Oriole young.

July 1. 

P. M. — To Second Division Brook. 

July 1, 2019

Have heard the peculiar peep of young tailless golden robins for a day or more. 

White water ranunculus in full bloom at least a week, in Second Division Brook, near the dam, in the shade of the bank, a clear day. Its leaves and stems waving in the brook are interesting, — much cut and green. 

The Holcus lanatus, past prime, near J. P. Brown's little meadow beyond end of his moraine; also grows near southwest end of Hubbard's Grove. 

Agrostis, either vulgaris or alba (or both), now generally coming into bloom in fields both moist and dry, but I should say with considerable ligules and rather roughish sheaths.

H.. D. Thoreau, Journal,  July 1, 1859

The peculiar peep of young tailless golden robins for a day or more. See June 28, 1855 ("Hear and see young golden robins which have left the nest, now peeping with a peculiar tone."); June 28, 1857 ("I hear on all hands these days, from the elms and other trees, the twittering peep of young gold robins, which have recently left their nests, and apparently indicate their locality to their parents by thus incessantly peeping all day long."); July 2, 1860 ("Nowadays hear from my window the constant tittering of young golden robins, ")

White water ranunculus in full bloom at least a week, in Second Division Brook. See August 4, 1854 ("Ranunculus aquatilis var. fluviatilis, white petals with a yellow claw, small flowers on surface of Hosmer's ditch, west end, by Turnpike. A new plant.")

Looking for tortoises, see the first water-bugs out circling.

March 10

Snowed in the night, a mere whitening. In the morning somewhat overcast still, cold and quite windy. The first clear snow to whiten the ground since February 9th. 

I am not aware of growth in any plant yet, unless it be the further peeping out of willow catkins. They have crept out further from under their scales, and, looking closely into them, I detect a little redness along the twigs even now. 

You are always surprised by the sight of the first spring bird or insect; they seem premature, and there is no such evidence of spring as themselves, so that they literally fetch the year about. It is thus when I hear the first robin or bluebird or, looking along the brooks, see the first water-bugs out circling. But you think, They have come, and Nature cannot recede. 

Thus, when on the 6th I saw the gyrinus at Second Division Brook, I saw no peculiarity in the water or the air to remind me of them, but to-day they are here and yesterday they were not. 

I go looking deeper for tortoises, when suddenly my eye rests on these black circling apple seeds in some smoother bay. 

Those reddening leaves, as the checkerberry, lambkill, etc., etc., which at the beginning of winter were greenish, are now a deeper red, when the snow goes off. 

No more snow since last night, but a strong, cold northerly wind all day, with occasional gleams of sunshine. 

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 10, 1855

Surprised by the sight of the first spring bird or insect; . . .But you think, They have come, and Nature cannot recede.  See March 23, 1856 ("How many springs I have had this same experience! I am encouraged, for I recognize this steady persistency and recovery of Nature as a quality of myself.”)

I go looking deeper for tortoises, when suddenly my eye rests on these black circling apple seeds in some smoother bay. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring:

• the water-bug                          
• frogs and turtles stirring

To-day they are here

and yesterday they were not –

first water bugs out.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, 

Looking for tortoises, see the first water-bugs out circling.

 A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau 

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

  out-of-doors, in its own locality.”

   ~ edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2025

To Second Division Brook. Early Spring

April 2.

To Second Division Brook. 

The rain cleared away yesterday afternoon, and today the air is remarkably clear. I can see far into the pine woods to tree behind tree, and one tower behind another of silvery needles, stage above stage, relieved with shade. 

The edge of the wood is not a plane surface, but has depth. 

Hear and see what I call the pine warbler, -- vetter vetter vetter vetter vet, -- the cool woodland sound. The first this year of the higher-colored birds, after the bluebird and the blackbird's wing. It so affects me as something more tender.

Together with the driftwood on the shore of the Assabet and the sawdust from Heywood's mill, I pick up teasel-heads from the factory with the wool still in them. How many tales the stream tells!
 
See the fine moss in the pastures with beautiful red stems even crimsoning the ground. This is its season.

The amelanchier buds look more forward than those of any shrub I notice. 

Observed some plowing yesterday. 

