A Book of the Seasons: March 9 (when bluebirds arrive, March winds, reflections in open water )

March 9.

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

The face of nature

lit up by reflections in

still water in spring.

March 9, 1854

March 9, 2015

About three inches more of snow fell last night, which, added to about five of the old, makes eight, or more than before since last spring. March 9, 1858

Thermometer at 2 P. M. 15°, sixteen inches of snow on a level in open fields, hard and dry, ice in Flint’s Pond two feet thick, and the aspect of the earth is that of the middle of January in a severe winter. March 9, 1856

Yet this is about the date that bluebirds arrive commonly. March 9, 1856

C. says that he heard and saw a bluebird on the 7th, and R. W. E. the same. This was the day on which they were generally observed. March 9, 1859

A pail of water froze nearly half an inch thick in my chamber, with fire raked up. March 9, 1856

The train which should have got down last night did not arrive till this afternoon (Sunday), having stuck in a drift. March 9, 1856

Snows this forenoon, whitening the ground again. 2 and 3 P. M. — Thermometer 41° March 9, 1860

As I recall it, February began cold, with some dry and fine driving snow, making those shell-shaped drifts behind walls, and some days after were some wild but low drifts on the meadow ice. March 9, 1860

I walked admiring the winter sky and clouds. March 9, 1860

March began warm, and I admired the ripples made by the gusts on the dark-blue meadow flood, and the light-tawny color of the earth, and was on the alert to hear the first birds. March 9, 1860

For a few days past it has been generally colder and rawer, and the ground has been whitened with snow two or three times, but it has all been windy. March 9, 1860

You incline to walk now along the south side of hills which will shelter you from the blustering northwest and north winds. March 9, 1860

Yet it is cool and raw and very windy. March 9, 1859

It is worthwhile to hear the wind roar in the woods to-day. It sounds further off than it is. March 9, 1859

These March winds, which make the woods roar and fill the world with life and bustle, appear to wake up the trees out of their winter sleep and excite the sap to flow. March 9, 1852

I have no doubt they serve some such use, as well as to hasten the evaporation of the snow and water. March 9, 1852

A warm spring rain in the night. March 9, 1852

I hear and see bluebirds, come with the warm wind. March 9, 1852

The earth is now half bare. March 9, 1852

Though cloudy, the air excites me. March 9, 1852

Cloudy but springlike. March 9, 1852

A cloudy, rain-threatening day, not windy and rather warmer than yesterday. March 9, 1855

When the frost comes out of the ground, there is a corresponding thawing of the man. March 9, 1852

Rain, dissolving the snow and raising the river. March 9, 1853

I am cheered by the sound of running water now down the wooden troughs on each side the cut. March 9, 1852

The sound of water falling on rocks and of air falling on trees are very much alike. March 9, 1852

Already these puddles on the railroad, reflecting pinewoods, remind me of summer lakes. March 9, 1852

Again it rains, and I turn about. March 9, 1852

The earth shines, its icy armor reflecting the sun, and the rills of melting snow in the ruts shine, too, and water, where exposed in the right light on the river, is a remarkably living blue, just as the osiers appear brighter. March 9, 1859

Water is fast taking place of ice on the river and meadows. March 9, 1854

In the spaces of still open water I see the reflection of the hills and woods, which for so long I have not seen. March 9, 1854

It gives expression to the face of nature. March 9, 1854

Sometimes you see only the top of a distant hill reflected far within the meadow, where a dull-gray field of ice intervenes between the water and the shore. March 9, 1854

The face of nature is lit up by these reflections in still water in the spring. March 9, 1854

Looking from the Cliffs, the sun being invisible, I see far more light in the reflected sky in the neighborhood of the sun than I could see in the heavens from my position, and it occurred to me that the reason was that there was reflected to me from the river the view I should have got if I had stood there on the water in a more favorable position. March 9, 1855

I clamber over those great white pine masts which lie in all directions one upon another on the hillside south of Fair Haven, where the woods have been laid waste. March 9, 1855

I am struck, in favorable lights, with the jewel-like brilliancy of the sawed ends thickly bedewed with crystal drops of turpentine, thickly as a shield, as if pine-wood nymphs had seasonably wept there the fall of the tree. March 9, 1855

The perfect sincerity of these terebinthine drops, each one reflecting the world, colorless as light, is incredible when you remember how firm their consistency. March 9, 1855

And is this that pitch which you cannot touch without being defiled? March 9, 1855

