What is the peculiarity of the Indian summer?

November 19

Up river in boat to Hubbard's meadow, cranberrying. They redden all the lee shore, the water being still apparently at the same level with the 16th. 

This is a very pleasant and warm Indian-summer afternoon. Methinks we have not had one like it since October. 

November 19, 2023

This, too, is a gossamer day, though it is not particularly calm. My boat I find to be covered with spiders, whose fine lines soon stretch from side to side. 

Got a bushel and a half of cranberries, mixed with chaff.

What is the peculiarity of the Indian summer? From the 14th to the 21st October inclusive, this year, was perfect Indian summer; and this day the next?

Methinks that any particularly pleasant and warmer weather after the middle of October is thus called. Has it not fine, calm spring days answering to it?

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, November 19, 1853

This, too, is a gossamer day, though it is not particularly calm. See ? November 1, 1851("Why should this day be so distinguished?"), November 3, 1857 ("I see against the sunlight, where the twigs of a maple and black birch intermingle, a little gossamer or fine cobwebs, but much more the twigs, especially of the birch, waving slightly, reflect the light like cobwebs. It is a phenomenon peculiar to this season, when the twigs are bare and the air is clear."); November 15, 1858 ("Gossamer, methinks, belongs to the latter part of October and first part of November"). See also November 3, 1853 ("There are very few phenomena which can be described indifferently as occurring at different seasons of the year")  See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Gossamer Days

What is the peculiarity of the Indian summer?  October 14, 1859 ("A fine Indian-summer day. The 6th and 10th were quite cool, and any particularly warm days since may be called Indian summer (?), I think");. October 31, 1858 (" It is a fine day, Indian-summer-like, and there is considerable gossamer on the causeway and blowing from all trees. That warm weather of the 19th and 20th was, methinks, the same sort of weather with the most pleasant in November (which last alone some allow to be Indian summer)."); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Indian Summer

My boat I find to be covered with spiders, whose fine lines soon stretch from side to side. See October 20, 1856 ("I think that all spiders can walk on water, for when, last summer, I knocked one off my boat by chance, he ran swiftly back to the boat and climbed up, as if more to avoid the fishes than the water.”)  See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Gossamer Days

November 19. See A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, November 19

Indian summer –

has it not fine calm spring days

answering to it?

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The peculiarity of the Indian summer

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau

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

out-of-doors, in its own locality."

 ~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx ©  2009-2024

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-531119

Life in the roots

November 17.

I notice that many plants about this season of the year or earlier, after they have died down at top, put forth fresh and conspicuous radical leaves against another spring. 

So some human beings in the November of their days exhibit some fresh radical greenness, which, though the frosts may soon nip it, indicates and confirms their essential vitality. When their summer leaves have faded and fallen, they put forth fresh radical leaves which sustain the life in their root still, against a new spring.

The dry fields have for a long time been spotted with the small radical leaves of the fragrant life-everlasting, not to mention the large primrose, johnswort, etc., etc. And almost every plant, although it may show no greenness above ground, if you dig about it, will be found to have fresh shoots already pointing upward and ready to burst forth in the spring.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, November 17, 1853

Many plants about this season of the year . . . put forth fresh and conspicuous radical leaves against another spring. See November 3, 1853 ("Now is the time to observe the radical leaves of many plants, which put forth with springlike vigor and are so unlike the others with which we are familiar that it is sometimes difficult to identify them."); December 23, 1855 ("At Lee’s Cliff I notice these radical(?) leaves quite fresh: saxifrage, sorrel, polypody, mullein, columbine, veronica, thyme-leaved sandwort, spleenwort, strawberry, buttercup, radical johnswort, mouse-ear, radical pinweeds, cinquefoils, checkerberry, Wintergreen, thistles, catnip, Turritis strictae specially fresh and bright.")



The life in their root still . . . See May 12, 1851 (" You exist in your roots, like a tree in the winter.")

Clear yellow light of the western sky reflected in the smooth water.

November 15

November 15, 2013

Ρ . M. - To Fair Haven Hill and by boat to witch-hazel bush. 

Were they not the white-in-tail birds I saw this afternoon? Cricket still.

After yesterday's clear, windy weather we have to-day less wind and much haze. It is Indian-summer-like. 

The river has risen yet higher than last night, so that I cut across Hubbard's meadow with ease. The flood has covered most muskrat-cabins again.

Take up a witch-hazel with still some fresh blossoms.

