A Book of the Seasons: October 7 (the mellowing year)

 

The year is but a succession of days,

and I see that I could assign some office to each day

which, summed up, would be the history of the year.

Henry Thoreau, August 24, 1852 .

October 7

Indian-summer.

The sun comes out and lights up

the mellowing year.

October 7, 1852

Turning round, I am

surprised one more time by the

beauty of the world.

October 7, 1857

May 17, 1853

May 22, 1854

 March 18, 1858 

October 7, 2015

This morning the fog over the river and the brooks and meadows running into it has risen to the height of forty or fifty feet. October 7, 1851

A very still, warm, bright, clear afternoon. October 7, 1851. 

I sit on Poplar Hill. It is a warm Indian-summerish afternoon. October 7, 1852

When I turn round half-way up Fair Haven Hill, by the orchard wall, and look northwest, I am surprised for the thousandth time at the beauty of the landscape, and I sit down to behold it. October 7, 1857

Now is the time to behold the maple swamps, one mass of red and yellow, all on fire, as it were. See October 7, 1852

Nature holds her annual fair and gala days in October in every hollow and on every hillside. October 7, 1852

One wonders that the tithing-men and fathers of the town are not out to see what the trees mean by their high colors and exuberance of spirits, fearing that some mischief is brewing. I do not see what the Puritans did at that season when the maples blazed out in scarlet. October 7, 1857

I see, some fifty rods off, looking toward the sun, the top of the maple swamp just appearing over the sheeny russet edge of the hill, - a strip. . . of the most intensely brilliant scarlet, orange, and yellow, equal to any flowers or fruits or any tints ever painted. October 7, 1857

As usual, there is one tree-top of an especially brilliant scarlet, with which the others contrast. October 7, 1857

The bright-tinted shrubs about [Walden's] high shore on the sunny side were reflected from the water; . . . all reflected, dimly so far as the details of leaves, etc., were concerned, but brightly as to color, and, of course, in the order in which they stood, - -  scarlet, yellow, green, etc.; but, there being a slight ripple on the surface, these reflections . . .forming sharp pyramids of the several colors, gradually reduced to mere dusky points. The effect of this prolongation of the reflection was a very pleasing softening and blending of the colors. October 7, 1857

There was, accordingly, a sort of belt, as wide as the whole height of the hill, extending downward along the whole north or sunny side of the pond, composed of . . .inverted pyramids of the most brilliant colors intermixed. . . . reflected and re-reflected from ripple to ripple, losing brightness each time by the softest possible gradation, and tapering toward the beholder. October 7, 1857

This is one of the prettiest effects of the autumnal change. October 7, 1857

Little chincapin oaks are partly turned, dull scarlet or yellow as it may happen, nearly in prime, not fallen. October 7, 1857

Hornbeam generally green still, but becoming yellowish brown and falling. October 7, 1857

Black alder still green. October 7, 1857

Elder is greenish-yellow. October 7, 1857

I see some panicled andromeda dark red or crimson.October 7, 1857

Swamp-pink a dark reddish purple where exposed. October 7, 1857

Beach plum begins to turn a clear pale yellow in dry places. October 7, 1857

Sage willow is fairly yellowing and some even falling. October 7, 1857

Crossing Depot Brook, I see many yellow butterflies fluttering about the Aster puniceus, still abundantly in bloom there. October 7, 1857

I notice the Viola ovata, houstonia, Ranunculus repens, caducous polygala, small scratch-grass polygonum, autumnal dandelion (very abundant, yellowing the low turfy grounds and hills), small bushy white aster, a few goldenrods, Polygonum hydropiperoides and the unknown flowerless bidens, soapwort gentian (now turned dark purple), yarrow, the white erigeron, red clover, hedge-mustard.  October 7, 1852

Looking toward the sun from Lupine Bank, I see bloody patches of blackberry vines amid the fine hoary and sheeny grass of the pasture. October 7, 1857

Since the frosts such pastures are already a hoary russet. October 7, 1857

Some shrub oaks are yellow, others reddish. October 7, 1857

I see one small but spreading white oak full of acorns just falling and ready to fall. October 7, 1860

Some that have fallen have already split and sprouted, an eighth of an inch. October 7, 1860

I see, through the bright October air, a valley extending southwest and northeast and some two miles across, – so far I can see distinctly, — with a broad, yellow meadow tinged with brown at the bottom, and a blue river winding slowly through it northward, with a regular edging of low bushes on the brink, of the same color with the meadow. October 7, 1857