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 2, 1853

Tree behind tree, and one tower behind another of silvery needles, stage above stage, relieved with shade. See February, 5, 1852 ("The boughs, feathery boughs, of the white pines, tier above tier, reflect a silvery light against the darkness of the grove, as if both the silvery-lighted and greenish bough and the shadowy intervals of the shade behind belong to one tree.”); March 21, 1859  (“that fine silvery light reflected from its needles (perhaps their undersides) incessantly in motion.”); April 29, 1852 ("The pines have an appearance they have not worn before, yet not easy to describe. The mottled sunlight and shade, seen looking into the woods, is more like summer."); May 1, 1855 ("Why have the white pines at a distance that silvery look around their edges or thin parts? Is it owing to the wind showing the under sides of the needles? Methinks you do not see it in the winter.”); May 3, 1852 ("The white pine is beautiful in the morning light--the early sunlight and the dew on it -- before the water is rippled and the morning song of the birds is quenched.”) May 17, 1852 ("I see dark pines in the distance in the sunshine, contrasting with the light fresh green of the deciduous trees.”); May 18, 1852 ("The forest, the dark-green pines, wonderfully distinct, near and erect, with their distinct dark stems, spiring tops, regularly disposed branches, and silvery light on their needles.”)

Hear and see what I call the pine warbler. See April 2, 1858(" I heard the note of the pine warbler, calling the pines to life.")

How many tales the stream tells! See note to September 16, 1856 (“William Monroe is said to have been the first who raised teasels about here.”) Also April 1, 1859 ("The river being so low, we see lines of sawdust perfectly level and parallel to one another on the side of the steep dark bank at the Hemlocks. . .”); April 1, 1858 ("It is remarkable that the river seems rarely to rise or fall gradually, but rather by fits and starts, and hence the water-lines, as indicated now by the sawdust, are very distinct parallel lines four or five or more inches apart.”); July 9, 1857 (“Am surprised to find how much carburetted hydrogen gas there is in the beds of sawdust by the side of this stream, as at the "Narrows."”): April 19, 1854 ("Yesterday, as I was returning down the Assabet, . . . I was surprised to find the river so full of sawdust from the pail-factory and Barrett's mill that I could not easily distinguish if the stone-heaps had been repaired. There was not a square three inches clear. And I saw the sawdust deposited by an eddy in one place on the bottom like a sand-bank a foot or more deep half a mile below the mill.”) April 1, 1854 ("The lines of sawdust from Barrett's mill at different heights on the steep, wet bank under the hemlocks rather enhance the impression of freshness and wild-ness, as if it were a new country.”); April 12, 1852 ("The lines of sawdust left at different levels on the shore is just hint enough of a sawmill on the stream above. “)

How to spend this afternoon.

April 29.

The art of life, of a poet's life, is, not having anything to do, to do something.

The leaves are dry enough to burn; and I see a smoke this afternoon in the west horizon. There is a slight haziness on the woods, as I go to Mayflower Road at 2:30 P.M.

The ground is dry. I smell the dryness of the woods. Their shadows look more inviting, and I am reminded of the hum of bees.

The pines have an appearance they have not worn before, yet not easy to describe. The mottled sunlight and shade, seen looking into the woods, is more like summer. 

At the Second Division Brook the cowslip is in blossom. 

The butterflies are now more numerous, red and blue-black or dark velvety. 

Observe two thrushes arrived that I do not know. 

Discover a hawk over my head by his shadow on the ground.

The acorns among the leaves are sprouted, the shells open and the blushing (red) meat exposed at the sprout end, where the sprout is already turning toward the earth. 

Coming home over the Corner road, the sun, now getting low, is reflected very bright and silvery from the water on the meadows, seen through the pines of Hubbard's Grove. 

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 29, 1852

The art of life, not having anything to do, is to do something. See September 2, 1851 ("It is always essential that we love to do what we are doing, do it with a heart.");; January 12, 1852 ("Do the things which lie nearest to you – but which aredifficult to do."); September 13, 1852 ("To the . . . idle man, the stillness of a placid September day sounds like the din and whirl of a factory. Only employment can still this din in the air."); September 8, 1858 ("It is good policy to be stirring about your affairs, for the reward of activity and energy is that if you do not accomplish the object you had professed to yourself, you do accomplish something else.”); and note to September 7, 1851: ("I do not remember any page which will tell me how to spend this afternoon.”); See also December 29, 1841 ("One does not soon learn the trade of life. That one may work out a true life requires more art and delicate skill than any other work.") and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, To effect the quality of the day

At the Second Division Brook [o]bserve two thrushes arrived that I do not know. See note to April 24, 1856 ("Returning, in the low wood just this side the first Second Division Brook, near the meadow, see a brown bird flit, and behold my hermit thrush, with one companion, flitting silently through the birches”)

Discover a hawk over my head by his shadow on the ground. See September 27, 1857 ("I see the shadow of a hawk flying above and behind me.”)

The art of life – not 

having anything to do –

is to do something.