Showing posts with label goldfinch. Show all posts
Showing posts with label goldfinch. Show all posts

Monday, August 16, 2021

A Book of the Seasons: August 16 (locust days, botanizing and birding mid-August the note of the wood pewee at sunset)

 



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



Two men in a boat.
  Upside down reflection, their
 shadow on water.
August 16, 1854

Am surprised to find 
cassia so obvious 
and so abundant. 

And the spearmint
so intoxicates me that
I am bewildered.

By the discovery of one new plant 
all bounds seem to be infinitely removed. 

A blue heron with 
its great undulating wings
 and leisurely flight.
 August 16, 1858


August 16, 2020

These are locust days. August 16, 1852

I hear them on the elms in the street, but cannot tell where they are. August 16, 1852

Loud is their song, drowning many others, but men appear not to distinguish it, though it pervades their ears as the dust their eyes. August 16, 1852

Hear it raining again early when I awake, as it did yesterday, still and steady, as if the season were troubled with a diabetes. August 16, 1858

River about ten and a half inches above summer level. August 16, 1860

Raise the river two feet above summer level and let it be running off, and you can hardly swim against it. August 16, 1856

It has fallen about fifteen inches from the height. August 16, 1856

The river is exceedingly fair this afternoon, and there are few handsomer reaches than that by the leaning oak, the deep place, where the willows make a perfect shore. August 16, 1852

By the leaning oak,
the deep place where the willows
make a perfect shore.

According to [Minott], the Holt is at the “diving ash,” where is some of the deepest water in the river. August 16, 1858
)


A three-ribbed goldenrod on railroad causeway, two to three feet high, abundantly out before Solidago nemoralis. August 16, 1858

Desmodium paniculatum in the wood-path northeast of Flint's Pond.August 16, 1853

Its flowers turn blue-green in drying. August 16, 1853

Apparently the Canada plum began to be ripe about the 10th. August 16, 1860

 Hyriophyllam ainbiguum, apparently var. larnosain, except that it is not nearly lindar-leafed but pectinate, well out how long? August 16, 1857

Thalictrum Comuti is now generally done. August 16, 1858

Galeopsis tetrahit, common hemp-nettle, in roadside by Keyes's. How long? Flower like hedge-nettle. August 16, 1852

Apios tuberosa, ground-nut, a day or two. August 16, 1852

I must look for the rudbeckia which Bradford says he found yesterday behind Joe Clark's. August 16, 1852

Agrinzonia Eupatoria, small-flowered (yellow) plant with hispid fruit, two or three feet high, Turnpike, at Tuttle's peat meadow.   August 16, 1851

The Polygonum orientale, probably some days, by Turnpike Bridge, a very rich rose-color large flowers, distinguished by its salver-shaped upper sheaths. August 16, 1853

It is a color as rich, I think, as that of the cardinal-flower. August 16, 1853

The hardhack commonly grows in low meadow-pastures which are uneven with grassy clods or hummocks, such as the almshouse pasture by Cardinal Ditch. August 16, 1858

I am surprised to find that where of late years there have been so many cardinal-flowers, there are now very few. August 16, 1858

So much does a plant fluctuate from season to season. August 16, 1858

Here I found nearly white ones once. August 16, 1858

White morning-glory up the Assabet. August 16, 1856

Almost all flowers and animals may be found white. August 16, 1858

Channing tells me that he saw a white bobolink in a large flock of them to-day. August 16, 1858

As in a large number of cardinal-flowers you may find a white one, so in a large flock of bobolinks, also, it seems, you may find a white one. August 16, 1858 

Hemp (Cannabis sativa), said by Gray to have been introduced; not named by Bigelow. Is it not a native? August 16, 1851

[Minott] used to love to hear the goldfinches sing on the hemp which grew near his gate. August 16, 1858 

I hear these birds on my way thither, between two and three o’clock:
  • goldfinches twitter over;
  • the song sparrow sings several times;
  •  hear a low warble from bluebirds, with apparently their young,
  • the link of many bobolinks (and see large flocks on the fences and weeds; they are largish-looking birds with yellow throats);
  • a large flock of red-wings goes tchucking over;
  • a lark twitters;
  • crows caw;
  • a robin peeps;
  • kingbirds twitter, as ever. August 16, 1858
 Started a woodcock in the woods. August 16, 1853

Also saw a large telltale, I think yellow-shanks, whose note I at first mistook for a jay's, giving the alarm to some partridges. August 16, 1853

In my boating of late I have several times scared up a couple of summer ducks of this year, bred in our meadows. August 16, 1858

They allowed me to come quite near, and helped to people the-river. August 16, 1858

I have not seen them for some days. August 16, 1858

August 16, 2017

Goodwin shot them, and Mrs., who never sailed on the river, ate them. August 16, 1858

Of course, she knows not what she did. August 16, 1858

What if I should eat her canary? Thus we share each other’s sins as well as burdens.