I see that the mud in the road has crystallized as it dried (for it is not nearly cold enough to freeze), like the first crystals that shoot and set on water when freezing. March 9, 1855

To Andromeda Ponds. Scare up a rabbit on the hillside by these ponds, which was gnawing a smooth sumach. March 9, 1855

See also where they have gnawed the red maple, sweet-fern, Populus grandidentata, white and other oaks. March 9, 1855

I get a few drops of the sweet red maple juice which has run down the main stem where a rabbit had nibbled off close a twig. March 9, 1855

I see the minute seeds of the Andromeda calyculata scattered over the melting ice of the Andromeda Ponds. March 9, 1855

I do not perceive that the early elm or the white maple buds have swollen yet. So the relaxed and loosened (?) alder catkins and the extended willow catkins and poplar catkins are the first signs of reviving vegetation which I have witnessed. March 9, 1853

Painted the bottom of my boat. March 9, 1855

A true spring day, not a cloud in the sky. March 9, 1859

Minott thinks, and quotes some old worthy as authority for saying, that the bark of the striped squirrel is the, or a, first sure sign of decided spring weather. March 9, 1853

An overcast and dark night. March 9, 1855

*****

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, March in Haiku
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Alders
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Boat in. Boat out.
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Bluebird in Spring.
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Reflections
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, A Sunny Nook in Spring
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, White Maple Buds and Flowers
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Striped Squirrel

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring: 

  Listening for the Bluebird

March is famous for its winds

*****

If you make the least correct 

observation of nature this year,

 you will have occasion to repeat it

 with illustrations the next, 

and the season and life itself is prolonged.

  April 7, 1853 

.

March 8.<<<<<       March 9        >>>>> March 10

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, March 9

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

March 9. The face of nature lit up by these reflections -- still water in spring.

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

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 9, 1852:

These March winds, which make the woods roar and fill the world with life and bustle, appear to wake up the trees out of their winter sleep and excite the sap to flow. See March 9, 1859 ("It is worthwhile to hear the wind roar in the woods to-day. It sounds further off than it is."); March 9, 1860 ("You incline to walk now along the south side of hills which will shelter you from the blustering northwest and north winds"); See also March 6, 1855 ("Still stronger wind, shaking the house, and rather cool. This the third day of wind."); March 18, 1854 ("The white caps of the waves on the flooded meadow, seen from the window, are a rare and exciting spectacle")


H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 9, 1853:

I do not perceive that the early elm or the white maple buds have swollen yet. See March 23, 1853 (“The white maple may perhaps be said to begin to blossom to-day, — the male, — for the stamens, both anthers and filament, are conspicuous on some buds. It has opened unexpectedly, and a rich sight it is, looking up through the expanded buds to the sky.”); March 29, 1853 ("The female flowers of the white maple , crimson stigmas from the same rounded masses of buds with the male , are now quite abundant. I think they have not come out more than a day or two.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, White Maple Buds and Flowers

The relaxed and loosened (?) alder catkins and the extended willow catkins and poplar catkins are the first signs of reviving vegetation. See March 7, 1853 ("The dark chocolate-colored alder catkins — what I have called A. incana — are not only relaxed, but there is an obvious looseness and space between the scales. "); March 10, 1853 ("Methinks the first obvious evidence of spring is the pushing out of the swamp willow catkins, then the relaxing of the earlier alder catkins, then the pushing up of skunk-cabbage spathes (and pads at the bottom of water). This is the order I am inclined to, though perhaps any of these may take precedence of all the rest in any particular case . . . The early poplars are pushing forward their catkins , though they make not so much display as the willows . . . "); March 29, 1853 ("The catkins of the Populus tremuloides are just beginning to open, — to curl over and downward like caterpillars. Yesterday proved too cold, undoubtedly, for the willow to open, and unless I learn better, I shall give the poplar the precedence, dating both, however, from to-day.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Alders

The bark of the striped squirrel is the, or a, first sure sign of decided spring weather. See March 4, 1855 ("May not this season of springlike weather between the first decidedly springlike day and the first blue bird, already fourteen days long, be called the striped squirrel spring?"); March 7, 1855 ("In a sheltered and warmer place, we heard a rustling amid the dry leaves on the hillside and saw a striped squirrel eying us from its resting-place on the bare ground. It sat still till we were within a rod, then suddenly dived into its hole, which was at its feet, and disappeared. The first pleasant days of spring come out like a squirrel and go in again."); March 17, 1859 ("I hear rustling amid the oak leaves above that new water-line, and, there being no wind, I know it to be a striped squirrel, and soon see its long-unseen striped sides flirting about the instep of an oak. Its lateral stripes, alternate black and yellowish, are a type which I have not seen for a long time, or rather a punctuation-mark, the character to indicate where a new paragraph commences in the revolution of the seasons. ").See also Walden ("I am on the alert for the first signs of spring, to hear the chance note of some arriving bird, or the striped squirrel's chirp, for his stores must be now nearly exhausted.")