At sundown, on the water, I hear come booming up the river what I suppose is the sound of cannon fired in Lowell to celebrate the Whig victory, the voting down the new Constitution. Perchance no one else in Concord hears them, and it is remarkable that I hear them, who is only interested in the natural phenomenon of sound borne far over water. The river is now so full and so high over the meadows , and at that hour was so smooth withal, that perchance the waves of sound flowed over the smooth surface of the water with less obstruction and further than in any other direction. 

Just after sundown, the waters become suddenly smooth, and the clear yellow light of the western sky is handsomely reflected in the water, making it doubly light to me on the water, diffusing light from below as well as above.

The tall wool-grass  with its stately heads, still stands above and is reflected in the smooth water. Were those insects on the surface after the moon rose skaters or water-bugs? 

After having some business dealings with men, I am occasionally chagrined, and feel as if I had done some wrong, and it is hard to forget the ugly circumstance. I see that such intercourse long continued would make one thoroughly prosaic, hard, and coarse. But the longest intercourse with Nature, though in her rudest moods, does not thus harden and make coarse. A hard, insensible man whom we liken to a rock is indeed much harder than a rock. From hard, coarse, insensible men with whom I have no sympathy, I go to commune with the rocks, whose hearts are comparatively soft. 

This afternoon has wanted no condition to make it a gossamer day, it seems to me, but a calm atmosphere. Plainly the spiders cannot be abroad on the water unless it is smooth. The one I witnessed this fall was at time of flood. May it be that they are driven out of their retreats like muskrats and snow-fleas, and spin these lines for their support? Yet they work on the causeway, too  

I see many cranberries on the vines at the bottom  making a great show. It might be worth the while, where possible, to flood a cranberry meadow as soon as they are ripe and before the frosts, and so preserve them plump and sound till spring. 

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, November 15, 1853

Cricket still. See November 15, 1859 (" I hear in several places a faint cricket note") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Cricket in November (Listening for the last Cricket)

To-day less wind and much haze. It is Indian-summer-like. See November 15, 1859 ("A very pleasant Indian summer day.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Indian Summer

The flood has covered most muskrat-cabins again. See November 15, 1859 ("The river  is perfectly smooth between the uniformly tawny meadows, and I see several musquash-cabins off Hubbard Shore distinctly outlined as usual in the November light. A very pleasant Indian summer day. ")

Take up a witch-hazel with still some fresh blossoms.  See November 14, 1858 ("Probably the witch-hazel and many other flowers lingered till the 11th, when it was colder. The last leaves and flowers (?) may be said to fall about the middle of November."); November 24, 1859 ("At Spanish Brook Path, the witch-hazel (one flower) lingers.") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The Witch-Hazel

The clear yellow light of the western sky . . . reflected in the water. See November 15, 1859 ("The clouds were never more fairly reflected in the water than now.") See also November 25, 1857 (“[T]he thinnest yellow light of November is more warming and exhilarating than any wine they tell of”) and  A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Western Sky

This afternoon has wanted no condition to make it a gossamer day. See November 15, 1858 ("Gossamer, methinks, belongs to the latter part of October and first part of November");
November 15, 1859 ("A fine gossamer is streaming from every fence and tree and stubble.") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Gossamer Days

November 15. See A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,  November 15

Clear yellow light of

the western sky reflected

in the smooth water.

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Clear yellow light of the western sky 

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, 

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

out-of-doors, in its own locality.”

~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2024

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-531115

In the leafless November twilight awaiting the onset of the wind.

 November 14

There is a clear air and a strong northwest wind drying up the washed earth after the heavy rain of yesterday. The road looks smooth and white as if washed and swept.

I climb Annursnack. Under this strong wind more dry oak leaves are rattling down. 

All winter is their fall. A distinction is to be made between those trees whose leaves fall as soon as the bright autumnal tints are gone and they are withered and those whose leaves are rustling and falling all winter even into spring.

October is the month of painted leaves, of ripe leaves, when all the earth, not merely flowers, but fruits and leaves, are ripe. With respect to its colors and its season, it is the sunset month of the year, when the earth is painted like the sunset sky. This rich glow flashes round the world. 

November 14, 2020

This light fades into the clear, white, leafless twilight of November, and what ever more glowing sunset or Indian summer we have then is the afterglow of the year.

In October the man is ripe even to his stalk and leaves; he is pervaded by his genius, when all the forest is a universal harvest, whether he possesses the enduring color of the pines, which it takes two years to ripen and wither, or the brilliant color of the deciduous trees, which fade the first fall.