The lady who watches admiringly the matador shares his deed. August 16, 1858

They belonged to me, as much as to any one, when they were alive, but it was considered of more importance that Mrs. should taste the flavor of them dead than that I should enjoy the beauty of them alive. August 16, 1858


Talked with Minott, who sits in his wood-shed, having, as I notice, several seats there for visitors, —one a block on the sawhorse, another a patchwork mat on a wheelbarrow, etc., etc. August 16, 1858

His half-grown chickens, which roost overhead, perch on his shoulder or knee. August 16, 1858

He tells me some of his hunting stories again. August 16, 1858

He always lays a good deal of stress on the kind of gun he used, as if he had bought a new one every year, when probably he never had more than two or three in his life. August 16, 1858

In this case it was a “half-stocked” one, a little “cocking-piece,” and whenever he finished his game he used the word “gavel,” I think in this way, “gave him gavel,” i. e. made him bite the dust, or settled him. August 16, 1858

Speaking of foxes, he said: “As soon as the nights get to be cool, if you step outdoors at nine or ten o’clock when all is still, you’ll hear them bark out on the flat behind the houses, half a mile off, or sometimes whistle through their noses. August 16, 1858. 
 

I find the dog's-bane (Apocynum androsoemifolium) bark not the nearly so strong as that of the A. cannabinum. August 16, 1856

Amaranthus hypochondriacus, how long? August 16, 1856

Myriophyllum ambiguum, apparently var. limosum, except that it is not nearly linear-leafed but pectinate, well out how long? August 16, 1857

Diplopappus linariifolius, apparently several days. August 16, 1856

Ambrosia pollen now begins to yellow my clothes. August 16, 1856

Chenopodium hybridum, a tall rank weed, five feet at least, dark-green, with a heavy (poisonous?) odor compared to that of stramonium; great maple(?)- shaped leaves. August 16, 1856

How deadly this peculiar heavy odor! August 16, 1856

Cynoglossum officinale, a long time, mostly gone to seed, at Bull's Path and north roadside below Leppleman's. August 16, 1856

Its great radical leaves made me think of smooth mullein. August 16, 1856

The flower has a very peculiar, rather sickening odor; Sophia thought like a warm apple pie just from the oven (I did not perceive this). August 16, 1856

A pretty flower, however. August 16, 1856

I thoughtlessly put a handful of the nutlets into my pocket with my handkerchief. August 16, 1856

But it took me a long time to pick them out my handkerchief when I got home, and I pulled out many threads in the process. August 16, 1856

At roadside opposite Leighton's, just this side his barn, Monarda fistulosa, wild bergamot, nearly done, with terminal whorls and fragrance mixed of balm and summer savory. August 16, 1856

The petioles are not ciliated like those on Strawberry Hill road. August 16, 1856

Am surprised to find the cassia so obvious and abundant. August 16, 1856

Can see it yellowing the field twenty-five rods off, from top of hill. August 16, 1856

It is perhaps the prevailing shrub over several acres of moist rocky meadow pasture on the brook; grows in bunches, three to five feet high (from the ground this year), in the neighborhood of alders, hardhack, elecampane, etc. August 16, 1856

The lower flowers are turning white and going to seed, — pods already three inches long, — a few upper not yet opened. August 16, 1856

It resounds with the hum of bumblebees. August 16, 1856

It is branched above, some of the half-naked (of leaves) racemes twenty inches long by five or six wide. August 16, 1856

Leaves alternate, of six or eight pairs of leafets and often an odd one at base, locust-like. August 16, 1856

Looked as if they had shut up in the night. August 16, 1856

Mrs. Pratt says they do. August 16, 1856

E. Hoar says she has known it here since she was a child. August 16, 1856

Some elecampane with the cassia is six feet high, and blades of lower leaves twenty inches by seven or nine. August 16, 1856

The cynoglossum by roadside opposite, and, by side of tan-yard, the apparently true Mentha viridis, or spearmint, growing very rankly in a dense bed, some four feet high, spikes rather dense, one to one and a half inches long, stem often reddish, leaves nearly sessile. Say August 1st at least. August 16, 1856

What a variety of old garden herbs — mints, etc. — are naturalized along an old settled road, like this to Boston which the British travelled! And then there is the site, apparently, of an old garden by the tan-yard, where the spearmint grows so rankly. August 16, 1856

I am intoxicated with the fragrance. August 16, 1856

All the roadside is the site of an old garden where fragrant herbs have become naturalized, — hounds-tongue, bergamot, spearmint, elecampane, etc. August 16, 1856

I see even the tiger lily, with its bulbs, growing by the roadside far from houses (near Leighton's graveyard). August 16, 1856

Though I find only one new plant (the cassia), yet old acquaintances grow so rankly, and the spearmint intoxicates me so, that I am bewildered, as it were by a variety of new things. August 16, 1856

An infinite novelty. August 16, 1856

I think I have found many new plants, and am surprised when I can reckon but one. August 16, 1856

A little distance from my ordinary walk and a little variety in the growth or luxuriance will produce this illusion. August 16, 1856

By the discovery of one new plant all bounds seem to be infinitely removed. August 16, 1856

I find more and other plants than I counted on. August 16, 1856

Amphicarpaea some time; pods seven eighths of an inch long. August 16, 1856

Mimvlus ringens four feet high, and chelone six feet high! August 16, 1856

Am frequently surprised to find how imperfectly water-plants are known. August 16, 1856

Even good shore botanists are out of their element on the water. August 16, 1856

I would suggest to young botanists to get not only a botany-box but a boat, and know the water-plants not so much from the shore as from the water side. August 16, 1856

Know the water-plants 
not so much from the shore as 
from the water side. 
August 16, 1856

Minott says that the meadow-grass will be good for nothing after the late overflow, when it goes down.

The water has steamed the grass. August 16, 1856

I see the rue all turned yellow by it prematurely. August 16, 1856


Down river in boat with George Bradford. August 16, 1852. 

