Great purple fringed orchis..

June 20. 

River, on account of rain, some two feet above summer level. 

Great purple fringed orchis. 

What that colored-flowered locust in Deacon Farrar's yard and house this side Lincoln?

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 20, 1859

Two feet above summer level. Compare June 20, 1860 ("More rain falls to-day than any day since March, if not this year."); June 23, 1860 ("At 7 p. m. the river is fifteen and three fourths inches above summer level.")

Great purple fringed orchis. See: June 8, 1853 ("The great fringed orchis just open.");  June 9, 1854 ("Find the great fringed orchis out apparently two or three days. Two are almost fully out, two or three only budded.")  June 12, 1853 ("Visited the great [purple fringed] orchis. . . its great spike, six inches by two, of delicate pale-purple flowers, which begin to expand at bottom, rises above and contrasts with the green leaves of the hellebore and skunk-cabbage and ferns. . . in the cool shade of an alder swamp."); June 13, 1853 ("some rare and beautiful flower, which you may never find again, perchance, like the great purple fringed orchis, ");  June 15, 1852 ("Here also, at Well Meadow Head, I see the fringed purple orchis, unexpectedly beautiful, though a pale lilac purple, — a large spike of purple flowers.. . .  Is it not significant that some rare and delicate and beautiful flowers should be found only in unfrequented wild swamps ? . . .. The most striking and handsome large wild-flower of the year thus far that I have seen.");June 16, 1854 ("It is eight days since I plucked the great orchis; one is perfectly fresh still in my pitcher. It may be plucked when the spike is only half opened, and will open completely and keep perfectly fresh in a pitcher more than a week. ") See also A Book of Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The Purple Fringed Orchids

What that colored-flowered locust. Compare June 7, 1854 ("The locusts so full of pendulous white racemes five inches long, filling the air with their sweetness and resounding with the hum of humble and honey bees")

June 20. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, June 20

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

A pretty sure sign of cold and windy weather.

April 5. 

"Did you see those two sun-dogs on Saturday?"

In running a line through a wood-lot in the southwest part of Lincoln to-day, I started from an old pine stump, now mostly crumbled away, though a part of the wood was still hard above ground, which was described in his deed of 1813 (forty-six years ago) as a pine stump. It was on the side of a hill above Deacon Farrar's meadow.

 As I stood on a hill just cut off, I saw, half a dozen rods below, the bright-yellow catkins of a tall willow just opened on the edge of the swamp, against the dark-brown twigs and the withered leaves. This early blossom looks bright and rare amid the withered leaves and the generally brown and dry surface, like the early butterflies. 

This is the most conspicuous of the March flowers (i. e. if it chances to be so early as March). It suggests unthought-of warmth and sunniness. It takes but little color and tender growth to make miles of dry brown woodland and swamp look habitable and home like, as if a man could dwell there. 

Mr. Haines, who travelled over the lots with us this very cold and blustering day, was over eighty. 

"What raw, blustering weather!" said I to my employer to-day. 

"Yes," answered he. "Did you see those two sun-dogs on Saturday?" 

They are a pretty sure sign of cold and windy weather.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 5, 1859


Bright-yellow catkins of a tall willow just opened on the edge of the swamp, against the dark-brown twigs and the withered leaves. See April 12, 1852 ("See the first blossoms (bright-yellow stamens or pistils) on the willow catkins to-day. . . . It is fit that this almost earliest spring flower should be yellow, the color of the sun."); April 15, 1852 (" the largest early-catkined willow in large bushes in sand by water now blossoming -- the fertile catkins with paler blossoms, the sterile covered with pollen, a pleasant lively bright yellow -- is the brightest flower I have seen thus far. ")' April 18, 1852 ("The most interesting fact, perhaps, at present is these few tender yellow blossoms, these half-expanded sterile aments of the willow, seen through the rain and cold, — signs of the advancing year, pledges of the sun's return.").

