Friday, October 31, 2025

A gossamer day, the departing summer.

 


It is a beautiful, warm and calm Indian-summer afternoon . . . I slowly discover that this is a gossamer day.

I first see the fine lines stretching from one weed or grass stem or rush to another, sometimes seven or eight feet distant, horizontally and only four or five inches above the water. When I look further, I find that they are everywhere and on everything, sometimes forming conspicuous fine white gossamer webs on the heads of grasses, or suggesting an Indian bat. They are so abundant that they seem to have been suddenly produced in the atmosphere by some chemistry, spun out of air I know not for what purpose.

I remember that in Kirby and Spence it is not allowed that the spider can walk on the water to carry his web across from rush to rush, but here I see myriads of spiders on the water, making some kind of progress, and one at least with a line attached to him. True they do not appear to walk well, but they stand up high and dry on the tips of their toes, and are blown along quite fast. They are of various sizes and colors, though mostly a greenish-brown or else black; some very small.

These gossamer lines are not visible unless between you and the sun. We pass some black willows, now of course quite leafless, and when they are between us and the sun they are so completely covered with these fine cobwebs or lines, mainly parallel to one another, that they make one solid woof, a misty woof, against the sun. They are not drawn taut, but curved downward in the middle, like the rigging of vessels, - the ropes which stretch from mast to mast, - as if the fleets of a thousand Lilliputian nations were collected one behind another under bare poles. But when we have floated a few feet further, and thrown the willow out of the sun's range, not a thread can be seen on it.

I landed and walked up and down the causeway and found it the same there, the gossamer reaching across the causeway, though not necessarily supported on the other side. They streamed southward with the slight zephyr. As if the year were weaving her shroud out of light.

It seemed only necessary that the insect have a point d'appui; and then, wherever you stood and brought the leeward side of its resting-place between you and the sun, this magic appeared.

They were streaming in like manner southward from the railing of the bridge, parallel waving threads of light, producing a sort of flashing in the air. You saw five or six feet in length from one position, but when I moved one side I saw as much more, and found that a great many, at least, reached quite across the bridge from side to side, though it was mere accident whether they caught there. –though they were continually broken by unconscious travellers.

Most, indeed, were slanted slightly upward, rising about one foot in going four and, in like manner, they were streaming from the south rail over the water, I know not how far. And there were the spiders on the rail that produced them, similar to those on the water.

Fifteen rods off, up the road, beyond the bridge, they looked like a shimmering in the air in the bare tree-tops, the finest, thinnest gossamer veil to the sun, a dim wall. I am at a loss to say what purpose they serve, and am inclined to think that they are to some extent attached to objects as they float through the atmosphere; for I noticed, before I had gone far, that my grape-vines in a basket in the boat had got similar lines stretching from one twig to another, a foot or two, having undoubtedly caught them as we paddled along. It might well be an electric phenomenon.

The air appeared crowded with them. It was a wonder they did not get into the mouth and nostrils, or that we did not feel them on our faces , or continually going and coming amid them did not whiten our clothes more. And yet one with his back to the sun, walking the other way, would observe nothing of all this. Only stand so as to bring the south side of any tree, bush, fence, or other object between you and the sun.

Methinks it is only on these very finest days late in autumn that this phenomenon is seen, as if that fine vapor of the morning were spun into these webs. According to Kirby and Spence, "in Germany these flights of gossamer appear so constantly in autumn that they are there metaphorically called 'Der fliegender Sommer' (the flying or departing summer)"."

What can possess these spiders thus to run all at once to every the least elevation, and let off this wonderful stream?

Harris tells me he does not know what it means. Sophia thought that thus at last they emptied themselves and wound up, or, I suggested, unwound, themselves, - cast off their mortal coil. It looks like a mere frolic spending and wasting of themselves, of their vigor, now that there is no further use for it, their prey, perchance, being killed or banished by the frost.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, October 31, 1853

See also October 31, 1853 

A Gossamer day.  See November 2, 1853 ({The last two, this and yesterday, fine days, but not gossamer ones.");  October 26, 1854 ("I see considerable gossamer on the causeway and elsewhere."); October 31, 1858 ("It is a fine day, Indian-summer-like, and there is considerable gossamer on the causeway and blowing from all trees") November 1, 1860  ("Gossamer on the withered grass is shimmering in the fields, and flocks of it are sailing in the air."); November 15, 1858 (" Gossamer, methinks, belongs to the latter part of October and first part of November") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Gossamer Days

What can possess these spiders thus to run all at once to every the least elevation, and let off this wonderful stream? See Ballooning Spiders

A gossamer day –
As if the year were weaving
her shroud out of light.