With Russell to Fair Haven by boat. August 16, 1854

At the steam mill sand-bank is the distinct shadow of our shadows, — first on the water, then the double one on the bank bottom to bottom, one being upside down, — three in all, — one on water, two on land or bushes. August 16, 1854

At steam-mill sand-bank
the shadow of our shadows –
one is upside down.


Bathing at Merrick's old place, am surprised to find how swift the current. August 16, 1856

Goodwin has come again to fish, with three poles, hoping to catch some more of those large eels. August 16, 1858

A blue heron, with its great undulating wings, prominent cutwater, and leisurely flight, goes over southwest, cutting off the bend of the river west of our house. August 16, 1858. 

Goodwin says he saw one two or three days ago, and also that he saw some black ducks. August 16, 1858

A muskrat is swimming up the stream, betrayed by two long diverging ripples, or ripple-lines, two or three rods long each, and inclosing about seventy-five degrees, methinks. August 16, 1858.  

The rat generally dives just before reaching the shore and is not seen again, probably entering some burrow in the bank. August 16, 1858

Am surprised to see that the snapping turtle which I found floating dead June 16th, and placed to rot in the cleft of a rock, has been all cleaned, so that there is no smell of carrion. August 16, 1858

The scales have nearly all fallen off, and the sternum fallen apart, and the bony frame of the back is loose and dropping to pieces, as if it were many years old. August 16, 1858

It is a wonderful piece of dovetailing, the ends of the ribs (which are narrow and rib-like) set into sockets in the middle of the marginal bones, whose joints are in each case between the ribs. August 16, 1858

There are many large fish-bones within the shell. August 16, 1858

Was it killed by the fish it swallowed? The bones not being dispersed, I suppose it was cleaned by insects. August 16, 1858

Very bad weather of late for pressing plants. August 16, 1856

My plants in press are in a sad condition; mildew has invaded them during the late damp weather, even those that were nearly dry. August 16, 1856

Give me the dry heat of July. August 16, 1856

Even growing leaves out of doors are spotted with fungi now, much more than mine in press. August 16, 1856

Yesterday also in the Marlborough woods, perceived everywhere that offensive mustiness of decaying fungi. August 16, 1853

How earthy old people become, — mouldy as the grave! Their wisdom smacks of the earth.

There is no foretaste of immortality in it. August 16, 1853

They remind me of earthworms and mole crickets. August 16, 1853

I notice that when a frog, a Rana halecina, jumps, it drops water at the same instant, as a turtle often when touched as she is preparing to lay. August 16, 1858

I see many frogs jump from the side of the railroad causeway toward the ditch at its base, and each drops some water. August 16, 1858

They apparently have this supply of water with them in warm and dry weather, at least when they leave the water, and, returning to it, leave it behind as of no further use. August 16, 1858

At sunset paddled to Hill. August 16, 1858

At sunset, the glow being confined to the north, it tinges the rails on the causeway lake-color, but behind they are a dead dark blue. August 16, 1852

At sunset I hear a low short warble from a golden robin, and the notes of the wood pewee. August 16, 1858.

August 16, 2014

 A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau:


*****

April 29, 1854 ("Off the Cliffs, I meet a blue heron flying slowly down stream. He flaps slowly and heavily, his long, level, straight and sharp bill projecting forward, then his keel-like neck doubled up, and finally his legs thrust out straight behind.");
May 31, 1853 ("The fact that a rare and beautiful flower which we never saw. . . may be found in our immediate neighborhood, is very suggestive. . . The boundaries of the actual are no more fixed and rigid than the elasticity of our imaginations")
July 11, 1857 ("Apocynum cannabinum, with its small white flowers and narrow sepals")
July 28, 1859 ("The sweet and plaintive note of the pewee is now prominent, since most other birds are more hushed. I hear young families of them answering each other from a considerable distance, especially about the river.");
July 29, 1859 ("The water milfoil (the ambiguum var. nutans), otherwise not seen, shows itself. This is observed only at lowest water.")
July 30, 1856 (“Rudbeckia laciniata, perhaps a week.”)
August 1, 1857 ("Small Apocynum cannabinum on the rocks .")
August 5, 1856 ("At the Assabet stone bridge, apparently freshly in flower, . . . apparently the Apocynum cannabinum var. hypericifolium (?).”)
August 6, 1858 (“The note of the wood pewee is now more prominent, while birds generally are silent.
 August 8, 1852 ("No man ever makes a discovery, even an observation of the least importance, but he is advertised of the fact by a joy that surprises him")
August 9, 1856 ("Again I am surprised to see the Apocynum cannabinum close to the rock at the Island.")
August 9, 1856 ("The notes of the wood pewee and warbling vireo are more prominent of late, and of the goldfinch twittering over.”)
August 10, 1854 ("The tinkling notes of goldfinches and bobolinks which we hear nowadays are of one character and peculiar to the season. ")
August 11, 1856 ("Mr. Bradford . . .gives me a sprig of Cassia Marilandica,wild senna, found by Minot Pratt just below Leighton's by the road side.")
August12, 1858 (". It is surprising how young birds, especially sparrows of all kinds, abound now, and bobolinks and wood pewees and kingbirds")
August 12, 1858 ("The note of the wood pewee is a prominent and common one now. You see old and young together.")
August 12, 1853 ("See the blue herons opposite Fair Haven Hill, as if they had bred here")
August 12, 1854 (" I see goldfinches nowadays on the lanceolate thistles, apparently after the seeds")
 August 13, 1854 (" I see where the pasture thistles have apparently been picked to pieces (for their seeds? by the goldfinch?), and the seedless down strews the ground"")
August 14, 1858 (" The Canada thistle down is now begun to fly, and I see the goldfinch upon it. ")
 August 14, 1858 ("The goldfinch, a prevailing note, with variations into a fine song. . . . The more characteristic notes would appear to be the wood pewee’s and the goldfinch’s, ")
August 14, 1858 ("The wood pewee, with its young, peculiarly common and prominent. . . These might be called the pewee-days.")
August 14,1859 ("If you would know the depth of the water on these few shoalest places of Musketaquid, ask the blue heron that wades and fishes there")
August 14, 1853 ("there are countless great fungi of various forms and colors, the produce of the warm rains and muggy weather . . . and for most of my walk the air is tainted with a musty, carrion like odor, in some places very offensive")
August 14, 1853 (" I hear no wood thrushes for a week. The pea-wai still, and sometimes the golden robin.") 
August 14,1859("A blue heron standing in very shallow water amid the weeds of the bar and pluming itself.")
August 15, 1854 ("On the top of the Hill I see the goldfinch eating the seeds of the Canada thistle. I rarely approach a bed of them or other thistles nowadays but I hear the cool twitter of the goldfinch about it")
August 15, 1854 ("I rarely approach a bed . . . thistles nowadays but I hear the cool twitter of the goldfinch about it.")
August 15, 1852 ("See a blue heron on the meadow.")
August 15, 1852 ("That clear ring like an alder locust (is it a cricket ?) for some time past is a sound which belongs to the season.")
August 15, 1852 ("I see a dense, compact flock of bobolinks going off in the air over a field. They cover the rails and alders, and go rustling off with a brassy, tinkling note as I approach, revealing their yellow breasts and bellies.")
August 15, 1852 ("I see large flocks of bobolinks on the Union Turnpike
August 15, 1854 (" I see a dense, compact flock of bobolinks going off in the air over a field. They cover the rails and alders, and go rustling off with a brassy, tinkling note as I approach, revealing their yellow breasts and bellies. This is an autumnal sight, that small flock of grown birds in the afternoon sky.")
August 15, 1860 ("See a blue heron.")

