A Book of the Seasons: The Evergreen Ferns, Maidenhair and Ebony Spleenwort

 [Asplenium trichomanes (Maidenhair spleenwort) 

&  Asplenium ebeneum or Asplenium platyneuron (Ebony Spleenwort)]

I would make a chart of our life,

know why just this circle of creatures completes the world.

Henry Thoreau, April 18, 1852

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.

November 18, 1858 

Almost every plant, however humble, has thus its day,

and sooner or later becomes the characteristic feature

of some part of the landscape or other.

September 10, 1860

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

September 30. Of the twenty-three ferns which I seem to know here, seven may be called evergreens. September 30, 1859

November 17.  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) November 17, 1858 

February 2.  We stop awhile under Bittern Cliff, the south side, where it is very warm. There are a few greenish radical leaves to be seen, — primrose and johnswort, strawberry, etc., and spleenwort still green in the clefts.  February 2, 1854

April 6.  Asplenium ferns of both species are very generally perfectly withered and shrivelled. April 6, 1858

July 17. 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. July 17, 1857

August 10.  Is not that small narrow fern I find on Conantum about rocks ebony spleenwort? Now in fruit. August 10, 1853

August 30. 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.  August 30, 1853

October 28.  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. October 28, 1857

Maidenhair spleenwort

n a recess under a shelving roc

October 31, 2024

November 17. 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).  The first one and the last two are particularly handsome, the last especially, it has so thick a frond. November 17, 1858 

November 18. I go along under the east side of Lee’s Cliff, looking at the evergreen ferns. The marginal fern is the commonest. 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. November 18, 1858 

See also 

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Evergreen Ferns, Part Two:Aspidium spinulosum & Aspidium cristatum;
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Evergreen Ferns Part Three: Polypody, Marginal Shield Fern, Terminal Sheild Fern

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The Evergreen Ferns, Part One: Maidenhair and Ebony Spleenwort

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

The evergreen ferns by contrast are greener than ever

September 30

Deer Leap September 30, 2019

P. M. — Up Assabet.

Ever since the unusually early and severe frost of the 16th, the evergreen ferns have been growing more and more distinct amid the fading and decaying and withering ones, and the sight of those suggests a cooler season. They are greener than ever, by contrast. 

The terminal shield fern is one of the handsomest. The most decidedly evergreen are the last, polypody, Aspidium marginale, and Aspidium spinulosum of Woodis Swamp and Brister's. 

Asplenium Filix foemina (?) is decaying, maybe a little later than the dicksonia, — the largish fern with long, narrow pinnules deeply cut and toothed, and reniform fruit-dots. 

Of the twenty-three ferns which I seem to know here, seven may be called evergreens. 

As far as I know, the earliest to wither and fall are 

• the brake (mostly fallen), 
• the Osmunda cinnamomea (begun to be stripped of leaves), 
• 0. Claytoniana, 
• and 0. regalis (the above four generally a long time withered, or say since the 20th); 
• also (5th), as soon, the exposed onoclea; 
• then (6th) the dicksonia, 
• (7th) Aspidium Noveboracense, 
• (8th) Thelypteris, 
• (9th) Filix-foemina (the last four now fully half faded or decayed or withered). 

Those not seen are Adiantum pedatum, Woodwardia Virginica, Asplenium thelypteroides, Woodsia Ilvensis, Aspidium cristatum, Lygodium palmatum, Botrychium Virginicum. 

Some acorns (swamp white oak) are browned on the trees, and some bass berries. Most shrub oak acorns browned. 