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 9, 1854:

I see the reflection of the hills and woods, which for so long I have not seen. See March 8, 1853 ("Waters . . . begin to reflect, and, instead of looking into the sky, I look into the placid reflecting water for the signs and promise of the morrow.")



H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 9, 1855:

Painted the bottom of my boat. See March 8, 1855 ("This morning I got my boat out of the cellar and turned it up in the yard to let the seams open before I calk it."); and March 15, 1854 ("Paint my boat.") See also March 12, 1854 ("A new feature is being added to the landscape, and that is expanses and reaches of blue water. . . .Toward night the water becomes smooth and beautiful. Men are eager to launch their boats and paddle over the meadows. ") and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Boat in. Boat out.

As if pine-wood nymphs had seasonably wept there the fall of the tree. See March 24, 1853 ("The white pine wood, freshly cut, piled by the side of the Charles Miles road, is agreeable to walk beside. I like the smell of it, all ready for the borers, and the rich light-yellow color of the freshly split wood and the purple color of the sap at the ends of the quarters, from which distill perfectly clear and crystalline tears, colorless and brilliant as diamonds, tears shed for the loss of a forest in which is a world of light and purity, its life oozing out.")

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 9, 1856:

This is about the date that bluebirds arrive commonly. See March 7, 1854 ("Hear the first bluebird."); March 9, 1852 (" I hear and see bluebirds, come with the warm wind."); March 9, 1859 (" C. says that he heard and saw a bluebird on the 7th, and R. W. E. the same. This was the day on which they were generally observed."); March 10, 1853 ("What was that sound that came on the softened air? It was the warble of the first bluebird from that scraggy apple orchard yonder. When this is heard, then has spring arrived."); March 10, 1856 ("A bluebird would look as much out of place now as the 10th of January. . . .It is hard to believe the records of previous years") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Bluebird in Early Spring.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 9, 1858:

About three inches more of snow fell last night, which, added to about five of the old, makes eight, or more than before since last spring. See March 2, 1858 ("Snowed last night and this morning, about seven inches deep, much more than during the winter, the first truly wintry-looking day so far as snow is concerned,"); March 1, 1858 ("We have just had a winter with absolutely no sleighing, which I do not find that any one distinctly remembers the like of.") Compare March 9, 1856 ("[S]ixteen inches of snow on a level in open fields, hard and dry, ice in Flint’s Pond two feet thick, and the aspect of the earth is that of the middle of January in a severe winter.")

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 9, 1859:

This was the day on which they were generally observed. See March 9, 1852 (“I hear and see bluebirds, come with the warm wind.”); March 9, 1856 (“[T]his is about the date that bluebirds arrive commonly.”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Bluebird in Early Spring.

A true spring day, not a cloud in the sky. The earth shines, its icy armor reflecting the sun, and the rills of melting snow in the ruts shine, too. See March 8, 1853 ("The melting snow, running and sparkling down-hill in the ruts, was quite springlike."):

It is worthwhile to hear the wind roar in the woods to-day. It sounds further off than it is. See March 9, 1852 (“These March winds, which make the woods roar and fill the world with life and bustle, appear to wake up the trees out of their winter sleep and excite the sap to flow.”); March 9, 1860 ("You incline to walk now along the south side of hills which will shelter you from the blustering northwest and north winds"); March 18, 1858 ("The rather warm but strong wind now roars in the wood — as in the maple swamp — with a novel sound.”);

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 9, 1860:

The blustering northwest and north winds. See March 9, 1852 ("These March winds, which make the woods roar and fill the world with life and bustle, appear to wake up the trees out of their winter sleep"); March 9, 1859 ("It is worthwhile to hear the wind roar in the woods to-day."). See also note to March 8, 1860 ("Nowadays we separate the warmth of the sun from the cold of the wind and observe that the cold does not pervade all places, but being due to strong northwest winds, if we get into some sunny and sheltered nook where they do not penetrate, we quite forget how cold it is elsewhere. ")

On the alert to hear the first birds. See April 9, 1856 ("You have only to come forth each morning to be surely advertised of each newcomer into these broad meadows. [A] cunning ear detects the arrival of each new species of bird.")

