I awake

i awake under a skylight of snow with a vague

ache for yesterday. For the day mother took me

to see Eisenhower drive up main street. They 

give you flags to wave and hold your hand and are gone.

it seemed only yesterday until this madman came

to power and now it is a daily nightmare except

you know what i want.

zphx 20170311

Woodchuck mittens

March 11. 

I see and talk with Rice, sawing off the ends of clapboards which he has planed, to make them square, for an addition to his house. He has got a fire in his shop, and plays at house-building there. His life is poetic. He does the work himself. 

He combines several qualities and talents rarely combined. Though he owns houses in the city, whose repair he attends to, finds tenants for them, and collects the rent, he also has his Sudbury farm and bean-fiolds. Though he lived in a city, he would still be natural and related to primitive nature around him. 

Though he owned all Beacon Street, you might find that his mittens were made of the skin of a woodchuck that had ravaged his bean-field, which he had cured. I noticed a woodchuck’s skin tacked up to the inside of his shop. He said it had fatted on his beans, and William had killed and expected to get another to make a pair of mittens of, one not being quite large enough. It was excellent for mittens. You could hardly wear it out. 

Spoke of the cuckoo, which was afraid of the birds, was easily beaten; would dive right into the middle of a poplar, then come out on to some bare twig and look round for a nest to rob of young or eggs. 

Had noticed a pigeon woodpecker go repeatedly in a straight line from his nest in an apple tree to a distant brook-side in a meadow, dive down there, and in a few minutes return.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 11, 1857

Get a glimpse of a hawk, the first of the season.

March 8. 

P. M. - To Hill. 

When I cut a white pine twig the crystalline sap instantly exudes. How long has it been thus?

Get a glimpse of a hawk, the first of the season. 

The tree sparrows sing a little on this still sheltered and sunny side of the hill, but not elsewhere. 

A partridge goes off from amid the pitch pines. It lifts each wing so high above its back and flaps so low, and withal so rapidly, that they present the appearance of a broad wheel, almost a revolving sphere, as it whirs off like a cannon-ball shot from a gun. 

Minott told me again the reason why the bushes were coming in so fast in the river meadows. Now that the mower takes nothing stronger than molasses and water, he darsn’t meddle with anything bigger than a pipe-stem.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 8, 1857

. . .the crystalline sap instantly exudes. . . .See March 9, 1855 ("bedewed with crystal drops of turpentine, . . . each one reflecting the world, colorless as light, like drops of dew heaven-distilled and trembling to their fall.")March 9, 1855

Get a glimpse of a hawk, the first of the season. See February 16, 1854 ("See two large hawks circling over the woods by Walden, hunting, — the first I have seen since December 15th."); March 15, 1856  ("Hear two hawks scream. There is something truly March-like in it, like a prolonged blast or whistling of the wind . . ."); March 15, 1860("A hen-hawk sails away from the wood southward.

 

These hawks, as usual, began to be common about the first of March, showing that they were returning from their winter quarters."); March 19, 1855 ("I see a hawk circling over a small maple grove through this calm air, ready to pounce on the first migrating sparrow that may have arrived. "); March 29, 1854 ("See two marsh hawks, white on rump . . . A hen-hawk, - two - circling over Cliffs."); March 30, 1853("The motions of a hawk correcting the flaws in the wind by raising his shoulder from time to time, are much like those of a leaf yielding to them. For the little hawks are hunting now. You have not to sit long on the Cliffs before you see one.")

It whirs off like a cannon-ball shot from a gun. See April 22, 1852 (" Our dog sends off a partridge with a whir, far across the open field and the river, like a winged bullet."); January 31, 1855 (".At length, on some signal which I did not perceive, they go with a whir, as if shot, off over the bushes."); December 14, 1855 ("They shoot off swift and steady . . .whirs off like a cannon-ball shot from a gun."); September 18, 1857 ("We started a pack of grouse, which went off with a whir like cannon-balls."). See also A Book of Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Partridge.

March 6, 2017

The warmth of the fire is carried off by the draught,

March 5.

P. M. — To Hill. 

See the tracks of a woodchuck in the sand-heap about the mouth of his hole, where he has cleared out his entry. 

The red ground under a large pitch pine is strewn with scales of the ashy-brown bark over a diameter of ten or twelve feet, where some woodpecker has searched and hammered about the stem. 

I scare up six male sheldrakes, with their black heads, in the Assabet,—the first ducks I have seen. Methought I heard a slight frog-like croak from them before.

The sap of the buttonwood flows; how long? 

The lilac buds cannot have swollen any since the 25th of February, on account of the cold. On examining, they look as if they had felt the influence of the previous heat a little. There are narrow light-green spaces laid bare along the edges of the brown scales, as if they had expanded so much. 

This and the last four or five days very gusty. Most of the warmth of the fire is carried off by the draught, which consumes the wood very fast, faster than a much colder but still day in winter. My kindlings spend very fast now, for I do not commonly keep fire at night.

Thomas Morton in his “New English Canaan” has this epitaph on an infant that died apparently as soon as born, without being baptized: — 

“Underneath this heap of stones Lieth a parcel of small bones, What hope at last can such imps have, That from the womb go to the grave?” 