This early blossom looks bright and rare amid the withered leaves and the generally brown and dry surface, like the early butterflies. See March 31. 1858 ("The earliest butterflies seem to be born of the dry leaves on the forest floor.")

An old man named McDonald

August 28.

August 28, 2017

Polygonum Pennsylvanicum by bank, how long? 

R. W. E. says that he saw Asclepias tuberosa abundant and in bloom on Naushon last week; also a sassafras stump three feet across. The deer escape by running to the mainland, and in winter cross on the ice. The last winter they lost about one hundred and fifty sheep, whose remains have never been found. Perhaps they were carried off on the ice by the sea. Looking through a glass, E. saw vessels sailing near Martha's Vineyard with full sails, yet the water about them appeared perfectly smooth, and reflected the vessels. They thought this reflection a mirage, i. e. from a haze. 

As we were riding by Deacon Farrar's lately, E. Hoar told me in answer to my questions, that both the young Mr. Farrars, who had now come to man’s estate, were excellent young men, — their father, an old man of about seventy, once cut and corded seven cords of wood in one day, and still cut a double swath at haying time, and was a man of great probity, — and to show the unusual purity of one of them, at least, he said that, his brother Frisbie, who had formerly lived there, inquiring what had become of a certain hired man whom he used to know, young Mr. Farrar told him that he was gone, “that the truth was he one day let drop a prophane word, and after that he thought that he could not have him about, and so he got rid of him.” It was as if he had dropped some filthy thing on the premises, an intolerable nuisance, only to be abated by removing the source of it. 

I should like to hear as good news of the New England farmers generally. It to some extent accounts for the vigor of the father and the successful farming of the sons. 

I read the other day in the Tribune that a man apparently about seventy, and smart at that, went to the police in New York and asked for a lodging, having been left by the cars or steamboat when on his way to Connecticut. When they asked his age, native place, etc., he said his name was McDonald; he was born in Scotland in 1745, came to Plymouth, Mass., in 1760, was in some battles in the Revolution, in which he lost an eye; had a son eighty-odd years old, etc.; but, seeing a reporter taking notes, he was silent. 

Since then I heard that an old man named McDonald, one hundred and twelve years old, had the day before passed through Concord and was walking to Lexington, and I said at once he must be a humbug.

When I went to the post office to-night (August 28), G. Brooks asked me if I saw him and said that he heard that he told a correct story, except he said that he remembered Braddock’s defeat! He had noticed that Dr. Heywood’s old house, the tavern, was gone since he was here in the Revolution. Just then Davis, the postmaster, asked us to look at a letter he had received. It was from a Dr. Curtis of Newton asking if this McDonald belonged about Concord as he said, and saying that his story appeared to be a correct one. Davis had never heard of him, and, as we presumed him to be a humbug, we advised Davis to write accordingly. 

But I afterward remembered reading nearly a year ago of a man of this name and age in St. Louis, who said he had married a wife in Concord before the Revolution, and then began to think that his story might be all true. So it seems that a veteran of a hundred and twelve, after an absence of eighty-seven years, may come back to the town where he married his wife in order to hunt up his relatives, and not only have no success, but be pronounced a humbug!

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, August 28, 1857

Naushon. See June 27, 1856 ("Saw all the Elizabeth Isles, going and coming. They are mostly bare, except the east end of Naushon. This island is some seven miles long, by one to two wide. I had some two and a half hours there. . . .Naushon is said to. . .belong to Mr. Swain of New Bedford and Forbes of Boston. . .")

First boating day of the year.

March 19

March 19, 2015

A fine clear and warm day for the season. Launch my boat.

P. M. — Paddled to Fair Haven Pond. Very pleasant and warm, when the wind lulls and the water is perfectly smooth. I make the voyage without gloves.

The snow of March 14th is about gone, and the landscape is once more russet. The thick ice of the meadows lies rotting on each side of the stream, white and almost soft as snow. In many places it extends still over the shallower parts of the river.