 Skirting the meadow are straggling lines, and occasionally large masses a quarter of a mile wide, of brilliant scarlet and yellow and crimson trees, backed by and mingled with green forests and green and hoary russet fields and hills; and on the hills around shoot up a million scarlet and orange and yellow and crimson fires amid the green; and here and there amid the trees, often beneath the largest and most graceful of those which have brown-yellow dome-like tops, are bright white or gray houses; and beyond stretches a forest, wreath upon wreath, and between each two wreaths I know lies a similar vale; and far beyond all, on the verge of the horizon, are half a dozen dark-blue mountain-summits. October 7, 1857

Large birds of a brilliant blue and white plumage are darting and screaming amid the glowing foliage a quarter of a mile below, while smaller blue birds warble faintly but sweetly around me. October 7, 1857

Now and for a week the chip-birds in flocks; the withered grass and weeds, etc., alive with them. October 7, 1860

Our boat so small and low that we are close to the water. The weeds being dead and the weather cooler, the water is more transparent. October 7, 1851

The fishes are plainly seen. See a pickerel that has swallowed a smaller fish, with the tail projecting from his mouth. October 7, 1851

The sun comes out of clouds, and lights up and warms the whole scene. October 7, 1852

Windy. Elms bare. October 6 & 7, 1853

I see a hundred smokes arising through the yellow elm-tops in the village, where the villagers are preparing for tea. October 7, 1852

The sunshine harmonizes with the imbrowned and fiery foliage. October 7, 1852

But hark! I hear the tolling of a distant funeral bell, and they are conveying a corpse to the churchyard from one of the houses that I see, and its serious sound is more in harmony with this scenery than any ordinary bustle could be. October 7, 1857

There is a great difference between this season and a month ago, -- warm as this happens to be, -- as between one period of your life and another. October 7, 1851

Unless you look for reflections, you commonly will not find them. October 7, 1857 

It is perfect autumn. October 7, 1852

It is the mellowing year. October 7, 1852

October 7, 2017

*****

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau:

 Elder-berries

Yellow Butterflies

the Chipping Sparrow

Pickerel

The Red Maple

Swamp-pink

The Alders

the Shrub Oak

the Autumnal Dandelion

Bells and Whistles

Indian Summer

The world can never be more beautiful than now.

Fair Haven Pond

Reflections

October

*****

October 7, 2025

February 21, 1855 (“I look at the Peterboro mountains with my glass from Fair Haven Hill. I think that there can be no more arctic scene than these mountains in the edge of the horizon completely crusted over with snow, with the sun shining on them, seen through a telescope over bare, russet fields and dark forests ”)

March 18, 1858 ("When I get two thirds up the hill, I look round and am for the hundredth time surprised by the landscape of the river valley and the horizon with its distant blue scalloped rim. “);.

July 21, 1856 ("This has been a peculiarly fine afternoon. When I looked about casually, was surprised at the fairness of the landscape")

May 17, 1853 ("I was surprised, on turning round, to behold the serene and everlasting beauty of the world.”)

May 22, 1854 ("How many times I have been surprised thus, on turning about on this very spot, at the fairness of the earth!”)

August 25, 1859 ("quite a flock of (apparently) Fringilla socialis in the garden")

September 1, 1854 ("Now I notice a few faint-chipping sparrows, busily picking the seeds of weeds in the garden")

September 16, 1854 (“I see little flocks of chip-birds along the roadside and on the apple trees, showing their light under sides when they rise.”)

September 27, 1858 ("What are those little birds in flocks in the garden and on the peach trees these mornings, about size of chip-birds, without distinct chestnut crowns?”);

September 28, 1857 ("Had one of those sudden cool gusts, which . . . caused the elms to labor and drop many leaves, early in afternoon. No such gust since spring.")

September 29,1854 ("The elm leaves have in some places more than half fallen")

October 1, 1858 ("The harvest of elm leaves is come, or at hand. ")

October 5, 1858 ("I still see large flocks, apparently of chip birds, on the weeds and ground in the yard.”) 

Now and for a week

the chip-birds in flocks on the

withered grass and weeds.

October 7, 1860

October 10, 1853 ("Cooler and windy at sunset, and the elm leaves come down again.”)

October 12, 1852 (" The elms in the village, losing their leaves, reveal the birds' nests.”)

October 13, 1858 ("The elms are at least half bare.")

October 17, 1857 (“A great many more ash trees, elms, etc., are bare now.”)

October 17, 1857 ("How soon they have sprouted! “)
November 27, 1852 (“I find acorns which have sent a shoot down into the earth this fall.”)

October 7, 2017

If you make the least correct 

observation of nature this year,

 you will have occasion to repeat it

 with illustrations the next, 

and the season and life itself is prolonged.

  April 7, 1853 

October 6 <<<<<<<<<  October 7 >>>>>>>>  October 8

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,  October 7

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau

"A book, each page written in its own season,

out-of-doors, in its own locality.”