August 17, 1851("I see a goldfinch go twittering through the still, louring day, and am reminded of the peeping flocks which will soon herald the thoughtful season.")
August 18, 1852 ("Rudbeckia laciniata, sunflower-like tall cone-flower, behind Joe Clark's.")
August 18, 1854 ("The bobolinks alight on the wool-grass.")
August 18, 1858 (“Almost every bush along this brook is now alive with these birds.”)
August 18, 1856 ("I hear the steady (not intermittent) shrilling of apparently the alder cricket, clear, loud, and autumnal, a season sound. Hear it, but see it not. It reminds me of past autumns and the lapse of time, suggests a pleasing, thoughtful melancholy, like the sound of the flail. Such preparation, such an outfit has our life, and so little brought to pass! ")
August 18, 1860 ("The note of the wood pewee sounds prominent of late.")
August 18, 1858 (“One appeared to answer the other, and sometimes they both sung together, — even as if the old were teaching her young. It was not the usual spring note of this bird, but a simple, clear pe-e-eet, rising steadily with one impulse to the end.”)
August 18, 1854 ("The bobolinks alight on the wool-grass. Do they eat its seeds? ")
August 18, 1858 (" Miss Caroline Pratt saw the white bobolink yesterday where Channng saw it the day before, in the midst of a large flock. I go by the place this afternoon and see very large flocks of them, certainly several hundreds in all, and one has a little white on his back, but I do not see the white one. ")
 August 19, 1853 ("Flocks of bobolinks go tinkling along about the low willows, and swallows twitter, and a kingbird hovers almost stationary in the air, a foot above the water. "")
August 19, 1858 ("The blue heron has within a week reappeared in our meadows. ")
August 20, 1854 ("Saw a wood pewee . . .It often utters a continuous pe-e-e.")
August 20, 1854 ("5.15 a. m. — To Hill. I hear a gold robin, also faint song of common robin. Wood pewee (fresh); red-wing blackbird with fragmentary trill; bobolinks (the males apparently darker and by themselves); kingbirds; nuthatch heard; yellow-throated vireo, heard and saw, on hickories (have I lately mistaken this for red-eye ?); goldfinch; slate- colored hawk (with white rump and black wing-tips)")
August 22, 1853 ("Surprised to hear a very faint bobolink in the air; the link, link, once or twice later.")
August 21, 1853 ("Methinks I have not heard a robin sing morning or evening of late, but the peawai still ")
August 22, 1858 ("See one or two blue herons every day now")
August 22, 1853 ("Hear a peawai whose note is more like singing — as if it were still incubating — than any other.")
August 25, 1852 ("I hear no birds sing these days, only . . . the mew of a catbird, the link link of a bobolink, or the twitter of a goldfinch, all faint and rare.")
August 24, 1858 ("Edward Hoar brings Cassia Chamoecrista from Greenport, L. I., which must have been out a good while. ")
August 26, 1857 ("B[adford]. has found Cassia Chamoacrista by the side of the back road between Lincoln and Waltham, about two miles this side of Waltham.")
August 31, 1852 ("I observe, on the willows on the east shore, the shadow of my boat and self and oars, upside down...”)
September 10, 1854 ("Last year, for the last three weeks of August, the woods were filled with the strong musty scent of decaying fungi, but this year I have seen very few fungi and have not noticed that odor at all .")
September 12 1852 ("the Polygonum orientale, prince's-feather, in E. Hosmer's grounds.")
September 14, 1854 ("A flock of thirteen tell tales, great yellow-legs, start up with their shrill whistle from the midst of the great Sudbury meadow, and away they sail in a flock.").
October 18, 1853 ("Returning late, we see a double shadow of ourselves and boat, one, the true, quite black, the other directly above it and very faint, on the willows and high bank.")
November 1, 1854 ("Just before a clear sundown, close to the shore on the east side I see a second fainter shadow of the boat, sail, myself, and paddle, etc., directly above and upon the first on the bank . . . I discovered that it was the reflected sun which cast a higher shadow like the true one. As I moved to the west side, the upper shadow rose, grew larger and less perceptible; and at last when I was so near the west shore that I could not see the reflected sun, it disappeared; but then there appeared one upside down in its place!")
December 11, 1855 ("It is only necessary to behold thus the least fact or phenomenon, however familiar, from a point a hair’s breadth aside from our habitual path or routine, to be overcome, enchanted by its beauty and significance.”)
January 23, 1858 ("It is a peculiar sound, quite unlike any other woodland sound that I know . . . What a smothered, ragged, feeble, and unmusical sound is the bark of the fox!.")
                                                                                                               