The wild rice is almost entirely fallen or eaten, apparently by some insect, but I see some green and also black grains left.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, September 30, 1859

The evergreen ferns have been growing more and more distinct amid the fading and decaying and withering ones. The terminal shield fern is one of the handsomest. See September 25, 1859 ("The terminal shield fern and the Aspidium spinulosum (?) are still fresh and green, the first as much so as the polypody."); October 23, 1857 ("The ferns which I can see on the bank, apparently all evergreens, are polypody at rock, marginal shield fern, terminal shield fern, and (I think it is) Aspidium spinulosum, which I had not identified. . . .The above-named evergreen ferns are so much the more conspicuous on that pale-brown ground. They stand out all at once and are seen to be evergreen; their character appears.”); October 28, 1858 ("I now begin to notice the evergreen ferns, when the others are all withered or fallen."); October 29, 1858 (“Evergreen ferns, suddenly emerge as from obscurity . . . how much they require this brown and withered carpet to be spread under them for effect. Now, too, the light is let in to show them.”); October 31, 1857 (“I see two kinds of ferns still green and much in fruit, apparently the Aspidium spinulosum (?) and cristatum (?) . . . In the summer you might not have noticed them. Now they are conspicuous amid the withered leaves.”); November 5, 1857 ("The terminal shield fern is the handsomest and glossiest green.")

Of the twenty-three ferns which I seem to know here, seven may be called evergreens. See 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).

The first one and the last two are particularly handsome, the last especially, it has so thick a frond.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Evergreen Ferns, Part One: Maidenhair and Ebony Spleenwort; A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The Evergreen Ferns, Part Two: Aspidium spinulosum  & Aspidium cristatum;  A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Evergreen Ferns, Part Three: Polypody, Marginal Shield Fern, Terminal Shield Fern

The wild rice is almost entirely fallen or eaten, but I see some green and also black grains left. See September 15, 1859 ("The grain of the wild rice is all green yet."); September 24, 1852 ("The zizania ripe, shining black, cylindrical kernels, five eighths of an inch long.")

Some acorns (swamp white oak) are browned on the trees, and some bass berries. Most shrub oak acorns browned.  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. The white oak ones are dark and the most glossy.") See also September 13, 1859 ("I see some shrub oak acorns turned dark on the bushes and showing their meridian lines, but generally acorns of all kinds are green yet. "); September 21, 1859 ("Acorns have been falling very sparingly ever since September 1, but are mostly wormy. They are as interesting now on the shrub oak (green) as ever."); September 26, 1854 ("Many swamp white oak acorns have turned brown on the trees."); September 28, 1858 ("The small shrub oak . . . with its pretty acorns striped dark and light alternately."); September 29, 1854 ("Bass berries dry and brown"); October 1, 1859 ("The shrub oaks on this hill are now at their height, both with respect to their tints and their fruit. The . . . pretty fruit, varying in size, pointedness, and downiness, being now generally turned brown, with light, converging meridional lines . . . Now is the time for shrub oak acorns.")

Evergreen ferns by 

contrast greener than ever

since the severe frost.

Fair Haven Pond completely frozen over during the last four days.

November 18. 

November 18, 2018

P. M. — To Conantum. 

Notice the short bright-yellow willow twigs on Hubbard’s Causeway. They are prominent now, first, because they are bare; second, because high-colored always and this rarity of bright colors at present; third, because of the clear air and November light. 

For the same reason I notice nowadays the red twigs of the silky cornel by the river. The black willow twigs are tawny in the mass, almost cinnamon. 

The fruitless enterprise of some persons who rush helter-skelter, carrying out their crazy scheme,—merely “putting it through,” as they phrase it, — reminds me of those thistle-downs which, not being detained nor steadied by any seed at the base, are blown away at the first impulse and go rolling over all obstacles. They may indeed go fastest and farthest, but where they rest at last not even a thistle springs. I meet these useless barren thistle-downs driving over the fields. They remind me of busy merchants and brokers on ’change doing business on credit, gambling with fancy stocks, that have failed over and over again, assisted to get a-going again to no purpose,—-a great ado about no thing, — all in my eye, — with nothing to deposit, not of the slightest use to the great thistle tribe, not even tempting a jackass. When you right or extricate one of these fellows and set him before the wind again, it is worth the while to look and see if he has any seed of success under him. Such a one you may know afar — he floats more slowly and steadily— and of his enterprise expect results. 

Am surprised to see Fair Haven Pond completely frozen over during the last four days. It will probably open again. Thus, while all the channel elsewhere is open and a mere edging of ice amid the weeds is seen, this great expansion is completely bridged over, thus early. 