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 © 2009-2025

Friday, October 17, 2025

A Book of the Seasons: the Little Dipper


I would make a chart of our life,
know why just this circle of creatures
 completes the world.
Henry Thoreau, April 18, 1852

The “Little Dipper"

 Ordinary eyes might range 
up and down the river all day and 
never detect its small black head 
above the water. 

A little dipper 
 dives while I look, and I do 
not see it come up 
October 17, 1855

Two little dippers
one up-stream, the other down –
still, overcast day.
November 21, 1858

"The bufflehead, 
being known in different districts
 by the names of

Spirit Duck, Butter-box, Marrionette, Dipper, and Die-dipper,

generally returns from the far north,
where it is said to breed,
about the beginning of September.”


“Little dipper” is  Thoreau's name for various small diving birds, perhaps the buffle-head (Fuligula albeola), sometimes the pied billed or horned grebe (Podiceps auritus)




March 22.   See a small black duck with glass, — a dipper (?).   March 22, 1854

March 27. At length I detect two little dippers, as I have called them, though I am not sure that I have ever seen the male before. They are male and female close together, the common size of what I have called the little dipper. They are incessantly diving close to the button-bushes. The female is apparently uniformly black, or rather dark brown, but the male has a conspicuous crest, with, apparently, white on the hindhead, a white breast, and white line on the lower side of the neck; i. e., the head and breast are black and white conspicuously. Can this be the Fuligula albeola, and have I commonly seen only the female ? Or is it a grebe ? Rice says that the little dipper has a hen bill and is not lobe-footed. March 27, 1858

March 31.Humphrey Buttrick says that he has shot two kinds of little dippers, — the one black, the other with some white. March 31, 1859

April 19.  It has a moderate-sized black head and neck, a white breast, and seems dark-brown above, with a white spot on the side of the head, not reaching to the out side, from base of mandibles, and another, perhaps, on the end of the wing, with some black there. . . .  I think it is the smallest duck I ever saw. Floating buoyantly asleep on the middle of Walden Pond. Is it not a female of the buffle-headed or spirit duck? April 19, 1855

April 22. [Mann] obtained to-day the buffle-headed duck, diving in the river near the Nine-Acre Corner bridge. I identify it at sight as my bird seen on Walden.  April 22, 1861

June 17  A large lobe-footed bird which I think must have been a large grebe, killed in Fitchburg. June 17, 1856

July 25.  Approaching the shore [Moosehead Lake], we scared up some young dippers with the old bird. Like the shecorways [sheldrake], they ran over the water very fast. July 25, 1857

August 21.  A small, wary dipper, — solitary, dark-colored, diving amid the pads. The same that lingered so late on the Assabet. August 21, 1854

August 28. In the soft mud, the tracks of the great bittern and the blue heron. Scared up one of the former and saw a small dipper on the river. August 28, 1854

September 5.  See the little dippers back. September 5, 1860

September 8.  I see the black head and neck of a little dipper in mid stream, a few rods before my boat. It disappears, and though I search carefully, I cannot detect it again. It is undoubtedly hidden mid the weeds — pads, flags, and pontederia, etc. — along the shore. September 8, 1859

September 9.  Watched a little dipper some ten rods off with my glass, but I could see no white on the breast. It was all black and brownish, and head not enlarged. Who knows how many little dippers are sailing and sedulously diving now along the edge of the pickerel-weed and the button-bushes on our river, unsuspected by most? This hot September afternoon all may be quiet amid the weeds, but the dipper, and the bittern, and the yellow-legs, and the blue heron, and the rail are silently feeding there. At length the walker who sits meditating on a distant bank sees the little dipper sail out from amid the weeds and busily dive for its food along their edge. Yet ordinary eyes might range up and down the river all day and never detect its small black head above the water. September 9, 1858

