Saturday, July 31, 2021

A Book of the Seasons: July 31 (thoughts of autumn, berries, goldfinch, fungi, dog-days, thundershowers)


The year is but a succession of days,
and I see that I could assign some office to each day
which, summed up, would be the history of the year.
Henry Thoreau, August 24, 1852

 July 31

Thoughts of autumn and
the memory of past years
occupy my mind.


July 31, 2015

Returning home last evening, I heard that exceedingly fine z-ing or creaking of crickets (?), low in the grass in the meadows. July 31, 1859

Went through Potter's Aster Radula swamp this dog-day afternoon. As I make my way amid rank weeds still wet with the dew, the air filled with a decaying musty scent and the z-ing of small locusts. July 31, 1856

Our dog-days seem to be turned to a rainy season. July 31, 1855

Decidedly dog-days, and a strong musty scent, not to be wondered at after the copious rains and the heat of yesterday July 31, 1860

It is emphatically one of the dog-days. A dense fog, not clearing off till we are far on our way. July 31, 1859

The grass is thickly strewn with white cobwebs, tents of the night, which promise a fair day . . . They are revealed by the dew, and perchance it is the dew and fog which they reveal which are the sign of fair weather. July 31, 1859

The river has risen a foot or so since its lowest early in the month. July 31, 1852

The water is quite cool. Methinks it cannot be so warm again this year. July 31, 1852

There is more shadow under the edges of woods and copses now. Perhaps it is this that makes it cooler, especially morning and evening, though it may be as warm as ever at noon. July 31, 1852

I have smelled fungi in the thick woods for a week, though they are not very common. I see tobacco-pipes now in the path. July 31, 1858

For a morning or two I have noticed dense crowds of little tender whitish parasol toadstools, one inch or more in diameter, and two inches high or more, with simple plaited wheels, about the pump platform; first fruit of this dog-day weather. July 31, 1856

Have observed the twittering over of goldfinches for a week. July 31, 1855

The goldfinch's note, the cool watery twitter, is more prominent now. July 31, 1859. 

You are liable to be overtaken by a thunder-shower these afternoons. July 31, 1858

At mid-afternoon I am caught in another deluging rain as I stand under a maple by the shore. Looking on a water surface, you can see as well as hear when it rains very hard. . . . there were a myriad white globules dancing or rebounding an inch or two from the surface, where the big drops fell, and I heard a sound as if it rained pebbles or shot. July 31, 1860

Wood thrush still sings. July 31, 1854

Tree-toads sing more than before. July 31, 1855

The absence of flowers, the shadows, the wind, the green cranberries, etc., are autumnal. July 31, 1852

I calculate that less than forty species of flowers known to me remain to blossom this year. July 31, 1853

I hear the distant sound of a flail, and thoughts of autumn occupy my mind, and the memory of past years. July 31, 1856 

The high blueberry has a singularly cool flavor. The alder locust again reminds me of autumn. July 31, 1852

How thick the berries — low blackberries, Vaccinium vacillans, and huckleberries — on the side of Fair Haven Hill ! The berries are large, for no drought has shrunk them. They are very abundant this year to compensate for the want of them the last. July 31, 1856. 

Mountain cranberries apparently full grown, many at least. July 31, 1856

The green cranberries are half formed. July 31, 1852

So surely as we stepped out of the canoe and stretched our legs we found ourselves in a blueberry and raspberry garden, each side of our rocky trail around the falls being lined with one or both. July 31, 1857. ( The Maine Woods) 

On this East Branch we saw many of the small purple fringed orchis (Platanthera psycodes), but no large ones (P. fimbriata), which alone were noticed on the West Branch and Umbazookskus. July 31, 1857 


Soon afterward a
white-headed eagle sailed down
the stream before us.
July 31, 1857

We drove him several miles, while we were looking for a good place to camp, for we expected to be overtaken by a shower, — and still we could distinguish him by his white tail, sailing away from time to time from some tree by the shore still farther down the stream
 July 31, 1857 The Maine Woods 