Some mocker-nuts, and I think some hickories, on Conantum are not yet bare. Their withered leaves hold on almost like the oaks. Now is the time to gather the mocker-nuts. 

I go along under the east side of Lee’s Cliff, looking at the evergreen ferns. The marginal fern is the commonest. 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. 

I look south from the Cliff. The westering sun just out of sight behind the hill. Its rays from those bare twigs across the pond are bread and cheese to me. So many oak leaves have fallen that the white birch stems are more distinct amid the young oaks; I see to the bone. See those brave birches prepared to stand the Winter through on the hillsides. They never sing, “What’s this dull town to me?” 

The maples skirting the meadows (in dense phalanxes) look like light infantry advanced for a swamp fight. Ah, dear November, ye must be sacred to the Nine surely.

The early willow catkins already peep out a quarter of an inch. 

Early crowfoot is reddened at Lee’s.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, November 18, 1858

Notice the short bright-yellow willow twigs on Hubbard’s Causeway. Compare November 18, 1855 (“I do not detect any peculiar brightness whatever in the osiers on the Hubbard causeway; they are scarcely, if at all, brighter than the tops of the trees.”)

Am surprised to see Fair Haven Pond completely frozen over.  See November 21, 1852 ("I am surprised this afternoon to find . . . Fair Haven Pond one-third frozen or skimmed over, though commonly there is scarcely any ice to be observed along the shores."); November 23, 1852 (“I am surprised to see Fair Haven entirely skimmed over.”) December 5, 1853 (" Fair Haven Pond is skimmed completely over."); December 7, 1856 (" Take my first skate to Fair Haven Pond”)

Now is the time to gather the mocker-nuts. See November 7, 1853 (“I shook two mocker-nut trees; one just ready to drop its nuts, and most came out of the shells. But the other tree was not ready; only a part fell, and those mostly in the shells.”); November 19, 1858 ("I shook the trees. It is just the time to get them")

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 August 30, 1853 ("The dwarf spleenwort [maidenhair spleenwort] grows in the sharp angles of the rocks in the side of Lee's Cliff, its small fronds spreading in curved rays . . . The ebony spleenwort stands upright against the rocks.")

The early willow catkins already peep out a quarter of an inch. See February 19, 1857 (“Some willow catkins have crept a quarter of an inch from under their scales and look very red, probably on account of the warm weather.”); March 10, 1855 (“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”): March 20, 1858 (“How handsome the willow catkins! Those wonderfully bright silvery buttons, so regularly disposed in oval schools in the air, or, if you please, along the seams which their twigs make, in all degrees of forwardness, from the faintest, tiniest speck of silver, just peeping from beneath the black scales, to lusty pussies which have thrown off their scaly coats and show some redness at base on a close inspection.”)

How herbaceous and shrubby plants have suffered the past very mild but open winter.

April 6

April 6, 2018

A moist, foggy, and very slightly drizzly morning.

 It has been pretty foggy for several mornings. This makes the banks look suddenly greener, apparently making the green blades more prominent and more vividly green than before, prevailing over the withered ones.

P. M. – Ride to Lee’s Cliff and to Second Division Brook. 

It begins to grow cold about noon, after a week or more of generally warm and pleasant weather. 

They with whom I talk do not remember when the river was so low at this season. The top of the bathing-rock, above the island in the Main Branch, was more than a foot out of water on the 3d, and the river has been falling since.

On examining the buds of the elm at Helianthus Bank, I find it is not the slippery elm, and therefore I know but one. 

At Lee's Cliff I find no saxifrage in bloom above the rock, on account of the ground having been so exposed the past exceedingly mild winter, and no Ranunculus fascicularis anywhere there, but on a few small warm shelves under the rocks the saxifrage makes already a pretty white edging along the edge of the grass sod [?] on the rocks; has got up three or four inches, and may have been out four or five days. 

I also notice one columbine, which may bloom in a week if it is pleasant weather. 

The Ulmus Americana is apparently just out here, or possibly yesterday. The U. fulva not yet, of course. The large rusty blossom-buds of the last have been extensively eaten and mutilated, probably by birds, leaving on the branches which I examine mostly mere shells. 

