Chickadees and jays are heard from the shore as in winter.

October 18.

Up river to Bittern Cliff.

October 18, 2020

 (avesong)

A mild still but cloudy or rather misty afternoon,

The water is at present perfectly smooth and calm but covered with a kind of smoky or hazy film.

Nevertheless the reflections of distant woods though less distinct are softer seen through this smoky and darkened atmosphere.

I speak only of the reflections as seen in the broader bays and longer reaches of the river as at the Willow End.

The general impression made by the river landscape now is that of bareness and bleakness the black willow not yet the golden and the button bush having lost almost all their leaves the latter perhaps all and the last is covered with the fuzzy mikania blossoms gone to seed a dirty white.

There are a very few polygonums hydropiperaides and perhaps the unknown rose tinted one but most have withered before the frosts.

The vegetation of the immediate shore and the water is for the most part black and withered.

A few muskrat houses are going up abrupt and precipitous on one side sloped on the other I distinguish the dark moist layer of weeds deposited last night on what had dried in the sun,

The tall bulrush and the wool grass are dry and yellow except a few in deep water but the rainbow rush Juncus militaris is still green.

The autumnal tints though less brilliant and striking are perhaps quite as agreeable now that the frosts have somewhat dulled and softened them.

Now that the forest is universally imbrowned they make a more harmonious impression.

Wooded hillsides reflected in the water are particularly agreeable.

The undulation which the boat creates gives them the appearance of being terraced.

Chickadees and jays are heard from the shore as in winter.

Saw two or three ducks which fly up before and alight far behind.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, October 18, 1852

Chickadees and jays are heard from the shore as in winter. See  October 14, 1852 ("Jays and chickadees are oftener heard in the fall than in summer."); October 20, 1856 (" Thus, of late, when the season is declining, many birds have departed, and our thoughts are turned towards winter . . .we hear the jay again more frequently, and the chickadees are more numerous and lively and familiar and utter their phebe note, and the nuthatch is heard again, and the small woodpecker seen amid the bare twigs.");  November 3, 1858 ("The jay is the bird of October. I have seen it repeatedly flitting amid the bright leaves, of a different color from them all and equally bright, and taking its flight from grove to grove. It, too, with its bright color, stands for some ripeness in the bird harvest. And its scream! it is as if it blowed on the edge of an October leaf. It is never more in its element and at home than when flitting amid these brilliant colors.") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Chickadee in Winter; A Book of Seasons, by Henry Thoreau. The Blue Jay

We walk through almost invisible puddles, in which we see the trees reflected.

February 15. 

P. M. — Up river to Fair Haven Pond.

I thought, by the peculiar moaning sound of the wind about the dining-room at noon, that we should have a rain-storm. I heard only one blast through some crack, but no doubt that betrayed a pluvious breath.

I am surprised to find how much it has thawed in the street, though there has been no rain, only a south wind. There is already water standing over an icy foundation, and the dirt of the street is more obvious, the snow having partly melted away from it. We walk through almost invisible puddles on the river and meadows, in which we see the trees, etc., reflected. 

I see some remarkable overflowed ice. Here is one shield of an oval form, some twenty feet long, very regularly and interestingly mottled with yellowish or dead leaf color, the stain of the mead, which by some law has been regularly distributed through the white, yet so delicately shaded off that it almost makes you dizzy to look at it. 

It reminds me of the beginning of a higher organization, or bony structure in a molluscous fish. The overflow must have been from the centre, where it burst up and flowed each way. 

In the proper light I am surprised to detect very fine and perfectly regular curving rays within the ice, just like the veins of some leaves, only finer and more regular, bilateral, perhaps a trace of the water as it flowed, — say like the lines of a cowry shell. It is but imperfectly suggested in the drawing. 

Against the thickening air, trees are more and more distinct. 

• The apple trees, so moist, are blacker than ever.
• A distant white birch, erect on a hill against the white, misty sky, looks, with its fine twigs, so distinct and black, like a millipede a crawling up to heaven. 
• The white oak leaves against the darker green of pines, now moist, are far more reddish. 

Against Bittern Cliff I feel the first drop strike the right slope of my nose and run down the ravine there. Such is the origin of rivers. Not till half a mile further my doubting companion feels another on his nose also, and I get one in my eye, and soon after I see the countless dimples in the puddles on the ice. 

So measured and deliberate is Nature always. Then the gentle, spring like rain begins, and we turn about. 

The sound of it pattering on the dry oak leaves, where young oaks thickly cover a hillside, is just like that of wind stirring them, when first heard, but is steady and monotonous and so betrayed. 

We rejoice to be wetted, and the very smell of wet woollen clothes exhilarates us. 

I forgot to say (the 14th) that there are two of those ice-belts, a narrower and thinner one about twenty inches below the first, often connected with it by icicles at the edge. Thus each rise was recorded.


H. D. Thoreau, Journal, February 15, 1859

We walk through almost invisible puddles on the river and meadows, in which we see the trees, etc., reflected. See January 13, 1854 ("Walden is covered with puddles, in which you see a dim reflection of the trees"); February 7, 1857 (“The water on the ice is for the most part several inches deep, and trees reflected in it appear as when seen through a mist. ”)

Against the thickening air, trees are more and more distinct. The apple trees, so moist, are blacker than ever.  See  February 16, 1860 ("I see how the trees, especially apple trees, are suddenly brought out relieved against the snow, black on white, every twig as distinct as if it were a pen-and-ink drawing the size of nature. The snow being spread for a background, while the storm still raging confines your view to near objects, each apple tree is distinctly outlined against it.") Compare October 31, 1858 ("Each tree (in October) runs up its flag and we know [what] colors it sails under."); November 1, 1858 ("Now you easily detect where larches grow, viz. in the swamp north of Sleepy Hollow. They are far more distinct than at any other season.")