Near Well Meadow, hear the distant scream of a hawk, apparently anxious about her young, and soon a large apparent hen—hawk (?) comes and alights on the very top of the highest pine there, within gunshot, and utters its angry scream. This a sound of the season when they probably are taking their first (?) flights. July 31, 1856 

Where there are rare, wild, rank plants, there too some wild bird will be found. The marsh wrens and the small green bitterns are especially numerous there. Doubtless many rails here. They lurk amid these reeds. July 31, 1859

See a blue heron several times to-day and yesterday. They must therefore breed not far off.  July 31, 1859  

July 31, 2017

July 30, 1854 ("I have seen a few new fungi within a week. The tobacco-pipes are still pushing up white amid the dry leaves,")
July 30, 1852 ("Do not all flowers that blossom after mid-July remind us of the fall?")
July 30, 1852 ("Caught in a thunder-shower, when south of Flint's Pond. It is a grand sound, that of the rain on the leaves of the forest a quarter of a mile distant, approaching.")\
July 30, 1852 ("How long since I heard a veery?  Do they go, or become silent, when the goldfinches herald the autumn?  After midsummer we have a belated feeling and are forward to see in each sight and hear in each sound some presage of the fall, just as in middle age man anticipates the end of life")
July 30, 1853 ("A small purple orchis (Platanthera psycodes), quite small")
July 30, 1853 ("The wood thrush still sings and the peawai")

At mid-afternoon
caught in a deluging rain
under a maple . . .

a myriad white
globules dance and rebound
where the big drops fall.

August 1, 1852 ("The pewee sings yet.")
August 1, 1852 ("Found a long, dense spike of the Orchis psycodes. Much later this than the great orchis. The same, only smaller and denser, not high-colored enough.")
August 1, 1858 ("So the green bitterns are leaving the nest now.")
August 2, 1859 ("That fine z-ing of locusts in the grass which I have heard for three or four days is an August sound.")
August 3, 1857 ("This was the midst of the raspberry season. We found them abundant on every carry on the East Branch and below . . . It is so much the more desirable at this season to breathe the raspberry air of Maine.")
August 4, 1852 ("I hear the singular watery twitter of the goldfinch, ter tweeter e et or e ee, as it ricochets over, he and his russet ( ?) female.")
August 4, 1852 (" Most huckleberries and blueberries and low blackberries are in their prime now")
August 7, 1854 ("I am not so much reminded of former years, as of existence prior to years.”)
August 12, 1853 ("See the blue herons opposite Fair Haven Hill, as if they had bred here.")

July 31, 2021
July 31, 2022



If you make the least correct 
observation of nature this year,
 you will have occasion to repeat it
 with illustrations the next, 
and the season and life itself is prolonged.

July 30 <<<<<  July 31  >>>>>   August 1
A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau  July 31
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 ©  2009-2023


https://tinyurl.com/HDT31JULY 

 

 




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Friday, July 30, 2021

A Book of the Seasons: July 30 (sunny waters, midsummer blues, haying, dog day weather, tobacco-pipes, ripe berries, late flowers and birds)


The year is but a succession of days,
and I see that I could assign some office to each day
which, summed up, would be the history of the year.
Henry Thoreau, August 24, 1852

 July 30 

Waiting for the tide –
the singular feature in
this life by the shore.

The grand sound of rain
on the leaves of the forest –
distant, approaching.

After midsummer
we have belated feelings
presage of the fall.
July 30, 1852

Nature is a gall –
man the grub she is destined
to house and to feed.

The tobacco-pipes
are still pushing up white
amid the dry leaves.

A perfect dog-day.
Atmosphere thick, mildewy.
The sun is obscured.