From this hill I am struck with the smoothness and washed appearance of all the landscape. All these russet fields and swells look as if the withered grass had been combed by the flowing water. Not merely the sandy roads, but the fields are swept. All waters — the rivers and ponds and swollen brooks — and many new ones are now seen through the leafless trees — are blue reservoirs of dark indigo amid the general russet and reddish-brown and gray.

October answers to that period in the life of man when he is no longer dependent on his transient moods, 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.

Now for the bare branches of the oak woods, where hawks have nested and owls perched, the sinews of the trees, and the brattling of the wind in their midst. For, now their leaves are off, they've bared their arms, thrown off their coats, and, in the attitude of fencers, await the onset of the wind.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, November 14, 1853

I climb Annursnack. See May 8, 1853 ("They have cut off the woods, and with them the shad-bush, on the top of Annursnack, but laid open new and wider prospects"); September 13, 1858 ("Looking from the top of Annursnack, the aspect of the earth generally is still a fresh green, especially the woods, but many dry fields,. . . are a very pale tawny or lighter still."); October 12, 1857 ("Looking from the Hill . . . I am not sure but the yellow now prevails over the red in the landscape, and even over the green. The general color of the landscape from this hill is now russet, i.e. red, yellow, etc., mingled . . .I can see very plainly the colors of the sproutland, chiefly oak, on Fair Haven Hill, about four miles distant, and also yellows on Mt. Misery, five miles off, also on Pine Hill, and even on Mt. Tabor, indistinctly. November 28, 1860 ("To Annursnack. Looking from the hilltop, I should say that there was more oak woodland than pine to be seen.")

October is the month of painted leaves . . . the sunset month of the year, when the earth is painted like the sunset sky . . . This light fades into the clear, white, leafless twilight of November.  See October 24, 1858 ("Every fruit, on ripening, and just before its fall, acquires a bright tint. So do the leaves; so the sky before the end of the day, and the year near its setting. October is the red sunset sky, November the later twilight.")

What he has been and done in his spring and summer appears. He bears his fruit. See August 18, 1853   ("Now is the season of fruits; but where is our fruit? The night of the year is approaching. What have we done with our talent?")

For, now their leaves are off, they've bared their arms, thrown off their coats, and, in the attitude of fencers, await the onset of the wind. See November 14, 1857 ("This strong and cutting northwest wind makes the oak leaves rustle dryly enough to set your heart on edge.") See also October 29, 1858 ("Nature now, like an athlete, begins to strip herself in earnest for her contest with her great antagonist Winter. In the bare trees and twigs what a display of muscle!")

November 14. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, November 14

October light fades

into the clear white leafless

November twilight.

Now the bare branches

of the oak woods await the

onset of the wind. 

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The leafless November twilight 

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau

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

out-of-doors, in its own locality.”

~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2024

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-531114

Bracing cold, and exhilarating sunlight

Veronica srpyllifolia

November 11.

A fine, calm, frosty morning, a resonant and clear air except a slight white vapor which perchance is the steam of the melting frost.  Bracing cold, and exhilarating sunlight on russet and frosty fields. Apples are frozen on the trees and rattle like stones in my pocket.   I wear mittens now.

I stop at Lee's Cliff, and there is a Veronica serpyllifolia out. 

I hear the cawing of crows toward the distant wood.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, November 11, 1853

November 11, 1853 updated.  See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Apples are frozen on the trees

Apples are frozen on the trees and rattle like stones in my pocket. December 19, 1850 ("The wild apples are frozen as hard as stones, and rattle in my pockets, but I find that they soon thaw when I get to my chamber and yield a sweet cider.")

I hear the cawing of crows toward the distant wood. See January 12, 1855 ("I hear faintly the cawing of a crow far, far away, echoing from some unseen wood-side")

November sunrise.

November 7. 

A clear, cold, as well as frosty, morning. The sun now rises far southward. I have to walk with my hands in my pockets. I see westward the earliest sunlight on the reddish oak leaves and the pines. 

The notes of one or two small birds, this cold morning, in the now comparatively leafless woods, sound like a nail dropped on an anvil.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, November 7, 1853

The notes of one or two small birds, this cold morning, in the now comparatively leafless woods, sound like a nail dropped on an anvil. See March 13, 1853 (“Listening for early birds, I hear a faint tinkling sound in the leafless woods, as if a piece of glass rattled against a stone”); March 18, 1858 (“Almost every bush has its song sparrow this morning, and their tinkling strains are heard on all sides.”);  December 5, 1853 (“”See and hear a downy woodpecker on an apple tree. Have not many winter birds, like this and the chickadee, a sharp note like tinkling glass or icicles? ); December 17, 1856 ("That feeble cheep of the tree sparrow, like the tinkling of an icicle. . ., is probably a call to their mates, by which they keep together.")