I forgot to say (the 14th) that there are two of those ice-belts. See February 14, 1859 ("The ice-belt which I still see along the steep bank of the Assabet is now some three weeks old.") and note to February 15, 1860 ("The river is rapidly falling, is more than a foot lower than it was a few days ago, so that there is an ice-belt left where the bank is steep, and on this I skate in many places")

February 14. February 15. February 16

The ground under the white pines is now strewn with the effete male flowers.

June 25

The ground under the

white pines is now strewn with the

effete male flowers.

June 25, 1858

P. M. — To Conantum. Hotter than yesterday and, like it, muggy or close.

June 25, 2018

So hazy can see no mountains. In many spots in the road and by edge of rye-fields the reflected heat is almost suffocating. 

93° at 1 P. M. 

At my perch pool I hear the pebbly sound of frogs, and some, perhaps below the middle size, hop in before I see them. I suspect that this sound is not made by the bullfrog, but by the fontinalis or palustris. 

In the meadow or partly included in the west end of Hubbard’s Grove, a smooth, rather flaccid rush with roundish spikes, say twenty inches high, apparently fresh, somewhat flava-like.

Sitting on the Conantum house sill (still left), I see two and perhaps three young striped squirrels, two thirds grown, within fifteen or twenty feet, one or more on the wall and another on the ground. Their tails are rather imperfect, as their bodies. They are running about, yet rather feebly, nibbling the grass, etc., or sitting upright, looking very cunning. The broad white line above and below the eye make it look very long as well as large, and the black and white stripes on its sides, curved as it sits, are very conspicuous and pretty. Who striped the squirrel's side? 

Several times I saw two approach each other and playfully and, as it were, affectionately put their paws and noses to each other's faces. Yet this was done very deliberately and affectionately. There was no rudeness nor excessive activity in their sport. At length the old one appears, larger and much more bluish, and shy, and, with a sharp cluck or chip, calls the others gradually to her and draws them off along the wall, they from time to time frisking ahead of her, then she ahead of them. 

The hawks must get many of these inexperienced creatures. 

The Rubus frondosus is hardly past prime, while the villosus is almost wholly done here.

Just south the wall at Bittern Cliff, the Panicum latifolium, hardly yet, with some leaves almost an inch and a half wide. 

We bathe at Bittern Cliff. The water is exceedingly warm near the surface, but refreshingly cold four or five feet beneath. There must be twenty degrees difference at least. 

The ground under the white pines is now strewn with the effete flowers, like an excrement.  

I notice an apparent female bullfrog, with a lustrous greenish (not yellow) throat.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 25, 1858

The ground under the white pines is now strewn with the effete flowers. See June 25, 1852 (" I am too late for the white pine flowers. The cones are half an inch long and greenish, and the male flowers effete."); June 25, 1857 ("White pine effete."); July 1, 1852 ("The path by the wood-side is red with the effete staminiferous flowers of the white pine.")

We bathe at Bittern Cliff. The water is exceedingly warm near the surface, but refreshingly cold four or five feet beneath. See July 9, 1852 ("The pond water being so warm made the water of the brook feel very cold;. . .and when I thrust my arm down where it was only two feet deep, my arm was in the warm water of the pond, but my hand in the cold water of the brook.”); July 23, 1856 ("Bathing in Walden, I find the water considerably colder at the bottom while I stand up to my chin, but the sandy bottom much warmer to my feet than the water.")

An apparent female bullfrog, with a lustrous greenish (not yellow) throat. See June 7, 1858 ("'Are not the females oftenest white-throated?")

July 25. See A Book of the Seasons,, by Henry Thoreau, June 25

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

An early frog, peculiar to pools and small ponds in the woods and fields.

March 30. 

March 30, 2018

P. M. – To my boat at Cardinal Shore and thence to Lee's Cliff. 

Another fine afternoon, warmer than before, I think. I walk in the fields now without slumping in the thawing ground, or there are but few soft places, and the distant sand-banks look dry and warm. 

The frogs are now heard leaping into the ditches on your approach, bullfrog under my boat. 

Approaching carefully the little pool south of Hubbard's Grove, I see the dimples where the croakers which were on the surface have dived, and I see two or three still spread out on the surface, in the sun. They are very wary, and instantly dive to the bottom on your approach and bury themselves in the weeds or mud. The water is quite smooth, and it is very warm here, just under the edge of the wood, but I do not hear any croaking. Later, in a pool behind Lee's Cliff, I hear them, – the waking up of the leafy pools. The last was a pool amid the blue berry and huckleberry and a few little pines. I do not remember that I ever hear this frog in the river or ponds. They seem to be an early frog, peculiar to pools and small ponds in the woods and fields. 

I notice, scampering over this water, two or three brown spiders, middling-sized. They appear to be the ones which have spun this gossamer. 

There is at the bottom of this pool much of the ludwigia, that evergreen weed seen in winter at the bottom of pools and ditches. Methinks those peculiar bulbs, some of which I see near it, are of this plant.

 Landing at Bittern Cliff, I went round through the woods to get sight of ducks on the pond. Creeping down through the woods, I reached the rocks, and saw fifteen or twenty sheldrakes scattered about. The full plumaged males, conspicuously black and white and often swimming in pairs, appeared to be the most wary, keeping furthest out. Others, with much less white and duller black, were very busily fishing just north the inlet of the pond, where there is about three feet of water, and others still playing and preening themselves. 

These ducks, whose tame representatives are so sluggish and deliberate in their motions, were full of activity. A party of these ducks fishing and playing is a very lively scene. On one side, for instance, you will see a party of eight or ten busily diving and most of the time under water, not rising high when they come up, and soon plunging again. The whole surface will be in commotion there, though no ducks may be seen. I saw one come up with a large fish, whereupon all the rest, as they successively came to the surface, gave chase to it, while it held its prey over the water in its bill, and they pursued with a great rush and clatter a dozen or more rods over the surface, making a great furrow in the water, but, there being some trees in the way, I could not see the issue. 