The lake smooth as glass
we make the only ripple
as we paddle on.
July 30, 1857 

July 30, 2018


After midsummer we have a belated feeling and are forward to see in each sight and hear in each sound some presage of the fall, just as in middle age man anticipates the end of life. July 30, 1852 

The forepart of this month was the warmest weather we have had; the last part, sloping toward autumn, has reflected some of its coolness, for we are very forward to anticipate the fall. July 30, 1852


This month has not been so warm as June. Methinks our warm weather hardest to bear is the last half of June and the first half of July. Afterward the shade and the dog-days give us moisture and coolness, especially at night. July 30, 1853

A small purple orchis (Platanthera psycodes), quite small. July 30, 1853 

The swamp pink shows its last white petals. July 30, 1852

Do not all flowers that blossom after mid-July remind us of the fall? July 30, 1852


Some days ago, before this weather, I saw haymakers at work dressed simply in a straw hat, boots, shirt, and pantaloons, the shirt worn like a frock over their pants. July 30, 1856

In every meadow you see far or near the lumbering hay-cart with its mountainous load and the rakers and mowers in white shirts .. . . If the meadows were untouched, I should no doubt see many more of the rare white and the beautiful smaller purple orchis there, as I now see a few along the shaded brooks and meadow's edge. July 30, 1853

The tobacco-pipes are still pushing up white amid the dry leaves, sometimes lifting a canopy of leaves with them four or five inches.
July 30, 1854

This is a perfect dog-day. The atmosphere thick, mildewy, cloudy. It is difficult to dry anything. The sun is obscured, yet we expect no rain. July 30, 1856

This dog-day weather I can see the bottom where five and a half feet deep . . . I see the fishes moving leisurely about amid the weeds, their affairs revealed, especially perch, — some large ones prowling there; and pickerel, large and small, lie imperturbable. July 30, 1859

All the secrets of the river bottom are revealed. I look down into sunny depths which before were dark. The wonderful clearness of the water, enabling you to explore the river bottom and many of its secrets now, exactly as if the water had been clarified. This is our compensation for a heaven concealed. The air is close and still. July 30, 1856 

I am struck with the splendid crimson-red under sides of the white lily pads where my boat has turned them, at my bath place near the Hemlocks. July 30, 1856

I have for some time noticed the emersed leaves of the Bidens Beckii above the river surface, and this morning find the first flower. Last year I found none. Was it owing to the high water? July 30, 1853

It is a mere string of lakes which have not made up their minds to be rivers. As near as possible to a standstill. July 30, 1859

When I have just rowed about the Island a green bittern crosses in my rear with heavy flapping flight, its legs dangling, not observing me. It looks deep slate-blue above, yellow legs, whitish streak along throat and breast, and slowly plows the air with its prominent breast-bone, like the stake-driver. July 30, 1856

I aroused the Indian early this morning to go in search of our companion, expecting to find him within a mile or two, farther down the stream.. . . The morning was a bright one, and perfectly still and serene, the lake as smooth as glass, we making the only ripple as we paddled into it. July 30, 1857 The Maine Woods

The ripple-marks on the east shore of Flint's are nearly parallel firm ridges in the white sand. July 30, 1852

I notice a small blue egg washed up and half buried by the white sand, and as it lay there, alternately wet and dry, July 30, 1852

Am glad to press my way through Miles's Swamp. Thickets of choke-berry bushes higher than my head, with many of their lower leaves already red, alternating with young birches and raspberry, high blueberry andromeda (high and low), and great dense flat beds of Rubus sempervirens. Amid these, perhaps in cool openings, stands an island or two of great dark-green high blueberry bushes, with big cool blueberries, July 30, 1860  

There are some of what I will call the clustered low blackberries on the sand just beyond the Dugan Desert. There are commonly a few larger grains in dense clusters on very short peduncles and flat on the sand, clammy with a cool subacid taste. July 30, 1854.

In a frosty hollow in the woods west of this and of the blackberry field, find a thick patch of shad-bush, about a rod and a half long, the bushes about three feet high, and quite interesting now, in fruit. Firm dark-green leaves with short, broad, irregular racemes (cluster-like) of red and dark dull purplish berries intermixed, making considerable variety in the color. The ripest and largest dark-purple berries are just half an inch in diameter. The conspicuous red -- for most are red --remind me a little of the wild holly, the berry so contrasts with the dark leaf. These berries are peculiar in that the red are nearly as pleasant-tasted as the more fully ripe dark-purple ones. July 30, 1860 

Caught in a thunder-shower, when south of Flint's Pond. It is a grand sound, that of the rain on the leaves of the forest a quarter of a mile distant, approaching. July 30, 1852

