Do not ask me for my afternoons.

August 31. 

Sunday. P. M. — To Hubbard Bath Swamp by boat.

There sits one by the shore who wishes to go with me, but I cannot think of it. I must be fancy-free. There is no such mote in the sky as a man who is not perfectly transparent to you, — who has any opacity. I would rather attend to him earnestly for half an hour, on shore or elsewhere, and then dismiss him. He thinks I could merely take him into my boat and then not mind him. He does not realize that I should by the same act take him into my mind, where there is no room for him, and my bark would surely founder in such a voyage as I was contemplating. I know very well that I should never reach that expansion of the river I have in my mind, with him aboard with his broad terrene qualities. He would sink my bark (not to another sea) and never know it. I could better carry a heaped load of meadow mud and sit on the thole pins. There would be more room for me, and I should reach that expansion of the river nevertheless. 

I could better afford to take him into bed with me, for then I might, perhaps, abandon him in my dreams. Ah! you are a heavy fellow, but I am well disposed. If you could go without going, then you might go. There's the captain's stateroom, empty to be sure, and you say you could go in the steerage. I know very well that only your baggage would be dropped in the steerage, while you would settle right down into that other snug recess. Why, I am going, not staying. I have come on purpose to sail, to paddle away from such as you, and you have waylaid me at the shore. You have chosen to make your assault at the moment of embarkation. Why, if I thought you were steadily gazing after me a mile off, I could not endure it. It is because I trust that I shall ere long depart from your thoughts, and so you from mine, that I am encouraged to set sail at all. I make haste to put several meanders and some hills between us. This Company is obliged to make a distinction between dead freight and passengers. I will take almost any amount of freight for you cheerfully, — anything, my dear sir, but yourself. 

Some are so inconsiderate as to ask to walk or sail with me regularly every day — I have known such — and think that, because there will be six inches or a foot between our bodies, we shall not interfere! These things are settled by fate. The good ship sails — when she is ready. For freight or passage apply to — ?? Ask my friend where. What is getting into a man's carriage when it is full, compared with putting your foot in his mouth and popping right into his mind without considering whether it is occupied or not ? If I remember aright, it was only on condition that you were asked, that you were to go with a man one mile or twain. Suppose a man asks, not you to go with him, but to go with you! Often, I would rather undertake to shoulder a barrel of pork and carry it a mile than take into my company a man. It would not be so heavy a weight upon my mind. I could put it down and only feel my back ache for it.

The birches on Wheeler's meadow have begun to yellow, apparently owing to the water. 

The Cornus sericea, with its berries just turning, is generally a dull purple now, the first conspicuous change, methinks, along the river; half sunk in water. 

Captain Hubbard is out inspecting his river meadow and his cranberries. Says he never saw the water so high at this season before. I am surprised that the river is not more than two inches higher than yesterday, or than the day before, notwithstanding the last copious rain; but Hubbard says he has heard that they have just lowered their dam a foot at Billerica. He sees that the water has fallen a little in his meadow. It leaves a scum on the grass and gives it a smell and taste, which makes the cattle reject it. 

He gets into my boat, and we obtain some cranberries from beneath the water. Some of them are softened and spoiled. H. thinks it depends on the warmth of the water how much they are injured. This is what calls the farmer out now, — to inspect his cranberries or his grass. He talks with his neighbor about it at church. 

I am frequently amused when I come across the proprietor in my walks, and he asks me if I am not lost. I commonly approach his territory by the river, or some other back way, and rarely meet with him. The other day Conant observed to me, "Well, you have to come out once in a while to take a survey." He thinks that I do not visit his neighborhood more than once in a year, but I go there about once a week, and formerly much oftener; perhaps as often as he. 

H. says he has found coal at the bottom of his meadow under the mud, three feet deep. 

The Viburnum nudum berries are now in prime, a handsome rose-purple. I brought home a bunch of fifty-three berries, all of this color, and the next morning thirty were turned dark purple. In this state they are soft and just edible, having somewhat of a cherry flavor, not a large stone. 

A painted tortoise shedding its scales.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal August 31, 1856

Some are so inconsiderate as to ask to walk or sail with me regularly every day. See September 16, 1859 ("Ask me for a certain number of dollars if you will, but do not ask me for my afternoons.")

The birches on Wheeler's meadow have begun to yellow, apparently owing to the [high] water. See August 31, 1858 ("The birches have lately lost a great many of their lower leaves, which now cover and yellow the ground.") See also August 13, 1854 (“At Thrush Alley, I am surprised to behold how many birch leaves have turned yellow, — every other one, — while clear, fresh, leather-colored ones strew the ground with a pretty thick bed under each tree.”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Birches in Season

The Cornus sericea, with its berries just turning, is generally a dull purple now.  See August 28, 1856 ("The bright china-colored blue berries of the Cornus sericea begin to show themselves along the river, amid their red-brown leaves, — the kinnikinnic of the Indians.")

The Viburnum nudum berries are now in prime See August  28, 1856 ("Viburnum nudum berries are beginning; I already see a few shrivelled purple ones amid the light green."); September 3, 1856 (""Gather four or five quarts of Viburnum nudum berries, now in their prime, attracted more by the beauty of the cymes than the flavor of the fruit. The berries, which are of various sizes and forms, — elliptical, oblong, or globular, — are in different stages of maturity on the same cyme, and so of different colors, — green or white, rose-colored, and dark purple or black, — i. e. three or four very distinct and marked colors, side by side. If gathered when rose-colored, they soon turn dark purple and are soft and edible, though before bitter. They add a new and variegated wildness to the swampy sprout-lands.") See also  A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Viburnum

A painted tortoise shedding its scales. See August 19, 1855 ("See painted tortoise shedding scales, half off and loose."); September 3, 1856 ("I see painted tortoises with their entire backs covered with perfectly fresh clean black scales, such as no rubbing nor varnishing can produce, contrasting advantageously with brown and muddy ones.); September 15, 1855 ("See many painted tortoise scales being shed, half erect on their backs."); October 12, 1855 ("I see a painted tortoise still out on shore. Three of his back scales are partly turned up and show fresh black ones ready beneath. And now I see that the six main anterior scales have already been shed. They are fresh black and bare of moss. Is not this the only way they get rid of the moss, etc., which adhere to them?"); March 28, 1857 ("The Emys picta, now pretty numerous, when young and fresh, with smooth black scales without moss or other imperfection, unworn, and with claws perfectly sharp, is very handsome.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Painted Turtle (Emys picta)

Suppose a man asks

not you to go with him but 

him to go with you!