry yet. It is more pungent and strong-scented than ever and sickens me to stay in the room with a little of it.

H. D  Thoreau, Journal, July 15, 1856

Bobolinks are heard — their link, link — above and amid the tall rue which now whitens the meadows. See July 15, 1854 ("I hear the link link of the bobolink."). See also   July 12 1856 ("Rue is beginning now to whiten the meadows on all hands."); July 17, 1852 ("The meadows on the Turnpike are white with the meadow-rue now more than ever.") and A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Bobolink

"Checkerberry," a day or two: American wintergreen (Gaultheria procumbent). See A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The Checkerberry

A  water adder about three feet long, but large round in proportion, with about one hundred and forty abdominal plates and a long, slender tail. See July 23, 1856 ("The water adder killed on the 15th and left hanging on a twig. . . is already mere skin and skeleton, ") and note to 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.")

July 15. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau July 15

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