As I paddle or pole up the side of the stream, the muddy bottom looks dark and dead, and no greenness is observed. But on a closer scrutiny you detect here and there this radical greenness to correspond with that on the land.

Already Farrar is out with his boat looking for spring cranberries, and here comes, slowly paddling, the dark-faced trapper Melvin with his dog and gun. I see a poor drowned gray rabbit floating, back up as in life, but three quarters submerged. 

I see a hawk circling over a small maple grove through this calm air, ready to pounce on the first migrating sparrow that may have arrived.

As I paddle or push along by the edge of the thick ice which lines the shore, sometimes pushing against it, I observe that it is curiously worn by the water. The undulations made by my boat and paddle make a constant sound as I pass.

I am surprised to find that the river has not yet worn through Fair Haven Pond.

Getting up a weed with the paddle close to the shore under water, where five or six inches deep, I find a fishworm in the mud.

The wind has got round more to the east now, at 5 P.M., and is raw and disagreeable, and produces a bluish haze or mist at once in the air. It is early for such a phenomenon.

Smell muskrats in two places, and see two.

I hear at last the tchuck tchuck of a blackbird and, looking up, see him flying high over the river southwesterly in great haste to reach somewhere.

And when I reach my landing I hear my first bluebird, somewhere about Cheney’s trees by the river. I hear him out of the blue deeps, but do not yet see his blue body. He comes with a warble.

Not a duck do I see. It is perhaps too bright and serene a day for them.

MARCH 19, 2015

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 19, 1855

Launch my boat. . . . Paddled to Fair Haven Pond. See March 18, 1857 ("I meet Goodwin paddling up the still, dark river on his first voyage to Fair Haven for the season, looking for muskrats and from time to time picking driftwood.”); March 22, 1854 (“Launch boat and paddle to Fair Haven. ”)

Here comes, slowly paddling, the dark-faced trapper Melvin with his dog and gun. See March 18, 1858 (“Melvin is already out in his boat for all day, with his white hound in the prow, bound up the river for musquash.”); March 18, 1857 ("I hear the report of his gun . . .Goodwin had just seen Melvin disappearing up the North River,"); April 7, 1856 ("Melvin floats slowly and quietly along the willows, watching for rats resting there, his white hound sitting still and grave in the prow, and every little while we hear his gun announcing the death of a rat or two."); October 29, 1857 ("I meet Goodwin and afterward Melvin. They are musquash shooting. The latter has killed nineteen to-day down stream, thirty-one yesterday up the Assabe")

I meet Goodwin and afterward Melvin. They are musquash shooting. The latter has killed nineteen to-day down stream, thirty-one yesterday up the Assabet.");  December 2, 1856 ("Saw Melvin's lank bluish-white black-spotted hound, and Melvin with his gun near, going home at eve.")

I am surprised to find that the river has not yet worn through Fair Haven Pond. See March 26, 1860 ("Fair Haven Pond may be open by the 20th of March, as this year [1860], or not till April 13 as in '56, or twenty-three days later.”); April 4, 1855 ("I am surprised to find Fair Haven Pond not yet fully open.“)

I hear at last the tchuck tchuck of a blackbird . . . flying high over the river southwesterly in great haste to reach somewhere. See March 19, 1853 ("His first note may be a chuck, but his second is a rich gurgle or warble."); March 19, 1858 ( By the river, see distinctly red-wings and hear their conqueree."); See also March 6, 1854 ("Hear and see the first blackbird, flying east over the Deep Cut, with a tchuck, tchuck, and finally a split whistle."); March 18, 1857 ("And now . . . the chattering of blackbirds, —probably red-wings, for I hear an imperfect conqueree."); March 18, 1858 ("When the blackbird gets to a conqueree he seems to be dreaming of the sprays that are to be and on which he is to perch.") and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring: The Red-wing Arrives

I hear him out of the blue deeps, but do not yet see his blue body. He comes with a warble.  See March 20, 1855 ("The bluebird, too, is in the air, and I detect its blue back for a moment upon a picket.") See alsoA Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring:  Listening for the Bluebird

The dark-faced trapper 

Melvin with his dog and gun

come slowly paddling. 