How long since I heard a veery? Do they go, or become silent, when the goldfinches herald the autumn? July 30, 1852  

Nighthawks squeak and fly low over Thrush Alley at 4 p. m. July 30, 1852 

The wood thrush still sings and the peawai. July 30, 1853 

See the lightning on the telegraph battery and hear the shock about sundown from our window -- an intensely bright white light. July 30, 1855

July 30, 2014

*****
A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau:

*****

  1. July 30, 2014

April 16, 1852 ("A succession of bays it is, a chain of lakes, . . .There is just stream enough for a flow of thought; that is all. Many a foreigner who has come to this town has worked for years on its banks without discovering which way the river runs. ")
June 27,1852 ("All the phenomena of nature need be seen from the point of view of wonder and awe, like lightning; and, on the other hand, the lightning itself needs to be regarded with serenity, as the most familiar and innocent phenomena are.")
July 26, 1853 ("How apt we are to be reminded of lateness, even before the year is half spent! This the afternoon of the year.”)
July 28, 1859 ("The season has now arrived when I begin to see further into the water, — see the bottom, the weeds, and fishes more than before")
July 28, 1859 ("The sweet and plaintive note of the pewee (wood pewee) is now prominent, since most other birds are more hushed.")
July 29, 1853 ("There is not only the tobacco-pipe, but pine-sap.")
July 29, 1853 ("About these times some hundreds of men with freshly sharpened scythes make an irruption into my garden when in its rankest condition, and clip my herbs all as close as they can")
July 29, 1859 ("Heard from a bittern, a peculiar hoarse, grating note, lazily uttered as it flew over the meadows. A bittern's croak: a sound perfectly becoming the bird, as far as possible from music.")

July 31, 1856 ("Thoughts of autumn occupy my mind, and the memory of past years.")
July 31, 1856. ("How thick the berries — low blackberries, Vaccinium vacillans, and huckleberries — on the side of Fair Haven Hill !")
July 31, 1858 ("I see tobacco-pipes now in the path. ")
August 2, 1856 ("A green bittern comes, noiselessly flapping, with stealthy and inquisitive looking to this side the stream and then that . . There is a sympathy between its sluggish flight and the sluggish flow of the stream,.— its slowly lapsing flight,")
August 5, 1854 ("I find that we are now in the midst of the meadow-haying season, and almost every meadow or section of a meadow has its band of half a dozen mowers and rakers, either bending to their manly work with regular and graceful motion.")
August 5, 1856 ("Choke-cherries near . . . begin to be ripe, though still red. They are scarcely edible, but their beauty atones for it. See those handsome racemes of ten or twelve cherries each, dark glossy red, semi- transparent. You love them not the less because they are not quite palatable.")
August 5, 1858 ("Choke-berries, fair to the eye but scarcely palatable, hang far above your head, weighing down the bushes.")
August 6, 1852 (“With the goldenrod comes the goldfinch. About the time his cool twitter is heard, does not the bobolink, thrasher, catbird, oven-bird, veery, etc., cease?”)
August 23, 1856 (“ At the Lincoln bound hollow, Walden, there is a dense bed of the Rubus hispidus, matting the ground seven or eight inches deep, and full of the small black fruit, now in its prime.")
August 24, 1854 ("The bright crimson-red under sides of the great white lily pads, turned up by the wind")

July 30, ,2022

If you make the least correct 
observation of nature this year,
 you will have occasion to repeat it
 with illustrations the next, 
and the season and life itself is prolonged.

July 29  < <<<<<  July 30  >>>>>   July 31

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau,  July 30
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 ©  2009-2022
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Wednesday, July 28, 2021

A Book of the Seasons: July 28 (the season of sunny water, midsummer blues, berries, late birds, asters and goldenrods)

 

The year is but a succession of days,
and I see that I could assign some office to each day
which, summed up, would be the history of the year.
Henry Thoreau, August 24, 1852


Yellowish light now.
Tufted yellowish broad-leaved
grass in new mown fields.

Goldenrod, asters
grasshoppers now abundant,
cooler breezy air.