March 9.

The face of nature

lit up by these reflections --

still water in spring.

March 9, 1854

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau

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

out-of-doors, in its own locality.”

~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2021

The bark of the striped squirrel is a first sure sign of decided spring weather.

March 9. 

Wednesday. Rain, dissolving the snow and raising the river.

I do not perceive that the early elm or the white maple buds have swollen yet.

So the relaxed and loosened (?) alder catkins and the extended willow catkins and poplar catkins are the first signs of reviving vegetation which I have witnessed.

Minott thinks, and quotes some old worthy as authority for saying, that the bark of the striped squirrel is the, or a, first sure sign of decided spring weather.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 9, 1853

I do not perceive that the early elm or the white maple buds have swollen yet.  See March 23, 1853 (“The white maple may perhaps be said to begin to blossom to-day, — the male, — for the stamens, both anthers and filament, are conspicuous on some buds. It has opened unexpectedly, and a rich sight it is, looking up through the expanded buds to the sky.”); March 29,  1853 ("The female flowers of the white maple , crimson stig mas from the same rounded masses of buds with the male , are now quite abundant. I think they have not come out more than a day or two.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, White Maple Buds and Flowers

The relaxed and loosened (?) alder catkins and the extended willow catkins and poplar catkins are the first signs of reviving vegetation. See March 7, 1853 ("The dark chocolate-colored alder catkins — what I have called A. incana — are not only relaxed, but there is an obvious looseness and space between the scales. ");March 10, 1853 (".Methinks the first obvious evidence of spring is the pushing out of the swamp willow catkins, then the relaxing of the earlier alder catkins, then the pushing up of skunk-cabbage spathes (and pads at the bottom of water). This is the order I am inclined to, though perhaps any of these may take precedence of all the rest in any particular case . . . The early poplars are pushing forward their catkins , though they make not so much display as the willows . . . ");  March 29, 1853 ("The catkins of the Populus tremuloides  are just beginning to open, — to curl over and downward like caterpillars. Yesterday proved too cold, undoubtedly, for the willow to open, and unless I learn better, I shall give the poplar the precedence, dating both, however, from to-day.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Alders

The bark of the striped squirrel is the, or a, first sure sign of decided spring weather. See  March 4, 1855 ("May not this season of springlike weather between the first decidedly springlike day and the first blue bird, already fourteen days long, be called the striped squirrel spring?"); March 7, 1855 ("In a sheltered and warmer place, we heard a rustling amid the dry leaves on the hillside and saw a striped squirrel eying us from its resting-place on the bare ground. It sat still till we were within a rod, then suddenly dived into its hole, which was at its feet, and disappeared. The first pleasant days of spring come out like a squirrel and go in again."); March 17, 1859 ("I hear rustling amid the oak leaves above that new water-line, and, there being no wind, I know it to be a striped squirrel, and soon see its long-unseen striped sides flirting about the instep of an oak. Its lateral stripes, alternate black and yellowish, are a type which I have not seen for a long time, or rather a punctuation-mark, the character to indicate where a new paragraph commences in the revolution of the seasons. ").See also Walden ("I am on the alert for the first signs of spring, to hear the chance note of some arriving bird, or the striped squirrel's chirp, for his stores must be now nearly exhausted, or see the woodchuck venture out of his winter quarters."); A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring, the striped squirrel comes out

February began cold; March began warm.

March 9 

Snows this forenoon, whitening the ground again.

2 and 3 P. M. — Thermometer 41°.

I have seen three or four pieces of coral in the fields of Concord, and Mr. Pratt has found three or four on his farm. How shall they be accounted for? Who brought them here? and when?

These barns shelter more beasts than oxen and horses. If you stand awhile in one of them now, especially where grain is piled, you will hear ever and anon a rustling in it made by the mice, which take the barn to be their home, as much as the house is yours.

As I recall it, February began cold, with some dry and fine driving snow, making those shell-shaped drifts behind walls, and some days after were some wild but low drifts on the meadow ice. I walked admiring the winter sky and clouds.

After the first week, methinks, it was much milder, and I noticed that some sounds, like the tinkling of rail road rails, etc., were springlike. Indeed, the rest of the month was earine, river breaking up a part and closing again, and but little snow.