I saw seven or eight all dive together as with one consent, remaining under half a minute or more. On another side you see a party which seem to be playing and pluming themselves. They will run and dive and come up and dive again every three or four feet, occasionally one pursuing an other; will flutter in the water, making it fly, or erect themselves at full length on the surface like a penguin, and flap their wings. This party make an incessant noise. Again you will see some steadily tacking this way or that in the middle of the pond, and often they rest there asleep with their heads in their backs. They readily cross the pond, swimming from this side to that.

While I am watching the ducks, a mosquito is endeavoring to sting me. 

At dusk I hear two flocks of geese go over.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 30, 1858

Approaching carefully the little pool south of Hubbard's Grove, I see the dimples where the croakers which were on the surface have dived. Later, in a pool behind Lee's Cliff, I hear them, – the waking up of the leafy pools. See March 26, 1860 ("The wood frog may be heard March 15, as this year, or not till April 13, as in’56, — twenty-nine days."); March 15, 1860 ("Am surprised to hear, from the pool behind Lee's Cliff, the croaking of the wood frog. . . . How suddenly they awake! yesterday, as it were, asleep and dormant, to-day as lively as ever they are. The awakening of the leafy woodland pools.."); March 23, 1859 ("I hear a single croak from a wood frog. . . . Thus we sit on that rock, hear the first wood frog's croak"); March 24, 1859 (" Can you ever be sure that you have heard the very first wood frog in the township croak?"); March 26, 1857 ("As I go through the woods by Andromeda Ponds, though it is rather cool and windy in exposed places, I hear a faint, stertorous croak from a frog in the open swamp; at first one faint note only, which I could not be sure that I had heard, but, after listening long, one or two more suddenly croaked in confirmation of my faith, and all was silent again."); March 27, 1853 ("Tried to see the faint-croaking frogs at J. P. Brown's Pond in the woods. They are remarkably timid and shy; had their noses and eyes out, croaking, but all ceased, dove, and concealed themselves, before I got within a rod of the shore."); March 28, 1858 ("Coming home, I hear the croaking frogs in the pool on the south side of Hubbard’s Grove. It is sufficiently warm for them at last."). See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Wood Frog (Rana sylvatica)

an old pond

a frog jumps in—

sound of water

~ Basho

***

Now in the woods there is still snow but many open places running with water in the trails. My old snowshoe tracks are elevated. The streams are rushing. There is no difficulty going anywhere. No out of breath. We go to the view via under view trail and up the shortcut. It being too windy from the west we go to the double chair. I had not been here in the several weeks since the big snows. The red maples are showing their buds We hear and see crows usually in pairs coursing overhead.

Down the mountain trail there are spots where it is bare earth. Quite different to be walking on this solid ground. The snow is rain-saturated mushy and easy walking although there is some sliding.

On the other side of the middle pond a tree has a root growing perpendicularly out of the trunk about two or 3 feet up making a nice seat. Probably was a seedling on a tip up that is now gone.Above the cliff trail that woodpecker tree is now fallen over. The top half of the cliff trail is easy --no longer any snow. We spend good time sawing  branches and eventually saw our way through the pine that blocks the trail along the cliff. A long walk staying out almost ’til 8. (And it is light this late ) zphx 20180330

The question of the two varieties of Polygonum amphibium.

September 1.

Tuesday. P. M. — To Fair Haven Pond by boat. 

Landing at Bittern Cliff, I see that fine purple grass; how long? 

At Baker's shore, I at length distinguished fairly the Sagittaria simplex, which I have known so long, the small one with simple leaves. But this year there are very few of them, being nearly drowned out by the high water. 

On the west side of Fair Haven Pond, an abundance of the Utricularia purpurea and of the whorled, etc., whose finely dissected leaves are a rich sight in the water. Again I observe that the heart-leaf, as it decays, preserves fresh and green for some time within, or in its centre, a finely dissected green leaf, suggesting that it has passed through this stage in its development. Immersed leaves often present this form, but  seems that even emersed ones remember it. 

High blackberries are still in their prime on Lee's Cliff, but huckleberries soft and wormy, many of them. 

I have finally settled for myself the question of the two varieties of Polygonum amphibium. I think there are not even two varieties. As formerly, I observe again to-day a Polygonum amphibium extending from the shore six feet into the water. In the water, of course, the stem is prostrate, rank, and has something serpent-like in its aspect. From the shore end rise erect flowering branches whose leaves are more or less roughish and prickly on the midrib beneath. On the water end the leaves are long-petioled, heart-shaped, and perfectly smooth. Vide a specimen pressed. I have seen this same plant growing erect in the driest soil, by the roadside, and it ranges from this quite into the water.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, September 1, 1857

Landing at Bittern Cliff, I see that fine purple grass. . . See May 1, 1856 ("How pleasing that early purple grass in smooth water! "); April 29, 1855 ("That lake grass — or perhaps I should call it purple grass — is now apparently in perfection on the water.” . . . )


On the west side of Fair Haven Pond, an abundance of the Utricularia purpurea . . .See August 3, 1856 ("The purple utricularia abundant . . ."); August 5, 1854 ("I see very few whorled or common utricularias, but the purple ones are exceedingly abundant on both sides the river, apparently from one end to the other. The broad pad field on the southwest side of Fair Haven is distinctly purpled with them. Their color is peculiarly high for a water plant.”)

Friday evening. It is perfectly clear.  The sunset sky is orange . I  wear parka and gloves. We sit.  The sunset turns to  starlight  The big dipper holds water this time of year.  Arcturus in the southwest

Now under headlamp we hike to the double chair.. The moon seen in the clearing  will be full in a week. An owl nearby hoots for 10 or 15 minutes eventually calling in a companion who arrives with that raucous clown-like sound. Down the mountain trail and home by 10 o’clock:

On  top of the mountain  

listening to the barred owl 

only a few feet away.

zphx 20170901

Botanizing Conantum

August 30. 

Sunday. P. M. – To Conantum. 

Small botrychium, not long. 

The flower of Cicuta maculata smells like the leaves of the golden senecio. 

Collinsonia has been out apparently three or four days. 

Polygonum tenue at Bittern Cliff, how long?