~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2023

https://tinyurl.com/HDT7OCTOBER 

.

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Elms bare.

 

October 6 and October 7. 

October 7, 2013

Windy. Elms bare.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, October 6 & 7, 1853

See October 7, 1852 ("In the village, the warm brownish-yellow elms") See also  September 28, 1857 ("Had one of those sudden cool gusts, which . . . caused the elms to labor and drop many leaves, early in afternoon. No such gust since spring."); September 29,1854 ("The elm leaves have in some places more than half fallen");  October 1, 1858 ("The harvest of elm leaves is come, or at hand. "); October 10, 1853 ("Cooler and windy at sunset, and the elm leaves come down again.”); October 12, 1852 (" The elms in the village, losing their leaves, reveal the birds' nests.”); October 13, 1858 ("The elms are at least half bare."); October 17, 1857 (“A great many more ash trees, elms, etc., are bare now.”)

Russell is not sure but Eaton has described my rare polygonum.

October 7

Went to Plymouth to lecture and survey Watson's grounds. Returned the 15th.

The Decodon verticillatus (swamp loosestrife) very abundant, forming isles in the pond on Town Brook on Watson's farm, now turned (methinks it was) a somewhat orange (?) scarlet.

Measured a buckthorn on land of N. Russell & Co., bounding on Watson, close by the ruins of the cotton-factory, in five places from the ground to the first branching, or as high as my head. The diameters were 4 feet 8 inches, 4-6, 4-3, 4-2, 4-6. It was full of fruit now quite ripe, which Watson plants. The birds eat it.

Saw a small goldenrod in the woods with four very broad rays, a new kind to me

Saw also the English oak; leaf much like our white oak, but acorns large and long, with a long peduncle, and the bark of these young trees, twenty or twenty-five feet high, quite smooth.

Saw moon-seed, a climbing vine.

Also the leaf of the ginkgo tree, of pine-needles run together.

Spooner's garden a wilderness of fruit trees.

Russell is not sure but Eaton has described my rare polygonum.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, October 7, 1854

Went to Plymouth to lecture.   On Sunday, October 8, 1854  Thoreau gave his lecture "Moonlight" to a small audience of friends, among them Bronson Alcott. James Spooner, Marston Watson and his wife Mary Russell Watson.  See Thoreau's Lectures after Walden 259-255.  See also Night and Moonlight

October 7. 

The pontederia seeds which I dropped into a pitcher of water have now mostly sunk. As the outside decays they become heavier than water.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, October 7, 1859

Unless you look for reflections, you commonly will not find them.

October 7. 

October 7, 2017

P. M. — To Cliffs and Walden. 

Little chincapin oaks are partly turned, dull scarlet or yellow as it may happen, nearly in prime, not fallen. Some of their leaves (as well as of the white oak) are gnawed into lace regularly about the edges. 

Hornbeam generally green still, but becoming yellowish brown and falling. Black alder still green. Elder is greenish-yellow. 

I see some panicled andromeda dark red or crimson. Swamp-pink a dark reddish purple where exposed. Beach plum begins to turn a clear pale yellow in dry places. Sage willow is fairly yellowing and some even falling. 

Crossing Depot Brook, I see many yellow butterflies fluttering about the Aster puniceus, still abundantly in bloom there. 

I go across Bartonia Meadow direct to Bear Garden Hill-side. Approaching the sand-slide, I see, some fifty rods off, looking toward the sun, the top of the maple swamp just appearing over the sheeny russet edge of the hill, - a strip, apparently twenty rods long and ten feet deep, of the most intensely brilliant scarlet, orange, and yellow, equal to any flowers or fruits or any tints ever painted. As I advance, lowering the edge of the hill, which makes the firm foreground or lower frame to the picture, the depth of this brilliant grove revealed steadily increases, suggesting that the whole of the concealed valley is filled with such color.

As usual, there is one tree-top of an especially brilliant scarlet, with which the others contrast. 

One wonders that the tithing-men and fathers of the town are not out to see what the trees mean by their high colors and exuberance of spirits, fearing that some mischief is brewing. I do not see what the Puritans did at that season when the maples blazed out in scarlet. They certainly could not have worshipped in groves then. Perhaps that is what they built meeting-houses and surrounded them with horse-sheds for. No wonder we must have our annual cattle-show and fall training and perhaps Cornwallis, our September courts, etc.

Nature holds her annual fair and gala days in October in every hollow and on every hill side. 

Look into that hollow all aglow, where the trees are clothed in their vestures of most dazzling tints. Does it not suggest a thousand gypsies beneath, rows of booths, and that man’s spirits should rise as high, that the routine of his life should be interrupted by an analogous festivity and rejoicing?