 

August 16, 2021


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.

 August 15.<<<<<      August 16   >>>>>  August 17 

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, August 16
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 ©  2009-2022


tinyurl.com/HDT16AUGUST 





Tuesday, June 9, 2020

I have come with a spy-glass to look at the hawks



4. 30 A. M.— To Nawshawtuct by boat.

A prevalent fog, though not quite so thick as the last described.

It is a little more local, for it is so thin southwest of this hill that I can see the earth through it, but as thick as before northeast. Yet here and there deep valleys are excavated in it, as painters imagine the Red Sea for the passage of Pharaoh's host, wherein trees and houses appear as it were at the bottom of the sea.

What is peculiar about it is that it is the tops of the trees which you see first and most distinctly, before you see their trunks or where they stand on earth.

Far in the northeast there is, as before, apparently a tremendous surf breaking on a distant shoal. It is either a real shoal, i. e. a hill over which the fog breaks, or the effect of the sun's rays on it. 


I was amused by the account which Mary, the Irish girl who left us the other day, gave of her experience at-- the milkman's, in the north part of the town. She said that twenty-two lodged in the house the first night, including two pig men, that Mr. —-kept ten men, had six children and a deaf wife, and one of the men had his wife with him, who helped sew, beside taking care of her own child. Also all the cooking and washing for his father and mother, who live in another house and whom he is bound to carry through, is done in his house, and she, Mary, was the only girl they hired; and the workmen were called up at four by an alarm clock which was set a quarter of an hour ahead of the clock down stairs, — and that more than as much ahead of the town clock, — and she was on her feet from that hour till nine at night. Each man had two pairs of overalls in the wash, and the cans to be scalded were countless. Having got through washing the breakfast dishes by a quarter before twelve, Sunday noon, by — ' s time, she left, no more to return. He had told her that the work was easy, that girls had lived with him to recover their health, and then went away to be married. He is regarded as one of the most enterprising and thrifty farmers in the county, and takes the premiums of the Agricultural Society. He probably exacts too much of his hands.

June 9, 2023

The steam of the engine streaming far behind is regularly divided, as if it were the vertebræ of a serpent, probably by the strokes of the piston.

The reddish seeds or glumes of grasses cover my boots now in the dewy or foggy morning.

The diervilla out apparently yesterday.

The first white lily bud.

White clover is abundant and very sweet on the common, filling the air, but not yet elsewhere as last year.


8 A. M. – To Orchis Swamp; Well Meadow.

Hear a goldfinch; this the second or third only that I have heard.

Whiteweed now whitens the fields.

There are many star flowers. I remember the anemone, especially the rue anemone, which is not yet all gone, lasting longer than the true one above all the trientalis, and of late the yellow Bethlehem-star, and perhaps others.

I have come with a spy-glass to look at the hawks. They have detected me and are already screaming over my head more than half a mile from the nest.

I find no difficulty in looking at the young hawk (there appears to be one only, standing on the edge of the nest), resting the glass in the crotch of a young oak. I can see every wink and the color of its iris.

It watches me more steadily than I it, now looking straight down at me with both eyes and outstretched neck, now turning its head and looking with one eye.

How its eye and its whole head express anger! Its anger is more in its eye than in its beak.

It is quite hoary over the eye and on the chin.

The mother meanwhile is incessantly circling about and above its charge and me, farther or nearer, sometimes withdrawing a quarter of a mile, but occasionally coming to alight for a moment almost within gunshot, on the top of a tall white pine; but I hardly bring my glass fairly to bear on her, and get sight of her angry eye through the pine-needles, before she circles away again.

Thus for an hour that I lay there, screaming every minute or oftener with open bill. Now and then pursued by a kingbird or a blackbird, who appear merely to annoy it by dashing down at its back.

Meanwhile the male is soaring, apparently quite undisturbed, at a great height above, evidently not hunting, but amusing or recreating himself in the thinner and cooler air, as if pleased with his own circles, like a geometer, and enjoying the sublime scene.

I doubt if he has his eye fixed on any prey, or the earth. He probably descends to hunt.



Got two or three handfuls of strawberries on Fair Haven. They are already drying up.

The huckleberry bedbug-smelling bug is on them.It is natural that the first fruit which the earth bears should emit and be as it were an embodiment of that vernal fragrance with which the air has teemed.