I see, in [one] or two places in low ground, elder started half an inch, before any other shrub or tree. The Turritis stricta is four to six inches high.

 No mouse-ear there yet.

 I hear hylas in full blast 2.30 P. M.

 It is remarkable how much herbaceous and shrubby plants, some which are decidedly evergreen, have suffered the past very mild but open winter on account of the ground being bare. Accordingly the saxifrage and crowfoot are so backward, notwithstanding the warmth of the last ten days. Perhaps they want more moisture, too. 

The asplenium ferns of both species are very generally perfectly withered and shrivelled, and in exposed places on hills the checkerberry has not proved an evergreen, but is completely withered and a dead-leaf color. I do not remember when it has suffered so much. Such plants require to be covered with snow to protect them.

At Second Division, the Caltha palustris, half a dozen well out. The earliest may have been a day or two. 

The frost is but just coming out in cold wood-paths on the north sides of hills, which makes it very muddy, there only. 

Returned by the Dugan Desert and stopped at the mill there to get the aspen flowers. The very earliest aspens, such as grow in warm exposures on the south sides of hills or woods, have begun to be effete. Others are not yet out. 

Talked a moment with two little Irish (?) boys, eight or ten years old, that were playing in the brook by the mill. Saw one catch a minnow. I asked him if he used a hook. He said no, it was a “dully-chunk,” or some such word. “Dully what?” [I] asked. “Yes, dully,” said he, and he would not venture to repeat the whole word again. It was a small horsehair slip noose at the end of a willow stick four feet long. The horsehair was twisted two or three together. He passed this over the fish slowly and then jerked him out, the noose slipping and holding him. It seems they are sometimes made with wire to catch trout. I asked him to let me see the fish he had caught. It was a little pickerel five inches long, and appeared to me strange, being transversely barred, and reminded me of the Wrentham pond pickerel; but I could not re member surely whether this was the rule or the exception; but when I got home I found that this was the one which Storer does not name nor describe, but only had heard of. Is it not the brook pickerel? Asking what other fish he had caught, he said a pike. “That,” said I, “is a large pickerel.” He said it had “a long, long neb like a duck’s bill.” 

It rapidly grows cold and blustering.

April 6, 1858 (“The asplenium ferns of both species are very generally perfectly withered and shrivelled.”)

H. D. Thoreau, Journal  April 6, 1858

On a few small warm shelves under the rocks the saxifrage may have been out four or five days. See April 7, 1855 ("The saxifrage on the rocks will apparently open in two days; it shows some white. ");  April 10, 1855("As for the saxifrage, when I had given it up for to-day, having, after a long search in the warmest clefts and recesses, found only three or four buds which showed some white, I at length, on a still warmer shelf, found one flower partly expanded, and its common peduncle had shot up an inch."). See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,  Saxifrage in Spring (Saxifraga vernalis).

I also notice one columbine, which may bloom in a week if it is pleasant weather. .The Turritis stricta is four to six inches high. The saxifrage and crowfoot are so backward, notwithstanding the warmth of the last ten days.  See April 2, 1856 ("Cross Fair Haven Pond to Lee’s Cliff. The crowfoot and saxifrage seem remarkably backward; no growth as yet. . . .. The columbine, with its purple leaves, has grown five inches, and one is flower-budded, apparently nearer to flower than anything there. Turritis stricta very forward, four inches high.");  April 18, 1856 ("Common saxifrage and also early sedge I am surprised to find abundantly out—both—considering their backwardness April 2d. Both must have been out some, i. e. four or five, days half-way down the face of the ledge. Crowfoot, apparently two or three days. . . . Turritis stricta. Columbine, and already eaten by bees. Some with a hole in the side"); April 19, 1858 ("Viola ovata on bank above Lee's Cliff. Edith Emerson found them there yesterday; also columbines and the early potentilla April 13th !!!")