September 27. Looking up, I see a little dipper in the middle of the river, evidently attracted by tame ducks, as to a place of security. I sit down and watch. The tame ducks have paddled four or five rods down-stream along the shore. The dipper approaches them by diving, and, in fear, they all rush to the shore and come out. The dipper shows itself close to the shore, and, when they enter the water again, joins them within two feet, still diving from time to time and threatening to come up in their midst. They return up-stream, more or less alarmed, pursued in this wise by the dipper, who does not know what to make of their fears. Soon the dipper is thus within twenty feet of where I sit, and I can watch it at my leisure. 
It has a dark bill and considerable white on the sides of the head or neck, with black between it, no tufts, and no observable white on back or tail. When at last disturbed by me, it suddenly sinks all its body low in the water without diving. September 27, 1860

September 30I see undoubtedly the little dipper by the edge of the pads this afternoon, and I think I have not seen it before this season. It is much smaller than I have seen this season, and is hard to detect even within four or five rods. It warily dives and comes up a rod or two further off amid the pads, scarcely disturbing the surface. September 30, 1858

October 17. I see behind (or rather in front of) me as I row home a little dipper appear in mid-river, as if I had passed right over him. It dives while I look, and I do not see it come up anywhere. October 17, 1855

October 29. [Melvin] has also a coot, which he calls a little black dipper! It has some clear white under its tail. Is this, then, the name of that dipper? and are the young dippers of Moosehead different? The latter were in flocks and had some white in front, I have said. October 29, 1857

November 5. Little dippers were seen yesterday. November 5, 1858

November 21.  See from Clamshell apparently two little dippers, one up-stream, the other down, swimming and diving in the perfectly smooth river this still, overcast day. November 21, 1858

November 27. Mr. Wesson says . . . that the little dipper is not a coot, - but he appears not to know a coot, and did not recognize the lobed feet when I drew them. Says the little dipper has a bill like a hen, and will not dive at the flash so as to escape, as he has proved. November 27, 1857

December 14.  At our old bathing-place on the Assabet, saw two ducks, which at length took to wing. They had large dark heads, dark wings, and clear white breasts. I think they were buffle-headed or spirit ducks.  December 14, 1854

December 26. Walden still open. Saw in it a small diver, probably a grebe or dobchick, dipper, or what-not, with the markings, as far as I saw, of the crested grebe, but smaller. It had a black head, a white ring about its neck, a white breast, black back, and apparently no tail. It dove and swam a few rods under water, and, when on the surface, kept turning round and round warily and nodding its head the while. This being the only pond hereabouts that is open. December 26, 1853

December 26.  Humphrey Buttrick tells me that he has shot little dippers. He also saw the bird which Melvin shot last summer (a coot), but he never saw one of them before. The little dipper must, therefore, be different from a coot. Is it not a grebe? December 26, 1857


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 © 2009-2025
HORNED GREBE, or DOBCHICK   

“Little dipper” is  Thoreau's name for various small diving birds, perhaps the buffle-head (Fuligula albeola), sometimes the pied billed or horned grebe (Podiceps auritus).

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-dipper

Sunday, October 5, 2025

A Book of the Seasons: Cows in their Pasture

I would make a chart of our life,
know why just this circle of creatures 
completes the world.
Henry Thoreau, April 18, 1852

I would rather 
watch the motions of these cows in their pasture for a day
project their course carefully on a chart
and report all their behavior faithfully.

To have the leisure
to see the parallax of
cows in a pasture.

zphx

February 13. Saw half a dozen cows let out and standing about in a retired meadow as in a cow-yard. February 13, 1851

April 28. Perhaps the greenness of the landscape may be said to begin fairly now. For the last half of this month, indeed, a tinge of green has been discernible on the sides of hills. Saw yesterday some cows turned out to pasture on such a hillside; thought they would soon eat up all the grass. April 28, 1854

April 29. I am surprised to see how some blackberry pastures and other fields are filling up with pines, trees which I thought the cows had almost killed two or three years ago; so that what was then a pasture is now a young wood-lot. April 29, 1857

April 30. Cattle begin to go up-country, and every weekday, especially Mondays, to this time [sic] May 7th, at least, the greatest droves to-day. Methinks they will find slender picking up there for a while. Now many a farmer's boy makes his first journey, and sees something to tell of, — makes acquaintance with those hills which are mere blue warts in his horizon, finds them solid and terra firma, after all, and inhabited by herdsmen, partially befenced and measurable by the acre, with cool springs where you may quench your thirst after a dusty day's  walk. April 30, 1860 

May 4. Cattle are going up country.  May 4, 1853 

May 6Road full of cattle going up country. May 6, 1855 

May 7For a week the road has been full of cattle going up country. May 7, 1856

May 8. I hear the voices of farmers driving their cows past to their up-country pastures now. May 8, 1854 

May 9. Cattle going up country for ten days past. You must keep your gate shut.  May 9, 1860 

May 10. This Monday the streets are full of cattle being driven up-country, — cows and calves and colts. May 10, 1852 .