Strawberries are its manna, found ere long where that fragrance has filled the air. Little natural beds or patches on the sides of dry hills, where the fruit sometimes reddens the ground. But it soon dries up, unless there is a great deal of rain.

Well, are not the juices of early fruit distilled from the air? 


Prunella out.

The meadows are now yellow with the golden senecio, a more orange yellow, mingled with the light glossy yellow of the buttercup.

The green fruit of the sweet-fern now.

The Juniperus repens appears, though now dry and effete, to have blossomed recently.

The tall white Erigeron annuus ( ? ), for this is the only one described as white tinged with purple, just out.

The bullfrogs are in full blast to-night.

I do not hear a toad from my window; only the crickets beside. The toads I have but rarely heard of late. So there is an evening for the toads and another for the bullfrogs.



H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 9, 1853

June 9, 2013

The steam of the engine streaming far behind is regularly divided, as if it were the vertebræ of a serpent.  
See December 25, 1851 ("If there is not something mystical in your explanation, something unexplainable to the understanding, some elements of mystery, it is quite insufficient.  . . Just as inadequate to a pure mechanic would be a poet's account of a steam-engine.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Steam of the Engine

I have come with a spy-glass to look at the hawks. See June 8, 1853 ("At length I detect the nest about eighty feet from the ground, in a very large white pine by the edge of the swamp. It is about three feet in diameter, of dry sticks, and a young hawk, apparently as big as its mother, stands on the edge of the nest looking down at me")

So there is an evening for the toads and another for the bullfrogs.  See June 13, 1851 ("The different frogs mark the seasons pretty well,- the peeping hyla, the dreaming frog, and the bullfrog."); See also  June 1, 1853 ("The birds have now all come and no longer fly in flocks. The hylodes are no longer heard. The bullfrogs begin to trump.”); June 11, 1853 ("Another fog this morning. The mosquitoes first troubled me a little last night. On the river at dusk I hear the toads still, with the bullfrogs.");  June 15, 1860 ("A new season begun. The bullfrogs now commonly trump at night, and the mosquitoes are now really troublesome. For some time I have not heard toads by day, and the hylodes appear to have done.")

The meadows are now yellow with the golden senecio, a more orange yellow, mingled with the light glossy yellow of the buttercup. See May 23, 1853 ("I am surprised by the dark orange-yellow of the senecio. At first we had the lighter, paler spring yellows of willows, dandelion, cinquefoil, then the darker and deeper yellow of the buttercup; and then this broad distinction between the buttercup and the senecio, as the seasons revolve toward July."); June 6, 1858 ("Golden senecio is not uncommon now") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The Golden Senecio

Wednesday, January 8, 2020

After December all weather that is not wintry is springlike.


January 8

Began to rain last evening, and rained some in the night. To-day it is very warm and pleasant. 

2 p. m. — Walk to Walden. Thermometer 48 at 2 p.m. 

We are suddenly surrounded by a warm air from some other part of the globe. What a change! Yesterday morning we walked on dry and squeaking snow, but before night, without any rain, merely by the influence of that warm air which had migrated to us, softening and melting the snow, we began to slump in it.

Now, since the rain of last night, the softest portions of the snow are dissolved in the street, revealing and leaving the filth which has accumulated there upon the firmer foundation, and we walk with open coats, charmed with the trickling of ephemeral rills. 

After December all weather that is not wintry is springlike. 

How changed are our feelings and thoughts by this more genial sky! When I get to the railroad I listen from time to time to hear some sound out of the distance which will express this mood of Nature. The cock and the hen, that pheasant which we have domesticated, are perhaps the most sensitive to atmospheric changes of any domestic animals. You cannot listen a moment such a day as this but you will hear, from far or near, the clarion of the cock celebrating this new season, yielding to the influence of the south wind, or the drawling note of the hen dreaming of eggs that are to be. 

These are the sounds that fill the air, and no hum of insects. They are affected like voyagers on approaching the land. 

We discover a new world every time that we see the earth again after it has been covered for a season with snow. 

I see the jay and hear his scream oftener for the thaw. 

Walden, which was covered with snow, is now covered with shallow puddles and slosh of a pale glaucous slate-color. The sloshy edges of the puddles are the frames of so many wave-shaped mirrors in which the leather-colored oak leaves, and the dark-green pines and their stems, on the hillside, are reflected. 

We see no fresh tracks. The old tracks of the rabbit, now after the thaw, are shaped exactly like a horse shoe, an unbroken curve. Those of the fox which has run along the side of the pond are now so many snowballs, raised as much above the level of the water-darkened snow as at first they sank beneath it. The snow, having been compressed by their weight, resists the melting longer. 

Indeed, I see far across the pond, half a mile distant, what looks like a perfectly straight row of white stones, — some fence or other work of art, — stretching twenty rods along the bare shore. There are a man's tracks, perhaps my own, along the pond-side there, looking not only larger than reality, but more elevated owing to the looming, and are referred to the dark background against which they are seen. When I know that they are on the ice, they look like white stepping-stones. 

I hear the goldfinch notes (they may be linarias), and see a few on the top of a small black birch by the pond-shore, of course eating the seed. Thus they distinguish its fruit from afar. When I heard their note, I looked to find them on a birch, and lo, it was a black birch! [Were they not linarias? Vide Jan. 24, 27, 29.] 

We have a fine moonlight evening after, and as by day I have noticed that the sunlight reflected from this moist snow had more glitter and dazzle to it than when the snow was dry, so now I am struck by the brighter sheen from the snow in the moonlight. All the impurities in the road are lost sight of, and the melting snow shines like frostwork. 