Shad-bush in blossom

May 10

 To Tall's Island, taking boat at Cliffs. 

May 10, 2023

Rain about daylight makes the weather uncertain for the day. Damp, April-like mistiness in the air. I take an umbrella with me. 

The wind is southwest, and I have to row or paddle up. The shad-bush in blossom is the first to show like a fruit tree on the hill sides, seen afar amid gray twigs, before even its own leaves are much expanded.

I drag and push my boat over the road at Deacon Farrar's brook, carrying a roller with me. It is warm rowing with a thick coat. 

I make haste back with a fair wind and umbrella for sail.  

A sprinkling rain ceases when I reach Bittern Cliff, and the water smooths somewhat. I see many red maple  blossoms on the surface.  Their keys now droop gracefully about the stems.

A fresh, growing scent comes from the moistened earth and vegetation, and I perceive the sweetness of the willows on the causeway. 

Above the railroad bridge I see a kingfisher twice sustain himself in one place, about forty feet above the meadow, by a rapid motion of his wings, somewhat like a devil's-needle, not progressing an inch, apparently over a fish.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 10, 1854

The shad-bush in blossom is the first to show like a fruit tree on the hillsides.  See May 9, 1852 ("The first shad-bush, Juneberry, or service-berry (Amclanchier canadensis), in blossom.");  May 12, 1855 ("I now begin to distinguish where at a distance the Amelanchier Botryapium, with its white against the russet, is waving in the wind."); May 13, 1852 ("The amelanchiers are now the prevailing flowers in the woods and swamps and sprout-lands, a very beautiful flower, with its purplish stipules and delicate drooping white blossoms. The shad-blossom days in the woods.");  May 19, 1854 ("With what unobserved secure dispatch nature advances! The amelanchiers have bloomed, and already both kinds have shed their blossoms and show minute green fruit. There is not an instant's pause!") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Shad-bush, Juneberry, or Service-berry 

I perceive the sweetness of the willows on the causeway.. See May 12, 1855 ("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 14, 1852 ("Going over the Corner causeway, the willow blossoms fill the air with a sweet fragrance, and I am ready to sing,")

May 10. A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, May 10

Shad-bush in blossom

seen afar amid gray twigs

before its own leaves.

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Shad-bush in blossom

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 ©  2009-2024

tinyurl.com/hdt-540510

Signs of Fall

August 23.

6 a.m. — To Nawshawtuct. A very clear but cool morning, all white light. The feverwort berries are yellowing and yellowed; bar berries have begun to redden, and the prinos, — some of the last quite red. August has been thus far dog-days, rain, oppressive sultry heat, and now beginning fall weather.

P. M. — Clematis Brook. By the side of the brook that comes out of Deacon Farrar's Swamp and runs under the causeway east of the Corner Bridge the great bidens flowers are all turned toward the westering sun like sun flowers, hieroglyphics of the seasons. I go there as to one of autumn's favorite haunts. Most poems, like the fruits, are sweetest toward the blossom end. 

The milkweed leaves are already yellowing. A solidago some time out, say a week, on side of Mt. Misery. Looking down the river valley now from Mt. Misery, an hour before sundown, I am struck with nothing so much as the autumnal coolness of the landscape and the predominance of shade.

H. D. Thoreau, August 23, 1853

The feverwort berries are yellowing and yellowed. See Septmeber 6, 1859 ("The feverwort berries are apparently nearly in their prime, of a clear "corn yellow " and as large as a small cranberry, in whorls at the axils of the leaves of the half- prostrate plants. ")
An hour before sundown. See  The hour before sunset.