About 8th and 12th, the beauty of the ice on the meadows, partly or slightly rotted, was noticeable, with the curious figures in it, and, in the coolest evenings, the green ice and rosy isles of flat drifts.

About the 9th, noticed the very black water of some open reaches, in a high wind and cold.

About the middle of the month was a moist, lodging snow, and the 18th a fine granular one, making about a foot, — the last.

Then sudden warm weather and rain come and dissolve it all at once, and the ruts, flowing with melted snow, shone in the sun, and the little sleighing was all gone. And from the 25th to 27th the river generally broke up.

March began warm, and I admired the ripples made by the gusts on the dark-blue meadow flood, and the light-tawny color of the earth, and was on the alert for several days to hear the first birds.

For a few days past it has been generally colder and rawer, and the ground has been whitened with snow two or three times, but it has all been windy.

You incline to walk now along the south side of hills which will shelter you from the blustering northwest and north winds.

The sidewalks are wet in the morning from the frost coming out.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 9, 1860

The blustering northwest and north winds. See March 9, 1852 ("These March winds, which make the woods roar and fill the world with life and bustle, appear to wake up the trees out of their winter sleep"); March 9, 1859 ("It is worthwhile to hear the wind roar in the woods to-day."). See also note to  March 8, 1860 ("Nowadays we separate the warmth of the sun from the cold of the wind and observe that the cold does not pervade all places, but being due to strong northwest winds, if we get into some sunny and sheltered nook where they do not penetrate, we quite forget how cold it is elsewhere. ")

It is worthwhile to hear the wind roar in the woods to-day.

March 9. 

P. M. — To Lee's Cliff with C. 

C. says that he heard and saw a bluebird on the 7th, and R. W. E. the same. This was the day on which they were generally observed. I am doubtful about one having been seen on the 20th of February by a boy, as stated February 23d. 

C. also saw a skater-insect on the 7th, and a single blackbird flying over Cassandra Ponds, which he thought a grackle. 

A true spring day, not a cloud in the sky. The earth shines, its icy armor reflecting the sun, and the rills of melting snow in the ruts shine, too, and water, where exposed in the right light on the river, is a remarkably living blue, just as the osiers appear brighter. 

Yet it is cool and raw and very windy. 

The ice over the channel of the river, when not quite melted, is now generally mackerelled (the water representing the blue portions) with parallel openings, riddling it or leaving a sort of network of ice over it, answering to the ridges of the waves. You can best observe them from bridges. In some cases the snow upon the ice, having lain in successive drifts, might also assist or modify this phenomenon. 

The rain of yesterday has been filling the meadows again, flowing up under the dry ice of the winter freshet, which for the most part rested on the ground, and so this rise is at first the less observed until it shows itself beyond the edge of the ice. At Corner Spring Brook the water reaches up to the crossing and stands over the ice there, the brook being open and some space on each side of it.

When I look, from forty or fifty rods off, at the yellowish water covering the ice about a foot here, it is decidedly purple (though, when close by and looking down on it, it is yellowish merely), while the water of the brook-channel and a rod on each side of it, where there is no ice beneath, is a beautiful very dark blue. 

These colors are very distinct, the line of separation being the edge of the ice on the bottom, and this apparent juxtaposi tion of different kinds of water is a very singular and pleasing sight. You see a light-purple flood, about the color of a red grape, and a broad channel of dark-purple water, as dark as a common blue-purple grape, sharply distinct across its middle. 

I see at Lee's the long, narrow radical leaves of the Turritis striata just beginning to push their shoots, — the most forward-looking plant there. 

We cross Fair Haven Pond on the ice, though it is difficult getting on and off, it being melted about the edges, as well as overflowed there. 

It is worthwhile to hear the wind roar in the woods to-day. It sounds further off than it is.

Came across a stout and handsome woodchopper with a full dark or black beard, but that on his upper lip was a distinct sandy color. It was a very pleasing contrast, suggesting a sympathy with the centre of light and intelligence nearer to which it grew.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 9, 1859

This was the day on which they were generally observed. See March 9, 1852 (“I hear and see bluebirds, come with the warm wind.”); March 9, 1856 (“[T]his is about the date that bluebirds arrive commonly.”)