Ripe sand cherry fruit
droops from peduncles in
umble-like clusters.

Evenings are longer
now and the cooler weather
make them improvable.

At year’s afternoon
we descend toward winter
all our hopes postponed.

We made this island 
the limit of our excursion 
in this direction. 

Now is the season
I begin to see further
into the water.

July 28, 2018

The season has now arrived when I begin to see further into the water, -- see the bottom, the weeds, and fishes more than before. July 28, 1859. 

Last evening it was much cooler, and I heard a decided fall sound of crickets. July 28, 1854

When we awoke, we found a heavy dew on our blankets. I lay awake very early, and listened to the clear, shrill ah, te te, te te, te of the white-throated sparrow, repeated at short intervals, without the least variation, for half an hour. The Maine Woods July 28, 1857

They tell of eagles flying low over the island lately. July 28, 1851

The sweet and plaintive note of the pewee (wood pewee) is now prominent, since most other birds are more hushed. July 28, 1859.  

Saw young martins being fed on a bridge-rail yesterday. July 28, 1859

Young purple finches eating mountain-ash berries. July 28, 1859

Cherry-bird common.  July 28, 1854 .  

The kingbirds eat currants.  July 28, 1859.  

Red-eye and chewink common. July 28, 1854 . 

Partridges begin to go off in packs. July 28, 1854 .  

Hear part of the song of what sounds and looks like a rose-breasted grosbeak. July 28, 1859.

Heard a kingfisher, which had been hovering over the river, plunge forty rods off. July 28, 1858

We were glad to find on this carry some raspberries, and a few of the Vaccinium Canadense berries, which had begun to be ripe here. July 28, 1857

Nightshade berries begin to ripen, — to be red. July 28, 1853

Sand cherry ripe. The fruit droops in umble-like clusters, two to four peduncles together, on each side the axil of a branchlet or a leaf. Emerson and Gray call it dark-red. It is black when ripe. July 28, 1856

The under sides of maples are very bright and conspicuous nowadays as you walk, also of the curled panicled andromeda leaves. Some grape leaves, also, are blown up. July 28, 1858

What is that slender hieracium or aster-like plant in woods on Corner road with lanceolate, coarsely feather-veined leaves, sessile and remotely toothed; minute, clustered, imbricate buds (?) or flowers and buds? Panicled hieracium? July 28, 1852

That low hieracium, hairy, especially the lower part, with several hairy, obovate or oblanceolate leaves, remotely, very slightly, toothed, and glandular hairs on peduncles and calyx, a few heads, some days at least. July 28, 1853

Gerardia flava, apparently several days. July 28, 1856

The Gerardia flava in the hickory grove behind Lee's Cliff, some days. . . . Have I seen the G. quercifolia? July 28, 1853

Epilobium coloratum, roadside just this side of Dennis's. July 28, 1852

From wall corner saw a pinkish patch on side-hill west of Baker Farm, which turned out to be epilobium, . . .This pink flower was distinguished perhaps three quarters of a mile. July 28, 1858

There is a yellowish light now from a low, tufted, yellowish, broad-leaved grass, in fields that have been mown. July 28, 1852

Grasshoppers are very abundant, several to every square foot in some fields. July 28, 1852

Aster Radula (?) in J. P. Brown's meadow. July 28, 1852

Solidago altissima (?) beyond the Corner Bridge, out some days at least, but not rough-hairy. July 28, 1852

Goldenrod and asters have fairly begun; there are several kinds of each out. July 28, 1852

Enough has not been said of the beauty of the shrub oak leaf (Quercus ilicifolia), of a thick, firm texture, for the most part uninjured by insects, intended to last all winter; of a glossy green above and now silky downy beneath, fit for a wreath or crown. 

By factory road clearing, the small rough sunflower, two or three days. July 28, 1856. 

The evenings are now sensibly longer, and the cooler weather makes them improvable. July 28, 1852

Veery and wood thrush not very lately, nor oven-bird.  July 28, 1854. 