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, August 30, 1857


The flower of Cicuta maculata smells like the leaves of the golden senecio. See June 6, 1851 ("Gathered to-night the Cicuta maculata, American hemlock, the veins of the leaflets ending in the notches and the root fasciculated.");  October 2, 1859 ("The Cicuta maculata, for instance, the concave umbel is so well spaced, the different um-bellets (?) like so many constellations or separate systems in the firmament.") See also June 3, 1851 ("It was the golden senecio (Senecio aureus) which I plucked a week ago in a meadow in Wayland. . . . Its bruised stems enchanted me with their indescribable sweet odor, like I cannot think what.")

Collinsonia has been out . . .See August 11, 1852 ("The Collinsonia Canadensis just begun.");  August 23, 1857 ("To Conantum. . . .Collinsonia (very little left) not out")

Polygonum tenue at Bittern Cliff . . . See August 24, 1856 ("Polygonum tenue abundant and in bloom, on side of Money-Diggers' Hill, especially at south base, near apple tree. "); August 3, 1856 ("At Bittern Cliff again lucky enough to find Polygonum tenue, apparently out but a short time, say one week at most. Have marked the spot . . .")

Botanizing Lee's Cliff, Bittern Cliff and Corner Spring

July 17.

P. M. — To Lee's Cliff. 

The young leaves of the slippery elm are a yellowish green and large, and the branches recurved or drooping. 

Hypericum corymbosum. 

Am caught in the rain and take shelter under the thick white pine by Lee's Cliff. 

I see thereunder an abundance of chimaphila in bloom. It is a beautiful flower, with its naked umbel of crystalline purplish-white flowers, their disks at an angle with the horizon. On its lower side a ring of purple (or crimson) scales at the base of its concave petals, around the large, green, sticky ovary. 

The Sagina procumbens continues to flower sparingly. It agrees with Gray's plate. 

I found yesterday, at and above the Hemlocks on the Assabet, the dicksonia, apparently in prime; Aspidium Noveboracense  Aspidium marginale, apparently in prime; Osmunda Claytoniana and cinnamomea, done. 

I find to-day, at Bittern Cliff and at Lee's, Asplenium ebeneum (the larger), apparently nearly in prime, and A. Trichomanes, apparently just begun. This very commonly occurs in tufts at the base of the last, like radical leaves to it. 

Rock Polypody & Maidenhair spleenwort
(Polypodium vulgare & AspidiumTrichomanes,)
September, 2018

At Lee's Cliff, Polypodium vulgare, not yet brown fruit. 

Aspidium Noveboracense at Corner Spring, not yet brown; also Aspidium Filix-foemina (?), with lunar-shaped fruit, not yet brown; also apparently a chaffy-stemmed dicksonia, densely brown-fruited; also an almost thrice pinnate fern with a very chaffy stipe, in prime, already yellowish above, somewhat A. cristatum-like, some of the dots confluent. 

 
Ampelopsis out of bloom at Lee's. 

Aralia racemosa, not in bloom, at Corner Spring.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, July 17, 1857


Hypericum corymbosum. See July 21, 1856 ("Hypericum corymbosum, a day or two."); July 26, 1856 ("Arranged the hypericums in bottles this morning and watched their opening.") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, St. Johns-wort (Hypericum)

The Sagina procumbens . . .agrees with Gray's plate. See Asa Gray, The Genera of the Plants of the United States

I see thereunder [Lee's Cliff] an abundance of chimaphila in bloom..See July 3, 1852 ("The Chimaphila umbellata, wintergreen, must have been in blossom some time.”); July 8, 1857 ("Chimaphila umbellata, apparently a day or two. ");   July 12, 1857 ("The Chimaphila umbellata flower-buds make a very pretty umbel, of half a dozen small purple balls surmounted by a green calyx. They contrast prettily with the glossy green leaves."); July 24, 1856 ("Chimaphila maculata, three flowers, apparently but few days, while the umbellatais quite done there. Leaves just shooting up.” ) ; November 16, 1858 (“Methinks the wintergreen, pipsissewa, is our handsomest evergreen, so liquid glossy green and dispersed almost all over the woods.”)

Asplenium ebeneum (the larger), apparently nearly in prime, and A. Trichomanes, apparently just begun. See April 6, 1858 (“The asplenium ferns of both species are very generally perfectly withered and shrivelled.”); August 30, 1853 (“The dwarf spleenwort grows in the sharp angles of the rocks in the side of Lee's Cliff, its small fronds spreading in curved rays, its matted roots coming away in triangular masses, moulded by the rock. The ebony spleenwort stands upright against the rocks.”); October 28, 1857 (“Both aspleniums and the small botrychium are still fresh, as if they were evergreen. The latter sheds pollen. The former are most fresh under the shelter of rocks.”); November 18, 1858 ("I go along under the east side of Lee's Cliff, looking at the evergreen ferns . . .    How pretty the smallest asplenium sometimes, in a recess under a shelving rock, as it were pinned on rosettewise, as if it were the head of a breastpin.") See also September 30, 1859 ("Of the twenty-three ferns which I seem to know here, seven may be called evergreens."); November 17, 1858 ("As for the evergreen ferns, I see now —Common polypody (though shrivelled by cold where exposed). Asplenium trichomanes. A. ebeneum. Aspidium spinulosum (?) large frond, small-fruited, in swamp southeast Brister’s Spring, on 16th. A. cristatum (?), Grackle Swamp on the 15th, with oftener what I take to be the narrower and more open sterile frond. A. marginale (common). A. achrostichoides (terminal shield).") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Evergreen Ferns, Part One: Maidenhair and Ebony Spleenwort

Aralia racemosa, not in bloom . . .See September 4, 1856  ("Aralia racemosa berries just ripe . . . not edible. ")

A phoebe's nest under the shelter rock at Lee's Cliff

June 29.


A. M. — Up Assabet with Blake. 

Allium Canadense in house and probably in field.

The river is now whitened with the down of the black willow, and I am surprised to see a minute plant abundantly springing from its midst and greening it, — where it has collected in denser beds against some obstacle as a branch on the surface, — like grass growing in cotton in a tumbler. 