Noticing buds

November 6.

It is surprising how little most of us are contented to know about the sparrows which drift about in the air before us just before the first snows. These little sparrows with white in tail, perhaps the prevailing bird of late, have flitted before me so many falls and springs, yet they have been strangers to me. 

I have not inquired whence they came or whither they were going, or what their habits are. It is remarkable how little we attend to what is passing before us constantly, unless our genius directs our attention that way.

The witch-hazel spray is peculiar and interesting, with little knubs at short intervals, zig zag, crinkle-crankle. How happens it? Did the leaves grow so close? The bud is long against the stem, with a neck to it. 

The fever bush has small roundish buds, two or three commonly together, probably the blossom-buds. 

The alternate cornel, small, very dark reddish buds, on forking, smooth, slender twigs at long intervals. 

The panicled andromeda, minute pointed red buds, hugging the curving stems.

The plump, roundish, club-shaped, well-protected buds of the alders, and rich purplish or mulberry catkins, three, four, or five together. 

The red maple buds, showing three or more sets of scales. 

The remarkable roundish, plump red buds of the high blueberry. 

The four-sided, long spear-head-shaped buds of the Viburnum Lentago, at the end of forked twigs, probably blossom-buds, with minute leaf-buds lower on sides of twigs.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, November 6, 1853

The sparrows which drift about in the air before us just before the first snows. These little sparrows with white in tail, perhaps the prevailing bird of late. See November 1, 1851 ("At this season there are stranger sparrows or finches about."); November 2, 1853 ("What are those sparrows in loose flocks which I have seen two or three weeks, . . .whitish over and beneath the eye, and some white observed in tail when they fly?. . . Can they be the grass-bird ? They resemble it in marking. They are much larger than the tree sparrows. Methinks it is a very common fall bird."); November 4, 1860 (" Thus the birch begins to shed its seed about the time our winter birds arrive from the north."); November 4, 1855("See some large flocks of F. hyemalis . . . rise in a body from the ground and fly to the trees as you approach. There are a few tree sparrows with them."); November 5, 1854 ("I think it is the fox-colored sparrow I see in flocks and hear sing now by wood-sides."): November 7, 1855 (" I hear a few tree sparrows in one place on the trees and bushes near the river, — a clear, chinking chirp and a half-strain.”)

It is remarkable how little we attend to what is passing before us... See November 8, 1857 ("How silently and unobserved by most do these changes take place!"); November 4, 1858 ("We cannot see any thing until we are possessed with the idea of it.”); November 3, 1861 ("All this is perfectly distinct to an observant eye, and yet could easily pass unnoticed by most."); See also January 5, 1860 ("A man receives only what he is ready to receive . . . He does not observe the phenomenon that cannot be linked with the rest which he has observed, however novel and remarkable it may be. A man tracks himself through life, apprehending only what he already half knows.”)

. . .unless our genius directs our attention that way. See June 23, 1851 ("My genius makes distinctions which my understanding cannot, and which my senses do not report.”); March 21, 1853 ("We become, as it were, pliant and ductile again to strange but memorable influences; - we are led a little way by our genius.”); March 22, 1853 ("I am waked by my genius, surprised to find myself expecting the dawn in so serene and joyful and expectant a mood.”); September 2, 1856 ("It commonly chances that I make my most interesting botanical discoveries when I am in a thrilled and expectant mood").

Buds. See October 30, 1853 ("Now, now is the time to look at the buds.”); November 4, 1854 ("The shad-bush buds have expanded into small leaflets already.”);  December 1, 1852 ("At this season I observe the form of the buds which are prepared for spring."); December 6, 1856 ("Our eyes go searching along the stems for what is most vivacious and characteristic, the concentrated summer gone into winter quarters."); January 12, 1855 ("Well may the tender buds attract us at this season, no less than partridges, for they are the hope of the year, the spring rolled up. The summer is all packed in them.")

The four-sided, long spear-head-shaped buds of the Viburnum Lentago. See April 11, 1852 ("Is that the Viburnum Lentago with the spear-shaped buds?"). See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Viburnum lentago  (nannyberry)

November 6. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, November 6

 Remarkable how

 little we attend to what

 passes before us.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Noticing buds

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau

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

out-of-doors, in its own locality."

~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2024