At Second Division, the Caltha palustris, half a dozen well out. See March 30, 1856 ("[I]n this warm recess at the head of the meadow, though the rest of the meadow is covered with snow a foot or more in depth, I am surprised to see . . . the Caltha palustris bud, which shows yellowish; and the golden saxifrage, green and abundant")

The very earliest aspens have begun to be effete. Others are not yet out. See April 9, 1856 ("Early aspen catkins have curved downward an inch, and began to shed pollen apparently yesterday.”). See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Aspens

This was the one which Storer does not name nor describe, but only had heard of. Is it not the brook pickerel? See May 27, 1858 ("De Kay describes the Esox fasciatus, which is apparently mine of May 11th."); February 23, 1859 ("I see, just caught in the pond, a brook pickerel which, though it has no transverse bars, but a much finer and slighter reticulation than the common, is very distinct from it in the length and form of the snout. This is much shorter and broader as you look down on it.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Pickerel

April 6, 2018

At the eleventh hour, late in the year, we have visions of the life we might have lived.

October 28. 

October 28, 2017

P. M. — To Conantum. 

To-day it does not rain, but is cloudy all the day. 

Large oak leaves have been falling for a week at least, but the oaks are not yet reduced to their winter state. 

On the causeway I see fox-colored sparrows flitting along in the willows and alders, uttering a faint cheep, and tree sparrows with them. 

On a black willow, a single grackle with the bright irls. (I doubt if some of the brown-headed blackbirds I have seen within three weeks were grackles.) 

As I sat at the wall-corner, high on Conantum, the sky generally covered with continuous cheerless-looking slate-colored clouds, except in the west, I saw, through the hollows of the clouds, here and there the blue appearing. 

All at once a low-slanted glade of sunlight from one of heaven’s west windows behind me fell on the bare gray maples, lighting them up with an incredibly intense and pure white light; then, going out there, it lit up some white birch stems south of the pond, then the gray rocks and the pale reddish young oaks of the lower cliffs, and then the very pale brown meadow-grass, and at last the brilliant white breasts of two ducks, tossing on the agitated surface far off on the pond, which I had not detected before. 

It was but a transient ray, and there was no sunshine afterward, but the intensity of the light was surprising and impressive, like a halo, a glory in which only the just deserved to live. 

It was as if the air, purified by the long storm, reflected these few rays from side to side with a complete illumination, like a perfectly polished mirror, while the effect was greatly enhanced by the contrast with the dull dark clouds and sombre earth. As if Nature did not dare at once to let in the full blaze of the sun to this combustible atmosphere. 

It was a serene, elysian light, in which the deeds I have dreamed of but not realized might have been performed. 

At the eleventh hour, late in the year, we have visions of the life we might have lived. 

No perfectly fair weather ever offered such an arena for noble acts. It was such a light as we behold but dwell not in! In each case, every recess was filled and lit up with this pure white light. The maples were Potter’s, far down stream, but I dreamed I walked like a liberated spirit in their maze. The withered meadow-grass was as soft and glorious as paradise. And then it was remarkable that the light-giver should have revealed to me, for all life, the heaving white breasts of those two ducks within this glade of light. It was extinguished and relit as it travelled. 

Tell me precisely the value and significance of these transient gleams which come sometimes at the end of the day, before the close of the storm, final dispersion of the clouds, too late to be of any service to the works of man for the day, and notwithstanding the whole night after may be overcast! Is not this a language to be heard and understood? 

There is, in the brown and gray earth and rocks, and the withered leaves and bare twigs at this season, a purity more correspondent to the light itself than summer offers. 

These two ducks, as near as I could see with my glass, were all dark above, back and wings, but had bright white breasts and necks. They were swimming and tacking about in the midst of the pond, with their heads half the time plunged beneath the surface. Were they grebes? or young sheldrakes? Even at this distance they warily withdraw still further off till I am gone. 

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. 

I look up and see a male marsh hawk with his clean cut wings, that has just skimmed past above my head, – not at all disturbed, only tilting his body a little, now twenty rods off, with demi-semi-quaver of his wings. He is a very neat flyer. 

Again, I hear the scream of a hen-hawk, soaring and circling onward. I do not often see the marsh hawk thus. What a regular figure this fellow makes on high, with his broad tail and broad wings! Does he perceive me, that he rises higher and circles to one side? He goes round now one full circle without a flap, tilting his wing a little; then flaps three or four times and rises higher. Now he comes on like a billow, screaming. 