It is the reign of crickets now. You see them gliding busily about over all sunny surfaces. They sometimes get into my shoes; but oftener I have to empty out the seeds of various shrubs and weeds which I have been compelled to transport. 

Looking toward the sun from Lupine Bank, I see bloody patches of blackberry vines amid the fine hoary and sheeny grass of the pasture. Since the frosts such pastures are already a hoary russet. Some shrub oaks are yellow, others reddish. 

When I turn round half-way up Fair Haven Hill, by the orchard wall, and look northwest, I am surprised for the thousandth time at the beauty of the landscape, and I sit down to behold it at my leisure. I think that Concord affords no better view. 

It is always incredibly fair, but ordinarily we are mere objects in it, and not witnesses of it. 

I see, through the bright October air, a valley extending southwest and northeast and some two miles across, – so far I can see distinctly, — with a broad, yellow meadow tinged with brown at the bottom, and a blue river winding slowly through it northward, with a regular edging of low bushes on the brink, of the same color with the meadow. Skirting the meadow are straggling lines, and occasionally large masses a quarter of a mile wide, of brilliant scarlet and yellow and crimson trees, backed by and mingled with green forests and green and hoary russet fields and hills; and on the hills around shoot up a million scarlet and orange and yellow and crimson fires amid the green; and here and there amid the trees, often beneath the largest and most graceful of those which have brown-yellow dome-like tops, are bright white or gray houses; and beyond stretches a forest, wreath upon wreath, and between each two wreaths I know lies a similar vale; and far beyond all, on the verge of the horizon, are half a dozen dark-blue mountain-summits. 

Large birds of a brilliant blue and white plumage are darting and screaming amid the glowing foliage a quarter of a mile below, while smaller blue birds warble faintly but sweetly around me. 

Such is the dwelling-place of man; but go to a caucus in the village to-night or to a church to-morrow, and see if there is anything said to suggest that the inhabitants of those houses know what kind of world they live in. But hark! I hear the tolling of a distant funeral bell, and they are conveying a corpse to the churchyard from one of the houses that I see, and its serious sound is more in harmony with this scenery than any ordinary bustle could be. It suggests that a man must die to his present life before he can appreciate his opportunities and the beauty of the abode that is appointed him. 

I do not know how to entertain one who can’t take long walks. The first thing that suggests itself is to get a horse to draw them, and that brings us at once into contact with stablers and dirty harness, and I do not get over my ride for a long time. I give up my forenoon to them and get along pretty well, the very elasticity of the air and promise of the day abetting me, but they are as heavy as dumplings by mid-afternoon. If they can’t walk, why won’t they take an honest nap and let me go in the afternoon? But, come two o'clock, they alarm me by an evident disposition to sit. In the midst of the most glorious Indian-summer afternoon, there they sit, breaking your chairs and wearing out the house, with their backs to the light, taking no note of the lapse of time.

As I sat on the high bank at the east end of Walden this afternoon, at five o’clock, I saw, by a peculiar intention or dividing of the eye, a very striking subaqueous rainbow-like phenomenon. A passer-by might, perhaps would, have noticed that the bright-tinted shrubs about the high shore on the sunny side were reflected from the water; but, unless on the alert for such effects, he would have failed to perceive the full beauty of the phenomenon. 

Unless you look for reflections, you commonly will not find them. Those brilliant shrubs, which were from three to a dozen feet in height, were all reflected, dimly so far as the details of leaves, etc., were concerned, but brightly as to color, and, of course, in the order in which they stood, - scarlet, yellow, green, etc.; but, there being a slight ripple on the surface, these reflections were not true to their height though true to their breadth, but were extended downward with mathematical perpendicularity, three or four times too far, forming sharp pyramids of the several colors, gradually reduced to mere dusky points. The effect of this prolongation of the reflection was a very pleasing softening and blending of the colors, especially when a small bush of one bright tint stood directly before another of a contrary and equally bright tint. It was just as if you were to brush firmly aside with your hand or a brush a fresh line of paint of various colors, or so many lumps of friable colored powders. There was, accordingly, a sort of belt, as wide as the whole height of the hill, extending downward along the whole north or sunny side of the pond, composed of exceedingly short and narrow inverted pyramids of the most brilliant colors intermixed. I have seen, indeed, similar inverted pyramids in the old drawings of tattooing about the waists of the aborigines of this country. 

Walden, too, like an Indian maiden, wears this broad rainbow-like belt of brilliant colored points or cones round her waist in October. The color seems to be reflected and re-reflected from ripple to ripple, losing brightness each time by the softest possible gradation, and tapering toward the beholder, since he occupies a mere point of view. This is one of the prettiest effects of the autumnal change.