A true spring day, not a cloud in the sky. The earth shines, its icy armor reflecting the sun, and the rills of melting snow in the ruts shine, too. See March 8, 1853 ("The melting snow, running and sparkling down-hill in the ruts, was quite springlike."):

It is worthwhile to hear the wind roar in the woods to-day. It sounds further off than it is. See March 9, 1852 (“These March winds, which make the woods roar and fill the world with life and bustle, appear to wake up the trees out of their winter sleep and excite the sap to flow.”);   March 9, 1860 ("You incline to walk now along the south side of hills which will shelter you from the blustering northwest and north winds");  See also  March 18, 1858 ("The rather warm but strong wind now roars in the wood — as in the maple swamp — with a novel sound.”);

Listen to the wind

roaring in the woods today,

it sounds further off.

Pretty good sleighing.

March 9.

About three inches more of snow fell last night, which, added to about five of the old, makes eight, or more than before since last spring. Pretty good sleighing. 

The State commonly grants a tract of forest to make an academy out of, for such is the material of which our institutions are made, though only the crudest part of it is used, but the groves of the academy are straight way cut down, and that institution is built of its lumber, its coarsest and least valuable part. Down go the groves of the academy and up goes its frame, — on some bare common far away. And as for the public domains, if anybody neglected his civil duties during the last war, he is privileged to cut and slash there, — he is let loose against one hundred and sixty acres of well-behaved trees, as if the liberty he had defended was derived from liber, bark, and meant the liberty to bark the trees.

H.  D. Thoreau, Journal, March 9, 1858

About three inches more of snow fell last night, which, added to about five of the old, makes eight, or more than before since last spring. See March 2, 1858 ("Snowed last night and this morning, about seven inches deep, much more than during the winter, the first truly wintry-looking day so far as snow is concerned,"); March 1, 1858 ("We have just had a winter with absolutely no sleighing, which I do not find that any one distinctly remembers the like of.") Compare March 9, 1856 ("[S]ixteen inches of snow on a level in open fields, hard and dry, ice in Flint’s Pond two feet thick, and the aspect of the earth is that of the middle of January in a severe winter.")

A Book of the Seasons: March 9.

March 9.

March winds wake the trees

out of their winter sleep and

excite sap to flow.

The woods roar and fill

the world with life and bustle –

this season of wind.

March 9, 1852 

The face of nature
lit up by these reflections –
still water in spring.
March 9, 1854

The face of nature

reflected in still open 

water in the spring. 

March 9, 1854

The face of nature
lit up by reflections in
still water in spring.
March 9, 1854 

The face of nature

lit up by reflections in

still, open water.

March 9, 1854

Colorless as light—

crystal drops of turpentine

reflecting the world.

March 9, 1855

Listen to the wind

roaring in the woods today,

it sounds further off.

March 9, 1859

It is worthwhile to hear the  wind 

roar in the woods to-day. 

It sounds further off than it is. March 9, 1859

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 © 2009-2016

A severe winter persists.

March 9.

Thermometer at 2 P. M. 15°, sixteen inches of snow on a level in open fields, hard and dry, ice in Flint’s Pond two feet thick, and the aspect of the earth is that of the middle of January in a severe winter. Yet this is about the date that bluebirds arrive commonly.

A pail of water froze nearly half an inch thick in my chamber, with fire raked up. 

The train which should have got down last night did not arrive till this afternoon (Sunday), having stuck in a drift.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 9, 1856

This is about the date that bluebirds arrive commonly. See March 9, 1852 (" I hear and see bluebirds, come with the warm wind.");  March 9, 1859 (" C. says that he heard and saw a bluebird on the 7th, and R. W. E. the same. This was the day on which they were generally observed.");  March 10, 1852 ("I see flocks of a dozen bluebirds together."); March 10, 1853("What was that sound that came on the softened air? It was the warble of the first bluebird from that scraggy apple orchard yonder. When this is heard, then has spring arrived."); March 10, 1856 ("A bluebird would look as much out of place now as the 10th of January. . . .It is hard to believe the records of previous years") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,  Signs of the Spring:   Listening for the Bluebird

The train . . .  stuck in a drift. See February 17, 1856 ("Some three or four inches of snow fallen in the night and now blowing. At noon begins to snow again, as well as blow. Several more inches fall."); February 18, 1856 ("Yesterday’s snow drifting. No cars from above or below till 1 P.M.")

These terebinthine drops, each one reflecting the world, colorless as light.

March 9

March 9, 2015

A cloudy, rain-threatening day, not windy and rather warmer than yesterday. 

Painted the bottom of my boat. 