Steady as a planet in its orbit, with his head bent down, but on second thought that small sprout-land seems worthy of a longer scrutiny, and he gives one circle backward over it. His scream is somewhat like the whinnering of a horse, if it is not rather a split squeal. It is a hoarse, tremulous breathing forth of his winged energy. But why is it so regularly repeated at that height? Is it to scare his prey, that he may see by its motion where it is, or to inform its mate or companion of its where about? 

Now he crosses the at present broad river steadily, deserving to have one or two rabbits at least to swing about him. What majesty there is in this small bird's flight! The hawks are large-souled. 

Those late grapes on Blackberry Steep are now as ripe as ever they will be. They are sweet and shrivelled but on the whole poor. They ripen there the latter part of October. 

The white pine needles on the ground are already turned considerably redder. The pitch pines, which are yellower than the white when they fall, are three quarters fallen. I see some which look exactly like bamboo, very prettily barred with brown every tenth of an inch or so. 

Going up the cliffy hillside, just north of the witch hazel, I see a vigorous young apple tree, which, planted by birds or cows, has shot up amid the rocks and woods, and has much fruit on it and more beneath it, unin jured by the frosts, now when all other fruits are gathered. It is of a rank, wild growth, with many green leaves on it still, and makes an impression, at least, of thorni ness. The fruit is hard and green, but looks like palatable winter fruit; some dangling on the twigs, but more half buried in the wet leaves, or rolled far down the hill amid the rocks. The owner, Lee, knows no thing of it. There is no hand to pluck its fruit; it is only gnawed by squirrels, I perceive. It has done double duty, – not only borne this crop, but each twig has grown a foot into the air. And this is such a fruit! Bigger than many berries, and carried home will be sound and palatable, perchance, next spring. Who knows but this chance wild fruit may be equal to those kinds which the Romans and the English have so prized, – may yet become the favorite of the nations? When I go by this shrub, thus late and hardy, and its dangling fruit strikes me, I respect the tree and am grateful for Nature's bounty. 

Even the sourest and crabbedest apple, growing in the most unfavorable position, suggests such thoughts as these, it [is] so noble a fruit. Planted by a bird on a wild and rocky hillside, it bears a fruit, perchance, which foreign potentates shall hear of and send for, though the virtues of the owner of the soil may never be heard of beyond the limits of his village. It may be the choicest fruit of its kind. Every wild apple shrub excites our expectation thus. It is a prince in disguise, perhaps.” 

There is, apparently, limestone just above this apple tree.

I see pignuts which squirrels have industriously gnawed, the thick rind closely adhering, so that at last they are left brown and very rough; but in no case is the shell cut quite through, for, as I find, they con tain no meat, but, under a shell of double thickness, a mere dry brown skin, and it seems the squirrels knew this!

Is that small fern (still partly green) Aspidium cristatum, at Lee's Cliff, northwest of the witch hazel? 

Suppose I see a single green apple, brought to perfection on some thorny shrub, far in a wild pasture where no cow has plucked it. It is an agreeable surprise. What chemistry has been at work there? It affects me somewhat like a work of art. 

I see some shrubs which cattle have browsed for twenty years, keeping them down and compelling them to spread, until at last they are so broad they become their own fence and some interior shoot darts upward and bears its fruit! 

What a lesson to man! So are human beings, referred to the highest standard, the celestial fruit which they suggest and aspire to bear, browsed on by fate, and only the most persistent and strongest genius prevails, defends itself, sends a tender scion upward at last, and drops its perfect fruit on the ungrateful earth; and that fruit, though somewhat smaller, perchance, is essentially the same in flavor and quality as if it had grown in a garden. 

That fruit seems all the sweeter and more palatable even for the very difficulties it has contended with. 

Here, on this rugged and woody hillside, has grown an apple tree, not planted by man, no relic of a former orchard, but a natural growth like the pines and oaks. Most fruits we prize and use depend entirely on our care. Corn and grain, potatoes, peaches (here), and melons, etc., depend altogether on our planting, but the apple emulates man's independence and enterprise. 