The harvest of leaves is at hand in some valleys, and generally the young deciduous trees on hillsides have the brilliant tint of ripe fruits. Already many windfalls strew the ground under the maples and elms, etc. I see one or two maple shrubs quite bare, while many large maples are still quite green. 

In that rainbow belt we have color, which is commonly so rare and precious and confined to precious stones, in the utmost profusion. The ripples convey the reflection toward us, till all the color is winnowed out and spilled between them and only the dusky points reach near to this side where we stand. It is as if a broad belt (or waist-cloth) of sharp and narrow inverted cones or pyramids of bright colors, softly blended like fairy worsted work, their bases rising to a line mathematically level about the waist of the pond. That fall river Indian, like the Almouchicois generally, wore a belt of hollow tubes. 

It was strange that only the funeral bell was in harmony with that scene, while other sounds were too frivolous and trivial, as if only through the gate of death would man come to appreciate his opportunities and the beauty of the world he has abused. In proportion as death is more earnest than life, it is better than life. 

The sun set just before I reached the railroad causeway on my return, but then there was not a cloud to be seen in the horizon. Coming through the Irish field, the mountains were purple, much redder than a grape. 

. . . 

[July 24, 1857 Moosehead Lake "he commenced a slow, somewhat nasal, yet musical chant, in his own language" ] That simple and mild nasal chant affected me like the dawn of civilization to the wilderness. I thought of “Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutored mind,” etc. There is always a slight haze or mist on the brow of the Indian. The white man’s brow is clear and distinct. It is eleven o’clock in the forenoon with him. It is four o'clock in the morning with the Indian.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, October 7, 1857

I see looking toward the sun the top of the maple swamp just appearing over the hill, - a strip of the most intensely brilliant scarlet, orange, and yellow, equal to any flowers or fruits or any tints ever painted. See October 7, 1852 (“Now is the time to behold the maple swamps, one mass of red and yellow, all on fire, as it were; ”)

When I turn round half-way up Fair Haven Hill, by the orchard wall, and look northwest, I am surprised for the thousandth time at the beauty of the landscape. . . I think that Concord affords no better view.  See  May 17, 1853 ("I was surprised, on turning round, to behold the serene and everlasting beauty of the world.”); May 22, 1854 ("How many times I have been surprised  thus, on turning about on this very spot, at the fairness of the earth!”);  March 18, 1858 ("When I get two thirds up the hill, I look round and am for the hundredth time surprised by the landscape of the river valley and the horizon with its distant blue scalloped rim. “);.July 21, 1856 ("This has been a peculiarly fine afternoon. When I looked about casually, was surprised at the fairness of the landscape") See also   February 21, 1855 (“I look at the Peterboro mountains with my glass from Fair Haven Hill. I think that there can be no more arctic scene than these mountains in the edge of the horizon completely crusted over with snow, with the sun shining on them, seen through a telescope over bare, russet fields and dark forests”)

We take an afternoon walk to the view and return via the double chair not stopping there. It rained earlier. We hear crickets the whole time if we listen. At the view the sound of jay’s screaming and, just as we leave, a raven in a nearby tree. The sky is cloudy and it looks like twilight all afternoon. Just before we leave the whole lake to the south is illuminated yellow. There are no fresh leaves on the trail and generally there is no color in the woods or overlooking the valley. It seems late this year. Hiking to the double chair the understory of striped maples is bright yellow; a single branch of a red small red maple is in full color. An owl hoots beyond the middle pond. We arrive at the lower view just as the sun sets  to the south in the trees– the air is full of moisture and is glowing orange over Shelburne pond and beyond. 

Zphx 20171007

https://tinyurl.com/HDT571007

A Book of the Seasons: October 7.

October 7.

Indian-summer.
The sun comes out and lights up
the mellowing year.
October 7, 1852

The maple swamps now

one mass of red and yellow, 

Behold. All on fire.

October 7, 1852

.

I sit on a rock

one more time surprised by the

beauty of the world.

May 17, 1853

May 22, 1854

October 7, 1857

Blue jays scream amid

glowing foliage below,

while blue birds warble.