P. M. — Walk to Lee's Cliff. 

Small rough sunflower, the common, at Bittern Cliff. 

Where I took shelter under the rock at Lee's Cliff, a phoebe has built her nest, and it now has five eggs in it, nearly fresh.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 29, 1857

Surprised to see a minute plant abundantly springing from its midst and greening it, like grass growing in cotton in a tumbler. See June 26, 1860 ("Young black willows have sprouted and put forth their two minute round leafets where the cottony seeds have lodged in a scum against the alder.")

Small rough sunflower, the common, at Bittern Cliff. See August 1, 1852 ("The small rough sunflower (Helianthus divaricatus) tells of August heats; also Helianthus annuus, common sunflower.")

Where I took shelter under the rock at Lee's Cliff . . . See May 29, 1857 ("The drops fall thicker, and I seek a shelter ...under a large projecting portion of the Cliff, where there is ample space above and around, and I can move about as perfectly protected as under a shed.")

At Lee's Cliff a phoebe has built her nest. . .five eggs in it, nearly fresh. . .See May 5, 1860 ("At Lee's a pewee (phoebe) building. . . .Think how many pewees must have built under the eaves of this cliff since pewees were created and this cliff itself built!!"); June 20, 1856  ("Five young phoebes in a nest . . .just ready to fly."); June 25, 1855 ("A phoebe’s nest, with two birds ready to fly."). See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Eastern Phoebe

I feel an affection for the rich brown fruit of the panicled andromeda growing about the swamp.

December 6.

Saturday. 2 p. m. — To Hubbard's Bridge and Holden Swamp and up river on ice to F. Pond Crossing, just below pond; back on east side of river. 

Skating is fairly begun. The river is generally frozen over, though it will bear quite across in very few places. Much of the ice in the middle is dark and thin, having been formed last night, and when you stamp you see the water trembling in spots here and there. 

I can walk through the spruce swamp now dry-shod, amid the water andromeda and Kalmia glauca. 

I feel an affection for the rich brown fruit of the panicled andromeda growing about the swamp, hard, dry, inedible, suitable to the season. The dense panicles of the berries are of a handsome form, made to endure, lasting often over two seasons, only becoming darker and gray. How handsome every one of these leaves that are blown about the snow-crust or lie neglected beneath, soon to turn to mould! Not merely a matted mass of fibres like a sheet of paper, but a perfect organism and system in itself, so that no mortal has ever yet discerned or explored its beauty. 

Against this swamp I take to the riverside where the ice will bear. White snow ice it is, but pretty smooth, but it is quite glare close to the shore and wherever the water overflowed yesterday. On the meadows, where this overflow was so deep that it did not freeze solid, it cracks from time to time with a threatening squeak. 

I see here and there very faint tracks of musk-rats or minks, made when it was soft and sloshy, leading from the springy shore to the then open middle, — the faintest possible vestiges, which are only seen in a favorable light. 

Just this side of Bittern Cliff, I see a very remarkable track of an otter, made undoubtedly December 3d, when this snow ice was mere slosh. It had come up through a hole (now black ice) by the stem of a button-bush, and, apparently, pushed its way through the slosh, as through snow on land, leaving a track eight inches wide, more or less, with the now frozen snow shoved up two inches high on each side, i. e. two inches above the general level. 

Where the ice was firmer are seen only the tracks of its feet. It had crossed the open middle (now thin black ice) and continued its singular trail to the opposite shore, as if a narrow sled had been drawn bottom upward. 

At Bittern Cliff I saw where they had been playing, sliding, or fishing, apparently to-day, on the snow- covered rocks, on which, for a rod upward and as much in width, the snow was trodden and worn quite smooth, as if twenty had trodden and slid there for several hours. Their droppings are a mass of fishes' scales and bones, — loose, scaly black masses. 

At this point the black ice approached within three or four feet of the rock, and there was an open space just there, a foot or two across, which appeared to have been kept open by them. 

I continued along up that side and crossed on white ice just below the pond. The river was all tracked up with otters, from Bittern Cliff upward. Sometimes one had trailed his tail, apparently edge wise, making a mark like the tail of a deer mouse; sometimes they were moving fast, and there was an interval of five feet between the tracks. 

I saw one place where there was a zigzag piece of black ice two rods long and one foot wide in the midst of the white, which I was surprised to find had been made by an otter pushing his way through the slosh. He had left fishes' scales, etc., at the end. 

These very conspicuous tracks generally commenced and terminated at some button-bush or willow, where a black ice now masked the hole of that date. 

It is surprising that our hunters know no more about them. 

I see also what I take to be rabbit's tracks made in that slosh, shaped like a horse's track, only rather longer and larger. They had set out to cross the river, but, coming to open water, turned back. 

Each pinweed, etc., has melted a little hollow or rough cave in the snow, in which the lower part at least snugly hides. They are never more interesting than now on Lechea Plain, since they are perfectly relieved, brown on white. 

Far the greater part of the shrub oak leaves are fallen. 

When I speak of the otter to our oldest village doctor, who should be ex officio our naturalist, he is greatly surprised, not knowing that such an animal is found in these parts, and I have to remind him that the Pilgrims sent home many otter skins in the first vessels that returned, together with beaver, mink, and black fox skins, and 1156 pounds of otter skins in the years 1631-36, which brought fourteen or fifteen shillings a pound, also 12,530 pounds of beaver skin. Vide Bradford's History. 

Though so many oak leaves hang on all winter, you will be surprised on going into the woods at any time, only a short time after a fall of snow, to see how many have lately fallen on it and are driven about over it, so that you would think there could be none left till spring. 

Where I crossed the river on the roughish white ice, there were coarse ripple-marks two or three feet apart and convex to the south or up-stream, extending quite across, and many spots of black ice a foot wide, more  or less in the midst of the white, where probably was water yesterday. The water, apparently, had been blown southerly on to the ice already formed, and hence the ripple-marks. 

In many places the otters appeared to have gone floundering along in the sloshy ice and water. 