Like him to some extent, it has migrated to this new world and is ever here and there making its way amid the aboriginal trees. It accompanies man like the ox and dog and horse, which also sometimes run wild and maintain themselves. 

Spite of wandering kine and other adverse circumstance, that scorned shrub, valued only by small birds as a covert, a shelter from hawks, has its blossom week, and in course its harvest, sincere, though small. 

’T was thirty years ago,  

In a rocky pasture field  

Sprang an infant apple grove  

Unplanted and concealed.  

I sing the wild apple, theme enough for me.  

I love the racy fruit and I reverence the tree. 

In that small family there was one that loved the sun, which sent its root down deep and took fast hold on life, while the others went to sleep.    

In two years’ time ’t had thus 

Reached the level of the rocks, 

Admired the stretching world, 

Nor feared the wandering flocks.  

But at this tender age  

Its sufferings began:  

There came a browsing ox 

And cut it down a span.  

Its heart did bleed all day, 

And when the birds were hushed, –

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

At the eleventh hour, late in the year, we have visions of the life we might have lived. See August 18, 1853 (“What means this sense of lateness that so comes over one now? — now is the season of fruits; but where is our fruit? The year is full of warnings of its shortness, as is life.”); April 24, 1859 ("There is a season for everything. Let the season rule us. . . .There is no other life but this, or the like of this. Nothing must be postponed. Launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment. Live in the present. On any other course life is a succession of regrets.”)

All at once a low-slanted glade of sunlight . . .lighting them up with an incredibly intense and pure white light. See October 28, 1852 (“Suddenly the light of the setting sun yellows and warms all the landscape.”) See also August 28, 1860 (" Just before setting, the sun comes out into a clear space in the horizon and a sudden blaze of light falls on east end of the pond and the hillside. At this angle a double amount of bright sunlight reflects from the water up to the underside of the still very fresh green leaves of the bushes and trees on the shore and on Pine Hill, revealing the most vivid and varied shades of green."); November 22, 1851 ("The light of the setting sun, just emerged from a cloud and suddenly falling on and lighting up the needles of the white pine. . . .After a cold gray day this cheering light almost warms us by its resemblance to fire.")

I hear the scream of a hen-hawk, soaring and circling onward.. . It is a hoarse, tremulous breathing forth of his winged energy. But why is it so regularly repeated at that height? See March 2, 1855 ("Hear two hawks scream. There is something truly March-like in it, like a prolonged blast or whistling of the wind  through a crevice in the sky. . .”); March 6, 1858 ("I see the first hen-hawk, or hawk of any kind, methinks, since the beginning of winter. Its scream, even, is inspiring as the voice of a spring bird.") April 30, 1855 (“I hear from far the scream of a hawk circling over the Holden woods and swamp. This accounts for those two men with guns just entering it. What a dry, shrill, angry scream! . . . It must have a nest there.”); May 7, 1855 (“In the meanwhile, the crows are making a great cawing amid and over the pine-tops beyond the swamp, and at intervals I hear the scream of a hawk, . . . whom they were pestering”); June 8, 1853 (“I hear a hawk scream, and, looking up, see, a pretty large one circling not far off and incessantly screaming, as I at first suppose to scare and so discover its prey, but its screaming is so incessant and it circles from time to time so near me, as I move southward, that I begin to think it has a nest near by and is angry at my intrusion into its domains. As I move, the bird still follows and screams, coming sometimes quite near. . . At length I detect the nest . . .”); July 31, 1856 (“Near Well Meadow, hear the distant scream of a hawk, apparently anxious about her young, . . .This a sound of the season when they probably are taking their first (?) flights.”);  September 14, 1855 (“I scare from an oak by the side of the Close a young hen-hawk, which, launching off with a scream and a heavy flight, alights on the topmost plume of a large pitch pine. . .”)