Winckelmann in his “History of Ancient Art,” vol. ii, page 27, says of Beauty, “I have meditated long upon it, but my meditations commenced too late, and in the brightest glow of mature life its essential has remained dark to me; I can speak of it, therefore, only feebly and spiritlessly.” —Lodge’s translation.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 5, 1857

Most of the warmth of the fire is carried off by the draught, which consumes the wood very fast . . . See February 3, 1856 ("It is a cold and windy Sunday. . . .Such a day makes a great hole in the wood-pile.”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring; I begin to think that my wood will last

Winckelmann says of Beauty '. . . my meditations commenced too late, and in the brightest glow of mature life its essential has remained dark to me . . .’  See February 6, 1857 ("Winckelmann says . . . 'I am now past forty, and . . . perceive, also, that a certain delicate spirit begins to evaporate, with which I raised myself, by powerful soarings, to the contemplation of the beautiful.')

Lichens from dry ash and leather-color turn a lively olive-green.

March 3

P. M. —To Fair Haven Hill. 

3 p.m., 24° in shade. 

The red maple sap, which I first noticed the 21st of February, is now frozen up in the auger-holes and thence down the trunk to the ground, except in one place where the hole was made in the south side of the tree, where it is melted and is flowing a little. Generally, then, when the thermometer is thus low, say below freezing-point, it does not thaw in the auger-holes. 

There is no expanding of buds of any kind, nor early birds, to be seen. 

Nature was thus premature — anticipated her own revolutions — with respect to the sap of trees, the buds (spiraea at least), and birds. The warm spell ended with February 26th. 

The crust of yesterday's snow has been converted by the sun and wind into flakes of thin ice from two or three inches to a foot in diameter, scattered like a mackerel sky over the pastures, as if all the snow had been blown out from beneath. Much of this thin ice is partly opaque and has a glutinous look even, reminding me of frozen glue. Probably it has much dust mixed with it. 

I go along below the north end of the Cliffs. The rocks in the usual place are buttressed with icy columns, for water in almost imperceptible quantity is trickling down the rocks. 

It is interesting to see how the dry black or ash-colored umbilicaria, which get a little moisture when the snow melts and trickles down along a seam or shallow channel of the rock, become relaxed and turn olive-green and enjoy their spring, while a few inches on each side of this gutter or depression in the face of the rock they are dry and crisp as ever. Perhaps the greater part of this puny rill is drunk up by the herbage on its brink. 

These are among the consequences of the slight robin snow of yesterday. It is already mostly dissipated, but where a heap still lingers, the sun on the warm face of this cliff leads down a puny trickling rill, moistening the gutters on the steep face of the rocks where patches of umbilicaria lichens grow, of rank growth, but now thirsty and dry as bones and hornets' nests, dry as shells, which crackle under your feet. 

The more fortunate of these, which stand by the moistened seams or gutters of the rock, luxuriate in the grateful moisture — as in their spring. Their rigid nerves relax, they unbend and droop like limber infancy, and from dry ash and leather-color turn a lively olive-green. 

You can trace the course of this trickling stream over the rock through such a patch of lichens by the olive-green of the lichens alone. Here and there, too, the same moisture refreshes and brightens up the scarlet crowns of some little cockscomb lichen, and when the rill reaches the perpendicular face of the cliff, its constant drip at night builds great organ-pipes of a ringed structure, which run together, buttressing the rock. 

Skating yesterday and to-day.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 3, 1857

The red maple sap, which I first noticed the 21st of February, is now frozen up. See note to February 21, 1857 ("Am surprised to see this afternoon a boy collecting red maple sap from some trees behind George Hubbard's.”)

There is no expanding of buds of any kind, nor early birds, to be seen. Compare March 5, 1852 ("As I sit under their boughs, looking into the sky, I suddenly see the myriad black dots of the expanded buds against the sky. Their sap is flowing.”)

Nature . . . anticipated her own revolutions. See April 18, 1852 ("Can I not by expectation affect the revolutions of nature, make a day to bring forth something new?")

Great organ-pipes of a ringed structure, which run together, buttressing the rock. See February 14, 1852 ("icicles . . .hang perpendicularly, like organ pipes."); January 11, 1854 ("Now is the time to go out and see the ice organ-pipes.”)

Moisture refreshes and brightens up the scarlet crowns of some little cockscomb lichen, See January 26, 1852 ("The lichens look rather bright to-day, . . .The beauty of lichens, with their scalloped leaves, the small attractive fields, the crinkled edge! I could study a single piece of bark for hour.”);  February 5, 1853 ("It is a lichen day. . . . All the world seems a great lichen and to grow like one to-day, - a sudden humid growth.”); March 5, 1852 ("Such is the mood of my mind, and I call it studying lichens . . .really prevents my seeing aught else in a walk"); March 6, 1856 ("The snow is softening . Methinks the lichens are a little greener for it . "); See also  A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau   The Lichens and the lichenst

March 3.  See A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau March 3

Lichens from dry ash 

and leather-color turn a 

lively olive-green. 

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,  Lichens turnng green

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

Very gusty day.

March 2

At Cambridge. Very gusty day. An inch or two of snow falls, — all day about it, — and strangely blown away.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 2, 1857

An inch or two of snow falls. See March 2, 1858 ("Snowed last night and this morning, about seven inches deep."); March 2, 1856 ("Has snowed three or four inches —very damp snow — in the night;")

March 2.  See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, March 2

Very gusty day. 

An inch or two of snow falls, — 

strangely blown away.

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,  Very gusty day. 

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