Arrive by stage at Moosehead Lake

July 23. 

Thursday. 


Some fifteen caribou were taken by one (?) man about Moosehead last winter. . . . [Mr. Leonard, of Bangor, a sportsman,] said that the horns of a moose would spread four feet, some times six; would weigh thirty or forty pounds (the hide, fifty); squirrels and mice ate the horns when shed. (They told me that the horns were not grown at this season.) . . . 

[Leonard told] also of some panthers which appeared near a house in Foxcroft. . . . 

I observed from the stage many of the Fringilla hyemalis flitting along the fences, even at this season, whence I conclude that they must breed here. 

Also, between Monson and the lake, the now very handsome panicles of the red elder-berry, so much earlier than the black, the most showy objects by the roadside. In one place the tree-cranberry in a yard, already reddening, though nowhere else after was it nearly so early. . . . 

There were two public houses near together, and they wanted to detain us at the first, even took off some of our baggage in spite of us; but, on our protesting, shouted, "Let them go! let them go!" as if it was any of their business. Whereupon we, thanking them for the privilege, rode on, leaving P. behind, who, I knew, would follow his canoe. 

Here we found a spacious house, quite empty, close to the lake, with an attentive landlord, which was what we wanted. A bright wood fire soon burned in the ample barroom, very comfortable in that fresh and cool atmosphere, and we congratulated ourselves on having escaped the crowd at the other house. 

Fogg, the landlord, said that there was scarcely any hemlock about the lake. 

Here was an Indian who came to talk with Polis, who made canoes, had made those two for Leonard. . . . He said that he used the red cedar of uplands (i. e. arbor-vitae ?) for ribs, etc.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, July 23, 1857

See The Maine Woods. ("Early the next morning (July 23) the stage called for us, the Indian having breakfasted with us, and already placed the baggage in the canoe to see how it would go. . . . When we reached the lake, about half past eight in the evening, it was still steadily raining, and harder than before; and, in that fresh, cool atmosphere, the hylodes were peeping and the toads ringing about the lake universally, as in the spring with us. It was as if the season had revolved backward two or three months, or I had arrived at the abode of perpetual spring. We had expected to go upon the lake at once, and, after paddling up two or three miles, to camp on one of its islands ; but on account of the steady and increasing rain, we decided to go to one of the taverns for the night, though, for my own part, I should have preferred to camp out.”)

July 23. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, July 23

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