Those late grapes on Blackberry Steep are now as ripe as ever they will be. See October 18, 1857 (“I find an abundance of those small, densely clustered grapes, – not the smallest quite, – still quite fresh . . . These are not yet ripe and may fairly be called frost grapes. Half-way up Blackberry Steep, above the rock.”); November 2, 1852 (“About the 10th of November, I first noticed long bunches of very small dark-purple or black grapes fallen on the dry leaves in the ravine east of Spring's house. . . .they had a very agreeably spicy acid taste, evidently not acquired till after the frosts. I thought them quite a discovery and ate many from day to day, . . . It is a true frost grape, but apparently answers to Vitis aestivates”); September 29, 1856 (“I am late for grapes; most have fallen. The fruit of what I have called Vitis aestivalis has partly fallen. . . . . Should not this be called frost grape,”)

I see some shrubs which cattle have browsed for twenty years, keeping them down and compelling them to spread, until at last they are so broad they become their own fence and some interior shoot darts upward and bears its fruit. See May 22, 1853 ("The pastures on this hill and its spurs are sprinkled profusely with thorny pyramidal apple scrubs, very thick and stubborn, first planted by the cows, then browsed by them and kept down stubborn and thorny for years, till, as they spread, their centre is protected and beyond reach and shoots up into a tree")

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. ")

Methinks it stands thus with goldenrods and asters now.

September 24. 

P. M. — To Saw Mill Brook. 

Not a sign of an artichoke flower yet below Moore's! May they not be earlier elsewhere? 

At brook, cohush and arum berries still fresh, and Viburnum acerifolium berries. 

Apparently Asplenium Thelypteroides, a large fern, its under side covered with linear fruit. 

Methinks it stands thus with goldenrods and asters now:

Early S. stricia, done some time.
Swamp "   " probably past prime.
My S. gigantea (?), probably done.
S. nemoralis, about done.
S. altissima, much past prime.
S. odora, not seen but probably done.
S. puberula, say in good condition, or in prime.

S. bicolor and var. concolor, in prime.
S. lanceolata, say done.
S. lalifolia, in prime.
S. casta, in prime.
S. speciosa (none the 15th).

Early meadow aster, say done long time.

Diplopappus cornifolius, not seen of late.
D. umbellatus, still abundant.
A. patens, some still fresh but not common.
A. macrophyllus, not observed of late.
A. acuminatum, not observed at all in C.
A. Radula, probably about done, not seen of late.
A. dumosus, considerably past prime. D. linariifolius, in prime, abundant.
A. undulatus, in prime, abundant.
A. corymbosus, still fresh though probably past prime.
A. laevis, probably still in prime.
A. Tradescanli, in prime.
A. puniceus, still in prime (??).
A. hngifolius, in prime.
A. multiflorus, in prime.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, September 24, 1856 

Not a sign of an artichoke flower yet . . . See October 5, 1860 ("The frosts have this year killed all of Stow's artichokes before one of them had blossomed, but those in Alcott's garden had bloomed probably a fortnight ago.”)

Cohush and arum berries still fresh, and Viburnum acerifolium berries . . . See September 1, 1856 ("Cohush berries appear now to be in their prime, and arum berries”); September 3, 1853 ("Now is the season for those comparatively rare but beautiful wild berries which are not food for man. . . .”)

Goldenrods and asters. See September 1, 1856  ("I think it stands about thus with asters and golden- rods now. . .”); August 21, 1856 ("The prevailing solidagos now are, 1st, stricta (the upland and also meadow one which I seem to have called puberula); 2d, the three-ribbed, of apparently several varieties, which I have called arguta or gigantea (apparently truly the last); 3d, altissima, though commonly only a part of its panicles; 4th, nemoralis, just beginning generally to bloom.Then there is the odora, 5th, out some time, but not common; and, 6th, the bicolor, just begun in some places. The commonest asters now are, 1st, the Radula; 2d, dumosus; 3d, patens; 4th, say puniceus; 5th, cordtfolius; 6th, macrophyllus; (these two a good while); 7th, say Tradescanti ; 8th, miser; 9th, longifolius ; (these three quite rare yet); 10th, probably acuminatus, some time (not seen); 11th, undulatus ; 12th, loevis; (these two scarcely to be seen yet). “)