P. M. — To Andromeda Ponds. 

Scare up a rabbit on the hillside by these ponds, which was gnawing a smooth sumach. See also where they have gnawed the red maple, sweet-fern, Populus grandidentata, white and other oaks (taking off considerable twigs at four or five cuts), amelanchier, and sallow; but they seem to prefer the smooth sumach to any of these. With this variety of cheap diet they are not likely to starve. 

I get a few drops of the sweet red maple juice which has run down the main stem where a rabbit had nibbled off close a twig. The rabbit, indeed, lives, but the sumach may be killed. 

The heart-wood of the poison-dogwood, when I break it down with my hand, has a singular rotten, yellow look and a spirituous or apothecary odor.

I clamber over those great white pine masts which lie in all directions one upon another on the hillside south of Fair Haven, where the woods have been laid waste. 

I am struck, in favorable lights, with the jewel-like brilliancy of the sawed ends thickly bedewed with crystal drops of turpentine, thickly as a shield, as if pine-wood nymphs had seasonably wept there the fall of the tree. The perfect sincerity of these terebinthine drops, each one reflecting the world, colorless as light, is incredible when you remember how firm their consistency. And is this that pitch which you cannot touch without being defiled?

Looking from the Cliffs, the sun being invisible, I see far more light in the reflected sky in the neighborhood of the sun than I could see in the heavens from my position, and it occurred to me that the reason was that there was reflected to me from the river the view I should have got if I had stood there on the water in a more favorable position.  

I see that the mud in the road has crystallized as it dried (for it is not nearly cold enough to freeze), like the first crystals that shoot and set on water when freezing. 

I see the minute seeds of the Andromeda calyculata scattered over the melting ice of the Andromeda Ponds. 

An overcast and dark night.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 9, 1855

Painted the bottom of my boat. See March 8, 1855 ("This morning I got my boat out of the cellar and turned it up in the yard to let the seams open before I calk it."); and March 15, 1854 ("Paint my boat.")

The hillside south of Fair Haven, where the woods have been laid waste. See March 6, 1855 ("There is hardly a wood lot of any consequence left but the chopper’s axe has been heard in it this season. They have even infringed fatally on White Pond, on the south of Fair Haven Pond, shaved ofl’ the topknot of the Cliffs, the Colburn farm, Beck Stow’s, etc., etc.")

These terebinthine drops, each one reflecting the world, colorless as light.  See March 24, 1853 ("The white pine wood, freshly cut, piled by the side of the Charles Miles road, is agreeable to walk beside. I like the smell of it, all ready for the borers, and the rich light-yellow color of the freshly split wood and the purple color of the sap at the ends of the quarters, from which distill perfectly clear and crystalline tears, colorless and brilliant as diamonds, tears shed for the loss of a forest in which is a world of light and purity, its life oozing out.")

I see far more light in the reflected sky in the neighborhood of the sun than I could see in the heavens from my position, and it occurred to me that the reason was that there was reflected to me from the river the view I should have got if I had stood there on the water. See December 8, 1853 (“I saw from the peak the entire reflection of large white pines very distinctly against a clear white sky, though the actual tree was completely lost in night against the dark distant hillside.”);  October 14, 1857 (“ The reflection exhibits such an aspect of the hill, apparently, as you would get if your eye were placed at that part of the surface of the pond where the reflection seems to be . . .[T]he reflection is never a true copy or repetition of its substance, but a new composition”);   November 2, 1857 ("The water tells me how it looks to it seen from below.”)

Colorless as light—

crystal drops of turpentine

reflecting the world.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, These terebinthine drops

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau

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

out-of-doors, in its own locality.”

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

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-550309

The face of nature lit up by reflections in still, open water.

March 9

A. M.- Clearing up . Water is fast taking place of ice on the river and meadows , and morning and evening we begin to have some smooth water prospects . 

March 9, 2015

P. M.  To Great Meadows.

Peter H. says that he saw gulls (?) and sheldrakes about a month ago, when the meadow was flooded. 

I detect the trout minnows not an inch long by their quick motions or quirks, soon concealing themselves. 

The river channel is open, but there is a very thin ice of recent formation over the greater part of the meadows. It is a still, moist, louring day, and the water is smooth. 

Saw several flocks of large grayish and whitish or speckled ducks, I suppose the same that P. calls sheldrakes. They, like ducks commonly, incline to fly in a line about an equal distance apart. I hear the common sort of quacking from them. 