May 15. Here are ten cows feeding on the hill beside me. Why do they move about so fast as they feed? They have advanced thirty rods in ten minutes.  May 15, 1853 

May 20. How suddenly, after all, pines seem to shoot up and fill the pastures! I wonder that the farmers do not earlier encourage their growth. To-day, perchance, as I go through some run-out pasture, I observe many young white pines dotting the field, where last year I had noticed only blackberry vines; but I see that many are already destroyed or injured by the cows which have dived into them to scratch their heads or for sport (such is their habit; they break off the leading shoot and bend down the others of different evergreens), or perchance where the farmer has been mowing them down, and I think the owner would rather have a pasture here than a wood-lot. A year or two later, as I pass through the same field, I am surprised to find myself in a flourishing young wood-lot, from which the cows are now carefully fenced out, though there are many open spaces, and I perceive how much further advanced it would have been if the farmer had been more provident and had begun to abet nature a few years earlier. May 20, 1857

May 22.  Sorrel reddens the fields. Cows are preparing the milk for June butter . . . The pastures on this hill and its spurs are sprinkled profusely with thorny pyramidal apple scrubs, very thick and stubborn, first planted by the cows, then browsed by them and kept down stubborn and thorny for years, till, as they spread, their centre is protected and beyond reach and shoots up into a tree, giving a wine-glass form to the whole; and finally perchance the bottom disappears and cows come in to stand in the shade and rub against and redden the trunk . . . You see the cow-dung every where now with a hundred little trees springing up in it. Thus the cows create their own shade and food . . . The country people walk so quietly to church, and at five o’clock the farmer stands reading the newspaper while his cows go through the bars.  May 22, 1853

May 26.  Cows in water, so warm has it got to be. May 26, 1859

May 29I mistook dense groves of little barberries in the droppings of cows in the Boulder Field for apple trees at first. So the cows eat barberries, and help disperse or disseminate them exactly as they do the apple! That helps account for the spread of the barberry, then. May 29, 1858 

June 28.  I see in many places little barberry bushes just come up densely in the cow-dung, like young apple trees, the berries having been eaten by the cows. Here they find manure and an open space for the first year at least, when they are not choked by grass or weeds. In this way, evidently, many of these clumps of barberries are commenced. June 28, 1858

July 5. How many virtues have cattle in the fields! They do not make a noise at your approach, like dogs ; they rarely low, but are quiet as nature, — merely look up at you. July 5, 1852 

July 5. Such a habit have cows in a pasture of moving forward while feeding that, in surveying on the Great Fields to-day, I was interrupted by a herd of a dozen cows, which successively passed before my line of vision, feeding forward, and I had to watch my opportunity to look between them. Sometimes, however, they were of use, when they passed behind a birch stake and made a favorable background against which to see it. July 5, 1853 

July 12. It is exceedingly sultry this afternoon, and few men are abroad. The cows stand up to their bellies in the river, lashing their sides with their tails from time to time. July 12, 1857 

July 13.  In Hubbard's euphorbia pasture, cow blackbirds about cows. At first the cows were resting and ruminating in the shade, and no birds were seen. Then one after another got up and went to feeding, straggling into the midst of the field. With a chattering appeared a cowbird, and, with a long slanting flight, lit close to a cow's nose, within the shadow of it, and watched for insects, the cow still eating along and almost hitting it, taking no notice of it. Soon it is joined by two or three more birds. July 13, 1856

July 16. The color of the cows on Fair Haven Hill, how fair a contrast to the hillside! How striking and wholesome their clean brick-red! When were they painted? How carelessly the eye rests on them, or passes them by as things of course! July 16, 1851 

July 17.  Cows in their pasture, going to water or elsewhere, make a track four or five inches deep and frequently not more than ten inches wide. July 17, 1856 