October 7, 1857

October 7, 2015

 
 This morning the fog over the river and the brooks and meadows running into it has risen to the height of forty or fifty feet. October 7, 1851

A very still, warm, bright, clear afternoon. October 7, 1851. I sit on Poplar Hill. It is a warm Indian-summerish afternoon. October 7, 1852

Now is the time to behold the maple swamps, one mass of red and yellow, all on fire, as it were. See October 7, 1852

Nature holds her annual fair and gala days in October in every hollow and on every hill side October 7, 1852

One wonders that the tithing-men and fathers of the town are not out to see what the trees mean by their high colors and exuberance of spirits, fearing that some mischief is brewing. I do not see what the Puritans did at that season when the maples blazed out in scarlet. October 7, 1857

I see, some fifty rods off, looking toward the sun, the top of the maple swamp just appearing over the sheeny russet edge of the hill, - a strip. . . of the most intensely brilliant scarlet, orange, and yellow, equal to any flowers or fruits or any tints ever painted. October 7, 1857

As usual, there is one tree-top of an especially brilliant scarlet, with which the others contrast. October 7, 1857

The bright-tinted shrubs about [Walden's] high shore on the sunny side were reflected from the water; . . . all reflected, dimly so far as the details of leaves, etc., were concerned, but brightly as to color, and, of course, in the order in which they stood, - -  scarlet, yellow, green, etc.; but, there being a slight ripple on the surface, these reflections . . .forming sharp pyramids of the several colors, gradually reduced to mere dusky points. The effect of this prolongation of the reflection was a very pleasing softening and blending of the colors. October 7, 1857

There was, accordingly, a sort of belt, as wide as the whole height of the hill, extending downward along the whole north or sunny side of the pond, composed of . . .inverted pyramids of the most brilliant colors intermixed. . . . reflected and re-reflected from ripple to ripple, losing brightness each time by the softest possible gradation, and tapering toward the beholder. October 7, 1857

This is one of the prettiest effects of the autumnal change. October 7, 1857

 Little chincapin oaks are partly turned, dull scarlet or yellow as it may happen, nearly in prime, not fallen. October 7, 1857


Hornbeam generally green still, but becoming yellowish brown and falling. October 7, 1857


Black alder still green. October 7, 1857


Elder is greenish-yellow. October 7, 1857

I see some panicled andromeda dark red or crimson.October 7, 1857


Swamp-pink a dark reddish purple where exposed. October 7, 1857


Beach plum begins to turn a clear pale yellow in dry places. October 7, 1857


Sage willow is fairly yellowing and some even falling. October 7, 1857

Crossing Depot Brook, I see many yellow butterflies fluttering about the Aster puniceus, still abundantly in bloom there. October 7, 1857



Looking toward the sun from Lupine Bank, I see bloody patches of blackberry vines amid the fine hoary and sheeny grass of the pasture. October 7, 1857


Since the frosts such pastures are already a hoary russet.October 7, 1857


Some shrub oaks are yellow, others reddish. October 7, 1857

When I turn round half-way up Fair Haven Hill, by the orchard wall, and look northwest, I am surprised for the thousandth time at the beauty of the landscape, and I sit down to behold it October 7, 1857

I see, through the bright October air, a valley extending southwest and northeast and some two miles across, – so far I can see distinctly, — with a broad, yellow meadow tinged with brown at the bottom, and a blue river winding slowly through it northward, with a regular edging of low bushes on the brink, of the same color with the meadow. October 7, 1857


Skirting the meadow are straggling lines, and occasionally large masses a quarter of a mile wide, of brilliant scarlet and yellow and crimson trees, backed by and mingled with green forests and green and hoary russet fields and hills; and on the hills around shoot up a million scarlet and orange and yellow and crimson fires amid the green; and here and there amid the trees, often beneath the largest and most graceful of those which have brown-yellow dome-like tops, are bright white or gray houses; and beyond stretches a forest, wreath upon wreath, and between each two wreaths I know lies a similar vale; and far beyond all, on the verge of the horizon, are half a dozen dark-blue mountain-summits. October 7, 1857

Large birds of a brilliant blue and white plumage are darting and screaming amid the glowing foliage a quarter of a mile below, while smaller blue birds warble faintly but sweetly around me. October 7, 1857









Now and for a week the chip-birds in flocks; the withered grass and weeds, etc., alive with them. October 7, 1860

I see one small but spreading white oak full of acorns just falling and ready to fall. October 7, 1860

Some that have fallen have already split and sprouted, an eighth of an inch. October 7, 1860

Our boat so small and low that we are close to the water. The weeds being dead and the weather cooler, the water is more transparent. October 7, 1851

The fishes are plainly seen. See a pickerel that has swallowed a smaller fish, with the tail projecting from his mouth. October 7, 1851

The sun comes out of clouds, and lights up and warms the whole scene.

Windy. Elms bare. October 6 & 7, 1853

I see a hundred smokes arising through the yellow elm-tops in the village, where the villagers are preparing for tea. October 7, 1852

The sunshine harmonizes with the imbrowned and fiery foliage. October 7, 1852

There is a great difference between this season and a month ago, -- warm as this happens to be, -- as between one period of your life and another. October 7, 1851

Unless you look for reflections, you commonly will not find them. October 7, 1857 

It is perfect autumn. October 7, 1852

It is the mellowing year. October 7, 1852

*****

August 25, 1859 ("quite a flock of (apparently) Fringilla socialis in the garden")

September 1, 1854 ("Now I notice a few faint-chipping sparrows, busily picking the seeds of weeds in the garden")

September 16, 1854 (“I see little flocks of chip-birds along the roadside and on the apple trees, showing their light under sides when they rise.”)