On all sides, in swamps and about their edges and in the woods, the bare shrubs are sprinkled with buds, more or less noticeable and pretty, their little gemmae or gems, their most vital and attractive parts now, almost all the greenness and color left, greens and salads for the birds and rabbits. 

Our eyes go searching along the stems for what is most vivacious and characteristic, the concentrated summer gone into winter quarters. For we are hunters pursuing the summer on snow-shoes and skates, all winter long. There is really but one season in our hearts. 

What variety the pinweeds, clear brown seedy plants, give to the fields, which are yet but shallowly covered with snow! You were not aware before how extensive these grain-fields. Not till the snow comes are the beauty and variety and richness of vegetation ever fully revealed. Some plants are now seen more simply and distinctly and to advantage. 

The pinweeds, etc., have been for the most part confounded with the russet or brown earth beneath them, being seen against a background of the same color, but now, being seen against a pure white background, they are as distinct as if held up to the sky. Some plants seen, then, in their prime or perfection, when supporting an icy burden in their empty chalices.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, December 6, 1856

The river is generally frozen over. Much of the ice in the middle is dark and thin, having been formed last night. See December 4, 1856 ("Smooth white reaches of ice, as long as the river, on each side are threatening to bridge over its dark-blue artery any night."); December 5, 1856 ("The ice trap was sprung last night."); December 7, 1856 ("Take my first skate to Fair Haven Pond”) See also A Book of the Seasons: First Ice.

It is surprising that our hunters know no more about otters. See ;April 6, 1855 ("It reminds me of an otter, which however I have never seen."); January 30, 1854 ("How retired an otter manages to live! He grows to be four feet long without any mortal getting a glimpse of him”); February 8, 1857 (“The otter must roam about a great deal, for I rarely see fresh tracks in the same neighborhood a second time the same winter, though the old tracks may be apparent all the winter through.”);see also note to February 20, 1856 ("See a broad and distinct otter-trail, made last night or yesterday.. It came out to the river through the low declivities, making a uniform broad hollow trail there without any mark of its feet. . . .Commonly seven to nine or ten inches wide, and tracks of feet twenty to twenty-four apart; but sometimes there was no track of the feet for twenty-five feet, frequently for six; in the last case swelled in the outline.”); February 22, 1856 (“Just below this bridge begins an otter track, several days old yet very distinct, which I trace half a mile down the river. In the snow less than an inch deep, on the ice, each foot makes a track three inches wide, apparently enlarged in melting. The clear interval, sixteen inches; the length occupied by the four feet, fourteen inches. It looks as if some one had dragged a round timber down the middle of the river a day or two since, which bounced as it went.”)

Our eyes go searching along the stems for what is most vivacious and characteristic, the concentrated summer gone into winter quarters. See  December 1, 1852 ('' At this season I observe the form of the buds whic hare prepare for spring."); January 12, 1855 ("Well may the tender buds attract us at this season, no less than partridges, for they are the hope of the year, the spring rolled up. The summer is all packed in them.,")

Not till the snow comes are the beauty and variety and richness of vegetation ever fully revealed. Some plants are now seen more simply and distinctly and to advantage. See November 18, 1855 ("Now first mark the stubble and numerous withered weeds rising above the snow. They have suddenly acquired a new character. “)

Our river is so sluggish and smooth that sometimes I can trace a boat that has passed half an hour before, by the bubbles on its surface.

August 3

Sunday. P. M. — To Lee's Cliff by river. 

Landing at flat shore. The sium and sarothra apparently now in prime. The central umbel of the sium going or gone to seed. The whorled utricularia is open all day. The Hypericum ellipticum is apparently out of bloom, there at least. 

At length from July 30th inclusive the cloud-like wreaths of mist of these dog-days lift somewhat, and the sun shines out more or less, a short time, at 3 p. m. 

The sun coming out when I am off Clamshell, the abundant small dragon-flies of different colors, bright-blue and lighter, looped along the floating vallisneria, make a very lively and gay appearance. I fancy these bright loops adorn or set forth the river like triumphal arches for my procession, stretching from side to side. 

The floating vallisneria is very thick at the shallow bends. I see many of its narrow, erect, spoon-shaped tops. 

Cornus alternifolia 

Cornus alternifolia berries ripe, as I go from Holden Swamp shore to Miles Swamp. They are in open cymes, dull-blue, somewhat depressed globular, tipped with the persistent styles, yet already, as usual, mostly fallen. But handsomer far are the pretty (bare) red peduncles and pedicels, like fairy fingers spread. They make a show at a distance of a dozen rods even. Some thing light and open about this tree, but a sort of witch's tree nevertheless. 

The purple utricularia abundant, but I did not chance to notice it July 25th. 

At Bittern Cliff again lucky enough to find Polygonum tenue, apparently out but a short time, say one week at most. Have marked the spot by a stone from the wall; further north than formerly. 

Selaginella rupestris (?) shows yellow fruit now at Bittern Cliff. 

Gerardia quercifolia, three to four feet high, out there, apparently two or three days. Yet none of the leaves I have are twice pinnatifid. 

Penny royal there, apparently some days.

Diplopappus cornifolius, some time. Desmodium acuminatum a long time out and also gone to seed. Lespedeza hirta, Blackberry Steep, how long? 

High blackberries beginning; a few ripe. 

Parietaria a foot high, some time, under the slippery elm. 

What is that tall (four feet), long-bearded grass, now nearly ripe, under this end of Lee's Cliff? 

I see blackened haycocks on the meadows. Think what the farmer gets with his hay, — what his river-meadow hay consists of, — how much of fern and osier and sweet-gale and Polygonum hydropiperoides and rhexia (I trust the cattle love the scent of it as well as I) and lysimachia, etc., etc., and rue, and sium and cicuta. 

In a meadow now being mown I see that the ferns and small osiers are as thick as the grass. If modern farmers do not collect elm and other leaves for their cattle, they do thus mow and cure the willows, etc., etc., to a considerable extent, so that they come to large bushes or trees only on the edge of the meadow. 