August 3Looking down into the singular bare hollows from the back of hill near here, the paths made by the cows in the sides of the hills, going round the hollows, made gracefully curving lines in the landscape, ribbing it. The curves, both the rising and falling of the path and its winding to right and left, are agreeable. August 3, 1852

August 6. I then looked for the little groves of barberries which some two months ago I saw in the cow-dung thereabouts, but to my surprise I found some only in one spot after a long search.  August 6, 1858 

I notice that cows never walk abreast, but in single file commonly , making a narrow cow-path, or the herd walks in an irregular and loose wedge. They retain still the habit of all the deer tribe, acquired when the earth was all covered with forest, of travelling from necessity in narrow paths in the woods. At sundown a herd of cows, returning homeward from pasture over a sandy knoll, pause to paw the sand and challenge the representatives of another herd, raising a cloud of dust between the beholder and the setting sun. And then the herd boys rush to mingle in the fray and separate the combatants, two cows with horns inter-locked, the one pushing the other down the bank.      My grandmother called her cow home at night from the pasture over the hill, by thumping on a mortar out of which the cow was accustomed to eat salt. August 1850

August 24. I see cattle coming down from up-country. Why? August 24, 1853 

August 25In Dennis’s field this side the river, I count about one hundred and fifty cowbirds about eight cows, running before their noses and in odd positions, awkwardly walking with a straddle, often their heads down and tails up a long time at once, occasionally flying to keep up with a cow, over the heads of the others, and following off after a single cow. They keep close to the cow’s head and feet, and she does not mind them; but when all go off in a whirring (rippling?) flock at my approach, the cow (about whom they were all gathered) looks off after them for some time, as if she felt deserted. August 25, 1855

September 6.  Hear the sounds nowadays — the lowing, tramp, and calls of the drivers — of cows coming down from up-country.  September 6, 1859

September 20.  Droves of cattle have for some time been coming down from up-country September 20, 1852

September 21. I see some cows on the new Wheeler's Meadow, which a man is trying to drive to certain green parts of the meadow next to the river to feed, the hill being dried up, but they seem disinclined and not to like the coarse grass there, though it is green. And now one cow is steering for the edge of the hill, where is some greenness. I suppose that herds are attracted by a distant greenness, though it may be a mile or more off.  I doubt if a man can drive his cows to that part of their pasture where is the best feed for them, so soon as they will find it for themselves. The man tries in vain to drive them to the best part of the meadow. As soon as he is gone, they seek their own parts. September 21, 1851

September 27.  The pastures are so dry that the cows have been turned on to the meadow, but they gradually desert it, all feeding one way. . . We scared a calf out of the meadow which ran like a ship tossed on the waves, over the hills toward Tarbell's. They run awkwardly , red oblong squares tossing up and down like a vessel in a storm, with great commotion.  We fell into the path, printed by the feet of the calves, with no cows' tracks. September 27, 1851

October 5. It is well to find your employment and amusement in simple and homely things. These wear best and yield most. I think I would rather watch the motions of these cows in their pasture for a day, which I now see all headed one way and slowly advancing, — watch them and project their course carefully on a chart, and report all their behavior faithfully, — than wander to Europe or Asia and watch other motions there; for it is only ourselves that we report in either case, and perchance we shall report a more restless and worthless self in the latter case than in the first. October 5, 1856

October 12.  This town has made a law recently against cattle going at large, and assigned a penalty of five dollars. I am troubled by an Irish neighbor’s cow and horse, and have threatened to have them put in the pound. But a lawyer tells me that these town laws are hard to put through, there are so many quibbles. He never knew the complainant to get his case if the defendant were a-mind to contend. However, the cattle were kept out several days, till a Sunday came, and then they were all in my grounds again, as I heard, but all my neighbors tell me that I cannot have them impounded on that day. Indeed, I observe that very many of my neighbors do for this reason regularly turn their cattle loose on Sundays. October 12, 1858 

October 28.  Cattle coming down from up country. October 28, 1858 

November 3 I notice that the cows lately admitted to the meadows and orchards have browsed the grass, etc., closely, on that strip between the dry hillside and the wet meadow, where it is undoubtedly sweetest and freshest yet, and where it chances that this late flower the gentian grows. There, too, grows the herbage which is now the most grateful to the cattle. November 3, 1858