September 27, 1858 ("What are those little birds in flocks in the garden and on the peach trees these mornings, about size of chip-birds, without distinct chestnut crowns?”);

 February 21, 1855 (“I look at the Peterboro mountains with my glass from Fair Haven Hill. I think that there can be no more arctic scene than these mountains in the edge of the horizon completely crusted over with snow, with the sun shining on them, seen through a telescope over bare, russet fields and dark forests ”)

March 18, 1858 ("When I get two thirds up the hill, I look round and am for the hundredth time surprised by the landscape of the river valley and the horizon with its distant blue scalloped rim. “);.

July 21, 1856 ("This has been a peculiarly fine afternoon. When I looked about casually, was surprised at the fairness of the landscape")

May 17, 1853 ("I was surprised, on turning round, to behold the serene and everlasting beauty of the world.”)

May 22, 1854 ("How many times I have been surprised thus, on turning about on this very spot, at the fairness of the earth!”)

August 25, 1859 ("quite a flock of (apparently) Fringilla socialis in the garden")

September 1, 1854 ("Now I notice a few faint-chipping sparrows, busily picking the seeds of weeds in the garden")

September 16, 1854 (“I see little flocks of chip-birds along the roadside and on the apple trees, showing their light under sides when they rise.”)

September 27, 1858 ("What are those little birds in flocks in the garden and on the peach trees these mornings, about size of chip-birds, without distinct chestnut crowns?”);

September 28, 1857 ("Had one of those sudden cool gusts, which . . . caused the elms to labor and drop many leaves, early in afternoon. No such gust since spring.")

September 29,1854 ("The elm leaves have in some places more than half fallen")

October 1, 1858 ("The harvest of elm leaves is come, or at hand. ")

October 5, 1858 ("I still see large flocks, apparently of chip birds, on the weeds and ground in the yard.”) 

October 10, 1853 ("Cooler and windy at sunset, and the elm leaves come down again.”)

 October 12, 1852 (" The elms in the village, losing their leaves, reveal the birds' nests.”)

 October 13, 1858 ("The elms are at least half bare.")

 October 17, 1857 (“A great many more ash trees, elms, etc., are bare now.”)

October 17, 1857 ("How soon they have sprouted! “)
November 27, 1852 (“I find acorns which have sent a shoot down into the earth this fall.”)

 

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 © 2009-2015

It is perfect autumn.

October 7

Now is the time to behold the maple swamps, one mass of red and yellow, all on fire, as it were; and then, in the village, the warm brownish-yellow elms.

The green pines springing out of huckleberries on the hillsides look as if surrounded by red or vermilion paint. 

I notice the Viola ovata, houstonia, Ranunculus repens, caducous polygala, small scratch-grass polygonum, autumnal dandelion (very abundant, yellowing the low turfy grounds and hills), small bushy white aster, a few goldenrods, Polygonum hydropiperoides and the unknown flowerless bidens, soapwort gentian (now turned dark purple), yarrow, the white erigeron, red clover, hedge-mustard. 

The muskrats have begun to erect their cabins. Thev begin soon after the pontederias are (dead (??). Saw one done. Do they build them in the night? 

Heat and see larks, bluebirds, robins, song sparrows. Also see painted tortoises and shad frogs. 

There must be in abundance of mast this year. I could gather up nearly a bushel of acorns under one white oak, out of their cups, and, I think, quite good to eat. They are earlier to fall than the walnuts. It is encouraging to see a large crop of acorns, though we do not use them. 

The white maples turn yellowish, though some boughs are red. 

I sit on Poplar Hill. It is a warm Indian-summerish afternoon. The sun comes out of clouds, and lights up and warms the whole scene. It is perfect autumn. 

I see a hundred smokes arising through the yellow elm-tops in the village, where the villagers are preparing for tea. It is the mellowing year. 