Two small ducks (probably wood ducks) flying south. Already grown, and at least looking south! ! It reminds me of the swift revolution of the seasons.

Our river is so sluggish and smooth that sometimes I can trace a boat that has passed half an hour before, by the bubbles on its surface, which have not burst. I have known thus which stream another party had gone up long before. A swift stream soon blots out such traces. 

Cirsium lanceolatum at Lee's Cliff, apparently some days. Its leaves are long-pointed and a much darker green than those of the pasture thistle. On the under sides of its leaves I noticed very large ants attending peculiar large dark-colored aphides, for their milch cows. 

The prevailing willow off Holden Swamp is sericea- like, but the leaf is narrow, more shining above, and merely glaucous beneath, longer-petioled, the serratures not so much bent toward the point. The twigs not nearly so brittle at the base, but bringing away strings of bark. Stipules probably fallen or inconspicuous. Can it be S. petiolaris? and is it the same with that above Hemlocks, north side? Or is it S. lucida? Vide in press. 

Edge of grain-field next Bittern Cliff Wood, common spurge; and, with it, apparently the same, half ascendant and covered or spotted with a minute fungus.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, August 3, 1856

Cornus alternifolia berries ripe . . . See August 1, 1852 ("The berries of what I have called the alternate-leaved cornel are now ripe, a very dark blue - blue-black - and round, but dropping off prematurely, leaving handsome red cymes, which adorn the trees from a distance.")

Willows, etc., etc.. . . come to large bushes or trees only on the edge of the meadow. See July 29, 1853 ("[A plant] grows where it escapes the mower, . . . we do not know where they would prefer to grow if unmolested by man, but rather where they best escape his vandalism. How large a proportion of flowers, for instance, are referred to and found by hedges, walls, and fences.")

Our river is so sluggish and smooth that sometimes I can trace a boat that has passed half an hour before. . . See April 16, 1852 ("[Concord River is a] succession of bays . . . 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.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The pulse of the River (Aaugust 2, 1856)

August 3. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau,  August 3

Bubbles trace a boat

that passed half an hour before –

our sluggish river.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Our sluggish river

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 ©  2009-2026

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-560803

 

An arctic voyage to find two cowslips in full bloom.

April 8

1 P. M. —To boat at Cardinal Shore, and thence to Well Meadow and back to port. Another very pleasant and warm day. 

The white bellied swallows have paid us twittering visits the last three mornings. You must rush out quickly to see them, for they are at once gone again. 

Warm enough to do without greatcoat to-day and yesterday, though I carry it and put it on when I leave the boat.

Hear the crack of Goodwin’s piece close by, just as I reach my boat. He has killed another rat. Asks if I am bound up-stream. “Yes, to Well Meadow.” Says I can’t get above the hay-path a quarter of a mile above on account of ice; if he could, he ’d ’a’ been at Well Meadow before now. But I think I will try, and he thinks if I succeed he will try it. 

By standing on oars, which sink several inches, and hauling over one cake of ice, I manage to break my way into an open canal above, where I soon see three rats swimming. 

Goodwin says that he got twenty-four minks last winter, more than ever before in one season; trapped most, shot only two or three. 

From opposite Bittern Cliff, I push along, with more or less difficulty, to Well Meadow Brook. There is a water passage ten feet wide, where the river has risen beyond the edge of the ice, but not more than four or five feet was clear of the bushes and trees. 

By the side of Fair Haven Pond it was particularly narrow. I shove the ice on the one hand and the bushes and trees on the other all the way. Nor was the passage much wider below, as far back as where I had taken my boat. For all this distance, the river for the most part, as well as all the pond, is an unbroken field of ice. I went winding my way and scraping between the maples. 

Half a dozen rods off on the ice, you would not have supposed that there was room for a boat there. In some places you could have got on to the ice from the shore without much difficulty. 

But all of Well Meadow was free of ice, and I paddle up to within a rod or two of where I found the cowslips so forward on the 2d. It is difficult pushing a boat over the meadows now, for even where the bottom is not covered with slippery snow ice which affords no hold to the paddle, the meadow is frozen and icy hard, for it thaws slowly under water. This meadow is completely open, because none of the snow ice has risen up. Sometimes you see a small piece that has been released come up suddenly, with such force as to lift it partly out of water, but, sinking again at once, it looks like a sheldrake which has dived at a distance. 

There, in that slow, muddy brook near the head of Well Meadow, within a few rods of its source, where it winds amid the alders, which shelter the plants some what, while they are open enough now to admit the sun, I find two cowslips in full bloom, shedding pollen; and they may have opened two or three days ago; for I saw many conspicuous buds here on the 2d which now I do not see. 

Have they not been eaten off? Do we not often lose the earliest flowers thus? A little more, or if the river had risen as high as frequently, they would have been submerged. 

What an arctic voyage was this in which I find cowslips, the pond and river still frozen over for the most part as far down as Cardinal Shore!

See two marsh hawks this afternoon, circling low over the meadows along the water’s edge. This shows that frogs must be out. Goodwin and Puffer both fired at one from William Wheeler’s shore. They say they made him duck and disturbed his feathers some. 

The muskrats are now very fat. They are reddish-brown beneath and dark—brown above. 

I see not a duck in all this voyage. Perhaps they are moving forward this bright and warm day. 

Was obliged to come down as far as Nut Meadow (being on the west side), before I could clear the ice, and, setting my sail, tack across the meadow for home. the wind northwesterly. 

The river is still higher than yesterday. 

***

About 8.30 P. M. hear geese passing quite low over the river. 

Found beneath the surface, on the sphagnum, near wrinkled shells, a little like nutmegs, perhaps bass nuts, collected after a freshet by mice! I noticed that the fibres of the alder roots in the same place were thickly [sic] with little yellow knubby fruit. Was not that clear light brown snail in that sphagnum a different species from the common one in brooks?

See a few cranberries and smell muskrats. On the Fair Haven Cliff, crowfoot and saxifrage are very backward. That dense—growing moss on the rocks shows now a level surface of pretty crimson cups. 