It is pleasant to see them at a distance alight on the water with a slanting flight, launch themselves, and sail along so stately. The pieces of ice, large and small, drifting along, help to conceal them, supply so many objects on the water. 

Water is fast taking place of ice on the river and meadows. In the spaces of still open water I see the reflection of the hills and woods, which for so long I have not seen. It gives expression to the face of nature. Sometimes you see only the top of a distant hill reflected far within the meadow, where a dull-gray field of ice intervenes between the water and the shore. The face of nature is lit up by these reflections in still water in the spring.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 9, 1854

I detect the trout minnows not an inch long by their quick motions or quirks, soon concealing themselves. See March 7, 1855 ("At his bridge over the brook it must have been a trout I saw glance,—rather dark, as big as my finger. "); March 8, 1855. (" I walk these days along the brooks, looking for tortoises and trout, etc.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring: Ripples made by Fishes

The pieces of ice, large and small, drifting along, help to conceal them. See February 27, 1860 ("I had noticed for some time, far in the middle of the Great Meadows, something dazzlingly white, which I took, of course, to be a small cake of ice on its end, but now that I have climbed the pitch pine hill and can overlook the whole meadow, I see it to be the white breast of a male sheldrake accompanied perhaps by his mate . . .This is the first bird of the spring that I have seen or heard of."); March 5, 1857 ("I scare up six male sheldrakes, with their black heads, in the Assabet,—the first ducks I have seen."); March 8, 1853 ("I must be on the lookout now for the gulls and the ducks."); March 16, 1854 (" I see ducks afar, sailing on the meadow, leaving a long furrow in the water behind them."). See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau,Signs of the Spring, Ducks Afar, Sailing on the Meadow

I see the reflection of the hills and woods, which for so long I have not seen. See March 9, 1855 ("I see far more light in the reflected sky in the neighborhood of the sun than I could see in the heavens from my position, and it occurred to me that the reason was that there was reflected to me from the river the view I should have got if I had stood there on the water in a more favorable position. ")  See also March 8, 1853 ("Waters . . . begin to reflect, and, instead of looking into the sky, I look into the placid reflecting water for the signs and promise of the morrow.”); March 18, 1854 (“The ice in Fair Haven is more than half melted, and now the woods beyond the pond, reflected in its serene water where there has been opaque ice so long, affect me as they perhaps will not again this year. ”) and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Reflections

March 9. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, March 9

The face of nature

lit up by these reflections –

still water in spring.

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 © 2009-2026

tinyurl.com/hdt-540309

***

A. M.- Clearing up . Water is fast taking place of ice on the river and meadows , and morning and evening we begin to have some smooth water prospects . 

Saw this morning a muskrat sitting “ in a round form on the ice , " or , rather , motionless like the top of a stake or a mass of muck on the edge of the ice . He then dove for a clam , whose shells he left on the ice beside him . 

- 66 Boiled a handful of rock - tripe ( Umbilicaria Muhlen- bergii ) - which Tuckerman says was the favorite Rock - Tripe in Franklin's Journey " —for more than an hour . It produced a black pulp , looking somewhat like boiled tea leaves , and was insipid like rice or starch . The dark water in which it was boiled had a bitter taste and was slightly gelatinous . The pulp was not positively disagreeable to the palate . The account in " The Young Voyageurs " 1 is correct . 

P. M. To Great Meadows . - 3 Peter H. says that he saw gulls ( ? ) and sheldrakes about a month ago , when the meadow was flooded . 

I detect the trout minnows not an inch long by their quick motions or quirks, soon concealing themselves. 

The river channel is open , but there is a very thin ice of recent formation over the greater part of the meadows . 

It is a still , moist , louring day , and the water is smooth . 

Saw several flocks of large grayish and whitish or speckled ducks , I suppose the same that P. calls shel- drakes . They , like ducks commonly , incline to fly in a line about an equal distance apart . I hear the com- mon sort of quacking from them . It is pleasant to see them at a distance alight on the water with a slant- ing flight , launch themselves , and sail along so stately . 

The pieces of ice , large and small , drifting along , help to conceal them , supply so many objects on the water . 

There is this last night's ice on the surface, but the old ice still at the bottom of the meadows. 

In the spaces of still open water I see the reflection of the hills and woods, which for so long I have not seen, and it gives expression to the face of nature. The face of nature is lit up by these reflections in still water in the spring. Sometimes you see only the top of a distant hill reflected far within the meadow, where a dull- gray field of ice intervenes between the water and the shore.