The sunshine harmonizes with the imbrowned and fiery foliage.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, October 7, 1852

Now is the time to behold the maple swamps, one mass of red and yellow, all on fire, See October 7, 1857 ("I see looking toward the sun the top of the maple swamp just appearing over the hill, - a strip of the most intensely brilliant scarlet, orange, and yellow, equal to any flowers or fruits or any tints ever painted.") See also October 9, 1858 ("The maple swamps begin to look smoky, they are already so bare. Their fires, so faded."); October 10, 1851("Now is the time to enjoy the dry leaves. Now all nature is a dried herb, full of medicinal odors."); October 18, 1855 ("The maple swamps, bare of leaves, here and there about the meadow, look like smoke blown along the edge of the woods."); October 18, 1858 ("I am struck by the magical change which has taken place in the red maple swamps . . . like the smoke that is seen where a blaze is extinguished — desolate gray twigs")

Now is the time to behold . . . in the village, the warm brownish-yellow elms. See` October 6 & 7, 1853 ("Windy. Elms bare.") See also October 9, 1857 ("The elms are now at the height of their change. As I look down our street, which is lined with them, now clothed in their very rich brownish-yellow dress, they remind me of yellowing sheaves of grain, as if the harvest had come to the village itself"); October 10, 1853 ("Cooler and windy at sunset, and the elm leaves come down again.”); October 12, 1852 (" The elms in the village, losing their leaves, reveal the birds' nests.”); October 13, 1858 ("The elms are at least half bare."); October 17, 1857 (“A great many more ash trees, elms, etc., are bare now.”)

The muskrats have begun to erect their cabins. See October 16, 1859 ("For thirty years I have annually observed, about this time or earlier, the freshly erected winter lodges of the musquash along the riverside. . . This may not be an annual phenomenon to you. It may not be in the Greenwich almanac or ephemeris, but it has an important place in my Kalendar. So surely as the sun appears to be in Libra or Scorpio, I see the conical winter lodges of the musquash rising above the withered pontederia and flags."); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Musquash

It is a warm Indian-summerish afternoon. See October 4, 1859 ("This is a fine and warm afternoon, Indian-summer like, but we have not had cold enough before it."); October 5, 1857. ("A warm and bright October afternoon."); October 10, 1856 ("These are the finest days in the year, Indian summer.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Indian Summer

It is perfect autumn. It is the mellowing year. See October 7, 1857 ("When I turn round half-way up Fair Haven Hill, by the orchard wall, and look northwest, I am surprised for the thousandth time at the beauty of the landscape."); See also October 8, 1852 (“Nothing can exceed the brilliancy of some of the maples which stand by the shore and extend their red banners over the water.”)

There must be in abundance of mast this year. I could gather up nearly a bushel of acorns under one white oak.  See September 30, 1854 ("Acorns are generally now turned brown and fallen or falling; the ground is strewn with them and in paths they are crushed by feet and wheels.");October 11, 1860 ("There is a remarkably abundant crop of white oak acorns this fall, also a fair crop of red oak acorns; but not of scarlet and black, very few of them. The acorns are now in the very midst of their fall."); October 13, 1860 ("This is a white oak year . . . I should think that there might be a bushel or two of acorns on and under some single trees."); October 14, 1859 ("The ground is strewn also with red oak acorns now, and, as far as I can discover, acorns of all kinds have fallen.")

October 7. See A Book of the Seasons,,  by Henry Thoreau,  October 7

Indian-summer –

the sun comes out and lights up

the mellowing year.

 A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, It is perfect autumn.

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

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-521007

***

We set out intending to go over the far ridge.

We are delayed on our own ridge cutting a log that has been in the way a long time. It is still solid in the core, and once i get it cut in one place, it cant be moved because it is binding on some trees. We cut nearly through one part, but it still binds. Finally Jane cuts through another spot and we can both drag it out of the way. I end up moving the other end off the trail side. We smooth the trail with wood chips.

We bushwack east over the stream and finally reach the main logging road, but keep east to the next road then edge up along the cliff. Here is a big beech blowdown and we have to clear a way up along the cliff edge to the saddle where the red trail starts.

But it is late, and will be dark soon.

We decide to go back down and take the main road up to the north and bushwack over to the double chair.

Jane stops at the wintergreen patch and samples some.

At the top on that sparse ridge we find our separate ways over the rocks down to the west. it is now getting dark. There are lots of blowdowns separating us.

Jane stops and calls me over. 

She is on a log, her headlamp is not working unless she takes it off and squeezes. Meanwhile her glasses are missing. I have a flashlight; she gets out hers. It takes a while, but finally i spot her glasses.

 It is now dark.

I remember the time we were lost in the dark over here. It’s something different now. A feeling of confidence that we know where we are. We have lights yes, but we know where we are.

We head generally toward the double chair, meandering around the blowdowns. We come to the ridge before the ridge and then we are there. Right at the bottom of the trail up to the double chair.

Up we go and it is reassuring to have the reflectors marking the trail. We rest in the chairs. Then down the ridge trail. We pass through our now log-free spot. and end up at the view. Lights twinkling in the Champlain valley.

Now down round  to the junction upper road and home.

Four or four and a half hours.

Deep woods night hike.

October 7, 2012