Noticed, returning, this afternoon, a muskrat sitting on the ice near a small hole in Willow Bay, so motionless and withal round and featureless, of so uniform a color, that half a dozen rods off I should not have detected him if not accustomed to observing them. Saw the same thing yesterday. It reminds me of the truth of the Indian’s name for it, — “that sits in a round form on the ice.” You would think it was a particularly round clod of meadow rising above the ice. But while you look, it concludes its meditations or perchance its meal, and deliberately takes itself off through a hole at its feet, and you see no more of it. 

I noticed five muskrats this afternoon without looking for them very carefully. Four were swimming in the usual manner, showing the vertical tail, and plunging with a half-somerset suddenly before my boat. While you are looking, these brown clods slide of the edge of the ice, and it is left bare.  You would think that so large an animal, sitting right out upon the ice, would be sure to be seen or detected, but not so. A citizen might paddle within two rods and not suspect them. 

Most countrymen might paddle five miles along the river now and not see one muskrat, while a sportsman a quarter of a mile before or behind would be shooting one or more every five minutes. The other, left to himself, might not be able to guess what he was firing at. 

The marsh hawks flew in their usual irregular low tacking, wheeling, and circling flight, leisurely flapping and beating, now rising, now falling, in conformity with the contour of the ground. The last I think I have seen on the same beat in former years. He and his race must be well acquainted with the Musketicook and its meadows. No sooner is the snow off than he is back to his old haunts, scouring that part of the meadows that is bare, while the rest is melting. If he returns from so far to these meadows, shall the sons of Concord be leaving them at this season for slight cause? 

River had risen so since yesterday I could not get under the bridge, but was obliged to find a round stick and roll my boat over the road.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 8, 1856

The white bellied swallows have paid us twittering visits the last three mornings. See April 5, 1855 ("See a single white-bellied swallow dashing over the river. He, too, is attracted here by the early insects that begin to be seen over the water."); April 6, 1856 (" I thought I heard white-bellied swallows over the house before I arose."); April 7, 1853 (''The white-bellied swallows advertise themselves this morning, dashing up the street, and two have already come to disturb the bluebirds at our box."); See alsoA Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The White-bellied Swallow

Warm enough to do without greatcoat to-day. See April 16, 1855 ("I have not got far before, for the first time, I regret that I wore my greatcoat");  April 25, 1854 (" I swelter under my greatcoat. . . (I have not left it at home yet)"); April 26, 1852 (“I begin now to leave off my greatcoat.”); April 26, 1854 ("It is now so warm that I go back to leave my greatcoat for the first time.")

Hear the crack of Goodwin’s piece close by . . . He has killed another rat. See April 4, 1856 ("The muskrats, no doubt, are now being driven out of the banks. I hear, as I walk along the shore, the dull sound of guns —probably most of them fired at muskrats — . . .one every two or three minutes.");  April 7, 1856 ("We see Goodwin skinning the muskrats he killed this forenoon . . . Goodwin says they are fatter than usual, perhaps because they have not been driven out of their holes heretofore.")

 I find two cowslips in full bloom, shedding pollen; and they may have opened two or three days ago; for I saw many conspicuous buds here on the 2d which now I do not see. See March 26, 1857 "("The buds of the cowslip are very yellow, and the plant is not observed a rod off, it lies so low and close to the surface of the water in the meadow. It may bloom and wither there several times before villagers discover or suspect it" ).  April 9, 1853 ("The cowslips are well out, – the first conspicuous herbaceous flower") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Cowslip in Early Spring

See two marsh hawks this afternoon, circling low over the meadows . . . No sooner is the snow off than he is back to his old haunts, scouring that part of the meadows that is bare, while the rest is melting.  See  April 4, 1856 ("The ground no sooner begins to be bare to a considerable extent than I see a marsh hawk, or harrier"); April 5, 1854 ("These days, when a soft west or southwest wind blows and it is truly warm, and an outside coat is oppressive, — these bring out the butterflies and the frogs, and the marsh hawks which prey on the last. Just so simple is every year.”) See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The Marsh Hawk

Most countrymen might paddle five miles along the river now and not see one muskrat, while a sportsman a quarter of a mile before or behind would be shooting one or more every five minutes. See February 28, 1856 ("How much more game he will see who carries a gun, i. e. who goes to see it! Though you roam the woods all your days, you never will see by chance what he sees who goes on purpose to see it.”); November 4, 1858 ("The true sportsman can shoot you almost any of his game from his windows. It comes and perches at last on the barrel of his gun; but the rest of the world never see it with the feathers on. He will keep himself supplied by firing up his chimney. The geese fly exactly under his zenith, and honk when they get there. The fisherman, too, dreams of fish, till he can almost catch them in his sink-spout.”) See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Musquash

I could not get under the bridge, but was obliged to find a round stick and roll my boat over the road. See  April 2, 1856 ("The river has been at summer level through the winter up to April!"); April 12, 1856 ("The river . . . was at its height when the snow generally was quite melted here, i. e. yesterday."); April 22, 1857 ("We have to roll our boat over the road at the stone bridge ");  May 8, 1854 (“The water has fallen a foot or more, but I cannot get under the stone bridge, so haul over the road.”); May 10, 1854 ("I drag and push my boat over the road at Deacon Farrar's brook, carrying a roller with me."); May 28, 1854 (“This spring the arches of the stone bridge were completely concealed by the flood, and yet at midsummer I can sail under them without lowering my mast.”) Compare April 6, 1861("Am surprised to find the river fallen some nine inches notwithstanding the melted snow. "); April 6, 1858 ("They with whom I talk do not remember when the river was so low at this season.")

April 8. See A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, April 8

White bellied swallows 

pay us twittering visits 

the last three mornings. 

Two marsh hawks circle

low along the water’s edge –

the frogs must be out.

An arctic voyage –

the pond and river frozen

– to find two cowslips.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau,  An arctic voyage 

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 © 2009-2026

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-560408