When returning from Walden at sunset, the only cloud we saw was a small purplish one, exactly conforming to the outline of Wachusett, — which it concealed, — as if on that mountain only the universal moisture was at that moment condensed.

The commonest difference between a public speaker who has not enjoyed the advantage of the highest  education in the popular sense, at school and college, and one who has, is that the former will pronounce a few words, and use a few more, in a manner in which the scholars have agreed not to, and the latter will occasionally quote a few Latin and even Greek words with more confidence, and, if the subject is the derivation of words, will maintain a wise silence.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, January 8, 1860

You cannot listen a moment such a day as this but you will hear, from far or near, the clarion of the cock celebrating this new season. See January 8, 1855 ("It is now a clear warm and sunny day. There is a healthy earthy sound of cock-crowing."); January 12, 1855 ("Perhaps what most moves us in winter is some reminiscence of far-off summer. . . .It is in the cawing of the crow, the crowing of the cock, the warmth of the sun on our backs."); January 23, 1858 ("The wonderfully mild and pleasant weather_continues. The ground has been bare since the 11th. . . . The sun, and cockcrowing, bare ground, etc., etc., remind me of March.")

We discover a new world every time that we see the earth again after it has been covered for a season with snow. I see the jay and hear his scream oftener for the thaw. See January 7, 1851 ("January thaw. Take away the snow and it would not be winter but like many days in the fall. The birds acknowledge the difference in the air; the jays are more noisy, and the chickadees are oftener heard.")

There are a man's tracks, perhaps my own, along the pond-side there, like white stepping-stones. See January 25, 1857 (" I see the track of a fox or dog across the meadow, made some time ago. Each track is now a pure white snowball rising three inches above the surrounding surface,");January 12, 1854 ("I see my snowshoe tracks quite distinct, though made January 2d. Though they pressed the snow down four or five inches, they consolidated it, and it now endures and is two or three inches above the general level there, and more white.")

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, January 8
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

Sunday, November 24, 2019

The downy and cottony fruits of November.

November 24. 

The river has risen considerably, at last, owing to the rain of the 22d. Had been very low before. 

See, on the railroad-slope by the pond, and also some days ago, a flock of goldfinches eating the seed of the Roman wormwood. 

At Spanish Brook Path, the witch-hazel (one flower) lingers. 

I observe that ferns grow especially where there is an abrupt or broken bank, as where, in the woods, sand has been anciently dug out of a hillside to make a dam with and the semicircular scar has been covered with a sod and shrubs again. The shelter and steepness are favorable when there is shade and moisture. 

How pretty amid the downy and cottony fruits of November the heads of the white anemone, raised a couple of feet from the ground on slender stalks, two or three together, — small heads of yellowish-white down, compact and regular as a thimble beneath, but, at this time, diffusive and bursting forth above, somewhat like a little torch with its flame, — a very neat object!

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, November 24, 1859

Monday, November 11, 2019

Notes from late October

November 11. 

I observed, October 23d, wood turtles copulating in the Assabet, and a flock of goldfinches on the top of a hemlock, — as if after its seeds? 

Also, October 24th, riding home from Acton, I saw the withered leaves blown from an oak by the roadside dashing off, gyrating, and surging upward into the air, so exactly like a flock of birds sporting with one another that, for a minute at least, I could not be sure they were not birds; and it suggested how far the motions of birds, like those of these leaves, might be determined by currents of air, i. e., how far the bird learns to conform to such currents. 

The flat variety of Lycopodium dendroideum shed pollen on the 25th of October. That 's a lycopodium path on north side of Colburn Hill.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, November 11, 1859

I observed, October 23d, wood turtles copulating in the Assabet.  See September 15, 1855 ("An Emys insculpta which I mistook for dead, under water near shore; head and legs and tail hanging down straight. Turned it over, and to my surprise found it coupled with another. It was at first difficult to separate them with a paddle"); October 21, 1857 (" I saw wood tortoises coupled up the Assabet, the back of the upper above water. It held the lower with its claws about the head, and they were not to be parted. ") See also September 16, 1854 ("I see a wood tortoise in the woods. Why is it there now?"); November 9, 1855 ("See a painted tortoise and a wood tortoise in different places out on the bank still!”); November 14, 1855 ("A clear, bright, warm afternoon. A painted tortoise swimming under water and a wood tortoise out on the bank.”) and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Wood Turtle (Emys insculpta)

A flock of goldfinches on the top of a hemlock, — as if after its seeds?  See November 15, 1859 (“About the 23d of October I saw a large flock of goldfinches (judging from their motions and notes) on the tops of the hemlocks up the Assabet, apparently feeding on their seeds, then falling. They were collected in great numbers on the very tops of these trees and flitting from one to another. Rice has since described to me the same phenomenon ”); See alao January 5, 1860 ("I see where a flock of goldfinches in the morning had settled on a hemlock's top, by the snow strewn with scales, literally blackened or darkened with them for a rod.")

The withered leaves blown from an oak by the roadside dashing off, gyrating, and surging upward into the air, so exactly like a flock of birds. See October 26, 1860 ("This is the season of the fall when the leaves are whirled through the air like flocks of birds.")

Thursday, September 19, 2019

Yellow butterflies in the road after the rain of yesterday.


September 19

A. M. — To Stow. 

Hear the note of the goldfinch on all sides this fine day after the storm. 