Methinks the season culminated about the middle of this month, — that the year was of indefinite promise before, but that, after the first intense heats, we postponed the fulfillment of many of our hopes for this year, and, having as it were attained the ridge of the summer, commenced to descend the long slope toward winter, the afternoon and down-hill of the year. July 28, 1854 

We made this island the limit of our excursion in this direction. The Maine Woods July 28, 1857

July 28, 2022
*****

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Shrub Oak
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Helianthus
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Veery
 A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Oven-bird


June 12, 1854 (“[The kingfisher] hovers two or three times thirty or forty feet above the pond, and at last dives ”)
July 13, 1854. ("I hear the hot-weather and noonday birds, -- red eye, tanager, wood pewee, etc")
July 18, 1854 ("Methinks the asters and goldenrods begin, like the early ripening leaves, with midsummer heats.")
July 23, 1854 ("There is a peculiar light reflected from the shorn fields, as later in the fall, when rain and coolness have cleared the air.")
July 24, 1852("There is a short, fresh green on the shorn fields, the aftermath. When the first crop of grass is off, and the aftermath springs, the year has passed its culmination ")
July 24, 1853 ("The nighthawk squeaks, and the chewink jingles his strain, and the wood thrush; but I think there is no loud and general serenade from the birds.")
July 24, 1857 (“Great fields of epilobium or fire-weed, a mass of color.)
July 24, 1860 ("Many a field where the grass has been cut shows now a fresh and very lit-up light green as you look toward the sun.")
July 25, 1854 (I now start some packs of partridges, old and young, going off together without mewing.)
July 26, 1853 ("I mark again, about this time when the first asters open. . . This the afternoon of the year.")
July 26, 1853 ("How apt we are to be reminded of lateness, even before the year is half spent! This the afternoon of the year.")
July 27, 1852 ("Have I heard the veery lately?")
  July 27, 1852 ("How cool and assuaging the thrush's note after the fever of the day!")
July 27, 1853 ("The drought ceases with the dog-days.")
July 27, 1860 ("The water has begun to be clear and sunny, revealing the fishes and countless minnows of all sizes and colors”)
July 29, 1853 (“The sight of the small rough sunflower about a dry ditch bank and hedge advances me at once further toward autumn.”)
July 30, 1852 ("How long since I heard a veery? Do they go, or become silent, when the goldfinches herald the autumn? ")
July 30 1852 (After midsummer we have a belated feeling  and are forward to see in each sight and hear in each sound some presage of the fall, just as in middle age man anticipates the end of life.")
July 30, 1853 ("The wood thrush still sings and the peawai.")
July 30, 1856 ("The wonderful clearness of the water, enabling you to explore the river bottom and many of its secrets now.”)
July 31, 1856 ("Hieracium paniculatum by Gerardia quercifolia path in woods under Cliffs, two or three days.")
July 31, 1857 ("Soon afterward a white-headed eagle sailed down the stream before us.")
July 31, 1856 ("Thoughts of autumn occupy my mind, and the memory of past years.") 
August 2, 1854("a peawai and a chewink. Meanwhile the moon in her first quarter is burnishing her disk")
August 6, 1852 ("With the goldenrod comes the goldfinch. About the time his cool twitter is heard, does not the bobolink, thrasher, catbird, oven-bird, veery, etc. cease?")
August 6, 1852 ("A solitary peawai may be heard, perchance, or a red-eye, but no thrashers, or catbirds, or oven-birds, or the jingle of the chewink.")
August 9, 1856 (“The notes of the wood pewee and warbling vireo are more prominent of late, and of the goldfinch twittering over.”)
August 10, 1860 ("Sand cherry is well ripe — some of it — and tolerable, better than the red cherry or choke-cherry.")
August 20, 1851 ("Where the brook issues from the pond, the nightshade grows profusely, spreading five or six feet each way, with its red berries now ripe.")

July 28, 2017

If you make the least correct 
observation of nature this year,
 you will have occasion to repeat it
 with illustrations the next, 
and the season and life itself is prolonged.

 July 27    < <<<<  July 28  >>>>>   July 29

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau,   July 28
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 ©  2009-2022




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The week ahead in Henry’s journal

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