The humblest fungus betrays a life akin to my own

October 10. 

October 10, 2018

Sunday. P. M. ——-To Annursnack. 

November has already come to the river with the fall of the black willow and the button-bush, and the fall and blackening of the pontederia. The leaves of the two former are the greater part fallen, letting in the autumn light to the water, and the ducks have less shelter and concealment. 

As I go along the Groton road, I see afar, in the middle of E. Wood’s field, what looks like a stone jug or post, but my glass reveals it a woodchuck, a great, plump gray fellow, and when I am nearly half a mile off, I can still see him nibbling the grass there, and from time to time, when he hears, perchance, a wagon on the road, sitting erect and looking warily around for approaching foes. I am glad to see the woodchuck so fat in the orchard. It proves that is the same nature that was of yore. 

The autumnal brightness of the foliage generally is less, or faded, since the fading of the maples and hickories, which began about the 5th. Oak leaves generally (perhaps except scarlet?) begin to wither soon after they begin to turn, and large trees (except the scarlet) do not generally attain to brilliancy.[?] 

Apparently Fringilla pusilla yet.

The Salix humilis leaves are falling fast in Wood Turtle Path (A. Hosmer’s), a dry Wood-path, looking curled and slaty-colored about the half-bare stems.

Thus each humble shrub is contributing its mite to the fertility of the globe. 

I find the under sides of the election-cake fungi there covered with pink-colored fleas, apparently poduras, skipping about when it is turned up to the light. 

The simplest and most lumpish fungus has a peculiar interest to us, compared with a mere mass of earth, because it is so obviously organic and related to ourselves, however mute. It is the expression of an idea; growth according to a law; matter not dormant, not raw, but inspired, appropriated by spirit. If I take up a handful of earth, however separately interesting the particles may be, their relation to one another appears to be that of mere juxtaposition generally. I might have thrown them together thus. But the humblest fungus betrays a life akin to my own. It is a successful poem in its kind. There is suggested something superior to any particle of matter, in the idea or mind which uses and arranges the particles. 

Genius is inspired by its own works; it is hermaphroditic. 

I find the fringed gentian abundantly open at 3 and at 4 P. M., — in fact, it must be all the afternoon, — open to catch the cool October sun and air in its low position. Such a dark blue! surpassing that of the male bluebird’s back, who must be encouraged by its presence. [Inclosing it in a mass of the sphagnum near or in which it often grows, I carry it home, and it opens for several days in succession.]

The indigo-weed, now partly turned black and broken off, blows about the pastures like the fiyaway grass.

I find some of those little rooty tubers (?), now woody, in the turtle field of A. Hosmer’s by Eddy Bridge.

Pulling up some Diplopappus linariifolius, now done, I find many bright-purple shoots, a half to three quarters of an inch long, freshly put forth underground and ready to turn upward and form new plants in the spring.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, October 10, 1858

November has already come to the river with the fall of the black willow and the button-bush. See note to  October 8, 1858 ("The button-bushes and black willows are rapidly losing leaves, and the shore begins to look Novemberish.")

The simplest and most lumpish fungus . . .betrays a life akin to my own. It is a successful poem in its kind. See  February 19, 1854 ("The mind of the universe rather, which we share, has been intended upon each particular object. . .kindred mind with mine that admires and approves decided it so.") See also August 7, 1853 ("The past has been a remarkably wet week, and now the earth is strewn with fungi."); October 22, 1851 ("The rain and dampness have given birth to a new crop of mushrooms.")

Such a dark blue! surpassing that of the male bluebird’s back, who must be encouraged by its presence. See October 19, 1852 ("It is too remarkable a flower not to be sought out and admired each year, however rare. It is one of the errands of the walker, as well as of the bees, for it yields him a more celestial nectar still. It is a very singular and agreeable surprise to come upon this conspicuous and handsome and withal blue flower at this season, when flowers have passed out of our minds and memories")

Thus each humble shrub is contributing its mite to the fertility of the globe. See September 12, 1858 ("Thus gradually and successively each plant lends its richest color to the general effect, and in the fittest place, and passes away. "); October 14, 1860 (" Consider how many leaves there are to fall each year and how much they must add to the soil. We have had a remarkably fertile year."); October 16, 1857 ("How beautifully they die, making cheerfully their annual contribution to the soil! They fall to rise again; as if they knew that it was not one annual deposit alone that made this rich mould in which pine trees grow. They live in the soil whose fertility and bulk they increase, and in the forests that spring from it. "); October 20, 1853 ("Merrily they go scampering over the earth, selecting their graves, whispering all through the woods about it. They that waved so loftily, how contentedly they return to dust again and afford nourishment to new generations of their kind, as well as to flutter on high! So they troop to their graves, light and frisky. They are about to add a leaf's breadth to the depth of the soil. We are all the richer for their decay."); October 29, 1855 ("When the leaves fall, the whole earth is a cemetery pleasant to walk in. I love to wander and muse over them in their graves, returning to dust again. Here are no lying nor vain epitaphs. The scent of their decay is pleasant to me.")

The indigo-weed, now partly turned black and broken off, blows about the pastures like the fiyaway grass. See June 3, 1851 ("I noticed the indigo-weed a week or two ago pushing up like asparagus."); July 10, 1855 ("Indigo out."); July 17, 1852 ("Some fields are covered now with tufts or clumps of indigo- weed, yellow with blossoms, with a few dead leaves turned black here and there."); July 25, 1853 ("Bunches of indigo, still in bloom, more numerously than anywhere that I remember");  August 6, 1858 ("indigo, ' ' 'is still abundantly in bloom. "); August 17, 1851 ("Indigo-weed still in bloom by the dry wood-path-side,");  October 22, 1859 ("In my blustering walk over the Mason and Hunt pastures yesterday, I saw much of the withered indigo-weed which was broken off and blowing about, and the seeds in its numerous black pods rattling like the rattlepod though not nearly so loud"); February 28, 1860 ("As I stood by Eagle Field wall, I heard a fine rattling sound, produced by the wind on some dry weeds at my elbow. It was occasioned by the wind rattling the fine seeds in those pods of the indigo-weed which were still closed, — a distinct rattling din which drew my attention to it, — like a small Indian's calabash. Not a mere rustling of dry weeds, but the shaking of a rattle, or a hundred rattles, beside.")

Pulling up some Diplopappus linariifolius, now done. See August 22, 1859 ("The savory-leaved aster (Diplopappus linariifolius) out; how long?"); September 18, 1856 ("Diplopappus linariifolius in prime.")

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