November 4. Cattle seem to stray wider for food than they did. They are turned into the meadows now, where is all the greenness. New fences are erected to take advantage of all the fall feed. November 4, 1855

November 7Stedman Buttrick, speaking of R. W. E.'s cow that was killed by lightning and not found for some days, said that they heard a “bellering” of the cows some days before they found her, and they found the ground much trampled about the dead cow; that that was the way with cows in such cases; if such an accident happened to one of their number, they would have spells of gathering around her and “bellering.”  November 7, 1857

November 15.   As I returned over the Corner Bridge I saw cows in the sun half-way down Fair Haven Hill next the Cliff, half a mile off, the declining sun so warmly reflected from their red coats that I could not for some time tell if they were not some still bright-red shrub oaks – for they had no more form at that distance. November 15, 1859

November 20. I observed this afternoon how some bullocks had a little sportiveness forced upon them. They were running down a steep declivity to water, when, feeling themselves unusually impelled by gravity downward, they took the hint even as boys do, flourished round gratuitously, tossing their hind quarters into the air and shaking their heads at each other, but what increases the ludicrousness of it to me is the fact that such capers are never accompanied by a smile. Who does not believe that their step is less elastic, their movement more awkward, for their long domesticity?  November 20, 1857

November 20. Who are bad neighbors? They who suffer their neighbors’ cattle to go at large because they don’t want their ill will, -- are afraid to anger them. They are abettors of the ill-doers.   November 20, 1858 

November 21. I saw a herd of a dozen cows and young steers and oxen on Conantum this afternoon, running about and frisking in unwieldy sport like huge rats. Any sportiveness in cattle is unexpected. They even played like kittens, in their way; shook their heads, raised their tails, and rushed up and down the hill.  November 21, 1850

November 29. About three inches of snow fell last evening, and a few cows on the hillside have wandered about in vain to come at the grass. They have at length found that place high on the south side where the snow is thinnest.  November 29, 1858 

Snow sugars the ground
to reveal a cow-path in
the distant landscape.

A Book of 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 ©  2009-2025

https://tinyurl.com/HDT-simplicity

Saturday, October 4, 2025

A Book of the Seasons: White Willow (under construcion)\

 

I would make a chart of our life,
know why just this circle of creatures 
completes the world.
Henry Thoreau,
April 18, 1852

Yellow leaves of the 
white willow thickly strew the 
bottom of my boat.

April 17. Willows (Salix alba) probably (did not four or five days ago) April 17, 1860

April 24. The Salix alba begins to leaf. April 24, 1855 

April 27. The Salix alba begins to leaf, and the catkins are three quarters of an inch long.   April 27, 1854 

April 29. For two or three days the Salix alba, with its catkins (not yet open) and its young leaves, or bracts (?), has made quite a show, before any other tree, —a pyramid of tender yellowish green in the russet landscape. April 29, 1855 

April 30. Salix alba leafing, or stipules a quarter of an inch wide; probably began a day or two. April 30, 1859

May 2.  Summer yellowbird on the opening Salix alba.? May 2, 1853 

May 2.  Salix alba apparently yesterday. May 2, 1860

May 3.  The willows (Salix alba) where I keep my boat resound with the hum of bees and other insects. May 3, 1853  

May 4. Notice the white willows on Hubbard's Bridge causeway, - quite a mass of green when seen aslant from this side, and have been two or three days, but as yet no bloom there nor hum of bees. Also their freshest osiers are very bright, yet I think most of it is due to the height at which the sun runs. They are priests of the sun, report his brightness, — heliometers . We do not realize how much more light there is in the day than in winter. If the ground should be covered with snow, the reflection would dazzle us and blister our faces This willow begins to be green before the aspens, say five or six days ago. May 4, 1859

May 6. The Salix alba is conspicuous and interesting in the landscape now, some bright yellow, truly golden (staminate?), some greenish, filling the air of causeways with a sweet scent. May 6, 1853

May 9. Our moods vary from week to week, with the winds and the temperature and the revolution of the seasons.  It is impossible to remember a week ago. A river of Lethe flows with many windings the year through, separating one season from another.I smell the blossoms of the willows, the row of Salix alba on Swamp Bridge Brook, a quarter of a mile to windward, the wind being strong. May 9, 1852