Butternuts have been falling for two or three weeks, — now mostly fallen, — but must dry and lose their outer shells before cracking them. 

They say that kittens' tails are brittle, and perhaps the tip of that one's was broken off. 

The young gentleman who travels abroad learns to pronounce, and makes acquaintance with foreign lords and ladies, — among the rest perchance with Lord Ward, the inventor and probably consumer of the celebrated Worcestershire Sauce. 

See many yellow butterflies in the road this very pleasant day after the rain of yesterday. One flutters across between the horse and the wagon safely enough, though it looks as if it would be run down.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, September 19, 1859


See many yellow butterflies in the road this very pleasant day after the rain of yesterday
. See September 3, 1854 (“I see some fleets of yellow butterflies in the damp road after the rain, as earlier.”); September 4, 1856 ("Butterflies in road a day or two.”); September 11, 1852 ("I see some yellow butterflies and others occasionally and singly only."); September 13, 1858 ("Many yellow butterflies in road and fields all the country over.”); September 17, 1852 ("Still the oxalis blows, and yellow butterflies are on the flowers"); October 7, 1857 ("Crossing Depot Brook, I see many yellow butterflies fluttering about the Aster puniceus, still abundantly in bloom there"); October 18, 1856 (“I still see a yellow butterfly occasionally zigzagging by the roadside”); October 20, 1858 ("I see yellow butterflies chasing one another, taking no thought for the morrow, but confiding in the sunny day as if it were to be perpetual.") 
See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Yellow Butterflies

Thursday, August 29, 2019

It is so cool a morning that for the first time I move into the entry to sit in the sun.

August 29

August 29, 2019

I hear in the street this morning a goldfinch sing part of a sweet strain.

It is so cool a morning that for the first time I move into the entry to sit in the sun. But in this cooler weather I feel as if the fruit of my summer were hardening and maturing a little, acquiring color and flavor like the corn and other fruits in the field. 

When the very earliest ripe grapes begin to be scented in the cool nights, then, too, the first cooler airs of autumn begin to waft my sweetness on the desert airs of summer. Now, too, poets nib their pens afresh. I scent their first-fruits in the cool evening air of the year. 

By the coolness the experience of the summer is condensed and matured, whether our fruits be pumpkins or grapes. 

Man, too, ripens with the grapes and apples. 

I find that the water-bugs (Gyrinus) keep amid the pads in open spaces along the sides of the river all day, and, at dark only, spread thence all over the river and gyrate rapidly. For food I see them eating or sucking at the wings and bodies of dead devil's-needles which fall on the water, making them too gyrate in a singular manner. If one gets any such food, the others pursue him for it. 

There was a remarkable red aurora all over the sky last night. 

P. M. — To Easterbrooks Country. 

The vernonia is one of the most conspicuous flowers now where it grows, — a very rich color. It is some what past its prime; perhaps about with the red eupatorium. 

Botrychium lunarioides now shows its fertile frond above the shorn stubble in low grounds, but not shedding pollen. 

See the two-leaved Solomon's-seal berries, many of them ripe; also some ripe mitchella berries, contrasting with their very fresh green leaves. 

White cohush berries, apparently in prime, and the arum fruit. The now drier and browner (purplish- brown) looking rabbit's clover, whose heads collected would make a soft bed, is an important feature in the landscape; pussies some call them; more puffed up than before. 

The thorn bushes are most sere and yellowish-brown bushes now. 

I see more snakes of late, methinks, both striped and the small green. 

The slate-colored spots or eyes — fungi — on several kinds of goldenrods are common now. 

The knife-shaped fruit of the ash has strewn the paths of late.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, August 29, 1859

It is so cool a morning that for the first time I move into the entry to sit in the sun. See August 29, 1854 ("It is so cool that we are inclined to stand round the kitchen fire . . .I enjoy the warmth of the sun now that the air is cool") See also September 4, 1860 ("It is cooler these days and nights, and I move into an eastern chamber in the morning, that I may sit in the sun"); September 17, 1858 (“Cooler weather now for two or three days, so that I am glad to sit in the sun on the east side of the house mornings.”); September 18, 1852 ("In the forenoons I move into a chamber on the east side of the house, and so follow the sun round.”)


The very earliest ripe grapes begin to be scented in the cool nights
. See August 29, 1853 ("Walking down the street in the evening, I detect my neighbor’s ripening grapes by the scent twenty rods off."); August 27, 1859 ("The first notice I have that grapes are ripening is by the rich scent at evening from my own native vine against the house");August 30, 1853 ("Grapes are already ripe; I smell them first.");

Man, too, ripens with the grapes and apples.See November 14, 1853. ("October answers to that period in the life of man when . . . all his experience ripens into wisdom, but every root, branch, leaf of him glows with maturity. What he has been and done in his spring and summer appears. He bears his fruit".)

I see more snakes of late, methinks, both striped and the small green. See September 3, 1858 ("See a small striped snake, some fifteen or eighteen inches long, swallowing a toad"); September 13, 1858 (""Saw a striped snake run into the wall, and just before it disappeared heard a loud sound like a hiss") October 18, 1857 (" Snakes lie out now on sunny banks, amid the dry leaves, now as in spring. They are chiefly striped ones.")

There was a remarkable red aurora all over the sky last night. .See also Wikipedia (Solar Cycle 10 beginning in December 1855 and the Solar storm ( Carrington Event.) of September 1–2, 1859) and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Northern Lights

So cool a morning 
that for the first time I move 
to sit in the sun.

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