May 10.  For some days the Salix alba have shown their yellow wreaths here and there, suggesting the coming of the yellowbird, and now they are alive with them. May 10, 1858 

May 10.  Salix alba flower in prime and resounding with the hum of bees on it. The sweet fragrance fills the air for a long distance. How much the planting of this willow adds to the greenness and cheerfulness of our landscape at this season! May 10, 1860

May 11. The Salix alba by my boat is out and beaten by the rain; perhaps three or four days in some places, but not on the 6th. May 11, 1856

May 12. I perceive the fragrance of the Salix alba, now in bloom, more than an eighth of a mile distant. They now adorn the causeways with their yellow blossoms and resound with the hum of bumblebees. May 12, 1855 

May 14. The Salix sericea, large and small, and the petiolaris or loose-catkinned (so far as I know their staminate flowers) are now out of bloom.The rostrata not quite done. Some of its catkins now three and a half inches long. The alba not quite done. S. pedicellaris by railroad about done, and the Torreyana done.  May 14, 1858

June 9. Standing on the Mill-Dam this afternoon, after one of these showers, I noticed the air full of some kind of down, which at first I mistook for feathers or lint from some chamber, then for light-winged insects, for it rose and fell just like the flights of may-flies. At length I traced it to the white willow behind the blacksmith's shop, which apparently the rain has released. The wind was driving it up between and over the buildings, and it was flying all along the Mill-Dam in a stream, filling the air like a flight of bright-colored gauze-winged insects, as high as the roofs. It was the willow down with a minute blackish seed in the midst or beneath. In the moist air, seen against the still dark clouds, like large white dancing motes, from time to time falling to earth. The rain had apparently loosened them, and the slight breeze succeeding set them a-going.  June 9, 1860

June 11The fertile Salix alba is conspicuous now at a distance, in fruit, being yellowish and drooping. June 11, 1858

June 15.  Black willow is now gone to seed, and its down covers the water, white amid the weeds. June 15, 1854 

June 15.  Notice the down of the white willow near the bridge , twenty rods off, whitening Sassafras Shore for two or three rods like a dense white foam. It is all full of lit tle seeds not sprouted , is as dense as fur, and has first blown fifteen rods overland.  This is a late willow to ripen, but the black willow shows no down yet, as I notice. It is very conspicuously white along the shore a foot or two wide, – a dense downy coat or fleece on the water. Has blown northeast.  June 15, 1860

October 4  The yellow leaves of the white willow thickly strew the bottom of my boat. These willows shed their oldest leaves first, even like pines. The recent and green ones are seen mottling a yellowish ground, especially in the willow; and, in the case of the willow, at least, these green ones wither and fall for the most part without turning yellow at all.  October 4, 1857 

October 8. Found my boat yesterday full of willow leaves after the rain.  October 8, 1855

October 9. As I return over the bridge, I hear a song sparrow singing on the willows exactly as in spring. October 9, 1851 

October 12. The willows on the Turnpike resound with the hum of bees, almost as in spring! I see apparently yellow wasps, hornets, and small bees attracted by something on their twigs. October 12, 1859

October 13. Some white willows are very fresh and green yet. October 13, 1857

October 14. The willows have the bleached look of November, 
October 14, 1860 

October 16.Willows generally turn yellow, even to the little sage willow, the smallest of all our species, but a foot or two high, though the Salix alba hardly attains to more than a sheeny polish. October 16, 1858

October 17. The Salix lucida lower leaves are all fallen (the rest are yellow). So, too, it is the lower leaves of the willows generally which have fallen first. October 17, 1858

October 25. The willows along the river now begin to look faded and somewhat bare and wintry. The dead wool-grass, etc., characterizes the shore. The meadows look sere and straw-colored. October 25, 1855 

Now, especially, we notice not only the silvery leaves of the Salix alba but the silvery sheen of pine-needles; i. e., when its old leaves have fallen and trees generally are mostly bare, in the cool Novemberish air and light we observe and enjoy the trembling shimmer and gleam of the pine-needles. October 25, 1858

October 31. I go over the Hubbard Bridge causeway. The young Salix alba osiers are just bare, or nearly so, and the yellow twigs accordingly begin to show . . . The Salix alba, too, looks yellower at a distance now. October 31, 1858

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, A Book of the Seasons: White Willow (Salix Alba)

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 ©  2009-2025

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