The Spaceship Cloud

crowded thoughts under a clear blue sky
the spaceship cloud drifts by unnoticed






Zphx

What we do best or most perfectly (There is always some accident in the best things)

March 11.

6 a. m. — By riverside I hear the song of many song sparrows, the most of a song of any yet. 

And on the swamp white oak top by the stone bridge, I see and hear a red-wing. It sings almost steadily on its perch there, sitting all alone, as if to attract companions (and I see two more, also solitary, on different tree-tops within a quarter of a mile), calling the river to life and tempting ice to melt and trickle like its own sprayey notes. Another flies over on high, with a tchuck and at length a clear whistle. 

The birds anticipate the spring; they come to melt the ice with their songs. 

But methinks the sound of the woodpecker tapping is as much a spring note as any these mornings; it echoes peculiarly in the air of a spring morning.

P. M. — To Hunt house. 

I go to get one more sight of the old house which Hosmer is pulling down, but I am too late to see much of it. The chimney is gone and little more than the oblong square frame stands. 

E. Hosmer and Nathan Hosmer are employed taking it down. The latter draws all the nails, however crooked, and puts them in his pockets, for, being wrought ones, he says it is worth the while. 

It appears plainly, now that the frame is laid bare, that the eastern two-thirds of the main house is older than the western third, for you can see where the west part has been added on, at the line A B. All the joists in the old part are hewn; in the newer, sawn. But very extensive repairs had been made in the old part, probably at the same time with the addition. Also the back part had been added on to the new part, merely butted on at one side without tenant or mortise. The peculiar cedar laths were confined to the old part. The whole has oak sills and pine timbers. The two Hosmers were confident that the chimney was built at the same time with the new part, because, though there were flues in it from the new part, there was no break in the courses of brick about them. 

On the chimney was the date 1703 (?), — I think that was it, — and if this was the date of the chimney, it would appear that the old part belonged to the Winthrops, and it may go back to near the settlement of the town. 

The laths long and slender of white cedar split. In the old part the ends of the timbers were not merely mortised into the posts, but rested on a shoulder thus: | | The fireplace measures twelve feet wide by three deep by four and a half high. The mantel- tree is log, fourteen feet long and some fifteen to sixteen inches  square at the ends, but one half cut away diagonally between the ends,one half cut away diagonally between the ends, and now charred. It would take three men to I handle it easily. The timbers of the old part had  been cased and the joists plastered over at some time, and, now that they were uncovered, you saw many old memo randums and scores in chalk on them, as "May ye 4th," "Ephraim Brown," "0— 3s— 4d," “ oxen      " — so they kept their score or tally, — such as the butcher and baker sometimes make. 

Perhaps the occupant had let his neighbor have the use of his oxen so many days. 

I asked if they had found any old coins. N. Hosmer answered, Yes, he had, and showed it me, — took it out of his pocket. It was about as big as a quarter of a dollar, with "Britain," etc., legible, "Geo II," and date "1742," but it was of lead. But there was no manuscript, — not a copy of verses, only these chalk records of butter and cheese, oxen and bacon, and a counterfeit coin, out of the smoky recesses. Very much such relics as you find in the old rats' nests in which these houses abound.

Find out as soon as possible what are the best things in your composition, and then shape the rest to fit them. The former will be the midrib and veins of the leaf.


There is always some accident in the best things, whether thoughts or expressions or deeds.

The memorable thought,

the happy expression,

the admirable deed

are only partly ours.

The thought came to us

because we were in a fit mood;

we were unconscious and did not know 

that we had said or done a good thing.

We must walk consciously only part way toward our goal, and then leap in the dark to our success.

What we do best or most perfectly is what we have most thoroughly learned by the longest practice, and at length it falls from us without our notice, as a leaf from a tree. It is the last time we shall do it, — our unconscious leavings.

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


By riverside I hear the song of many song sparrows, the most of a song of any yet. See March 11, 1854 (“The developing of their song is gradual but sure, like the expanding of a flower. This is the first song I have heard.”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring: the Song Sparrow Sings

I see and hear a red-wing. See March 11, 1852 ("I believe that I saw blackbirds yesterday.”); March 11, 1854 ("Air full of birds, — bluebirds, song sparrows, chickadee (phoebe notes), and blackbirds.”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Red-Wing Arrives

But methinks the sound of the woodpecker tapping is as much a spring note as any these mornings; it echoes peculiarly in the air of a spring morning. See  March 13, 1855 ("I hear the rapid tapping of the woodpecker from over the water."); March 15, 1854 ("I hear that peculiar, interesting loud hollow tapping of a woodpecker from over the water.”);  March 18, 1853 ("The tapping of the woodpecker about this time.”); March 27, 1857 (“You are pretty sure to hear a woodpecker early in the morning over these still waters.”); March 30, 1854 ("At the Island I see and hear this morning the cackle of a pigeon woodpecker at the hollow poplar; had heard him tapping distinctly from my boat's place.”); April 14, 1856 (“Hear the flicker’s cackle on the old aspen, and his tapping sounds afar over the water. . . .It is a hollow sound which rings distinct to a great distance, especially over water.”); April 27, 1856 ("The tapping of a woodpecker is made a more remarkable and emphatic sound by the hollowness of the trunk, the expanse of water which conducts the sound, and the morning hour at which I commonly hear it.”);May 9, 1860 ("The tapping of a woodpecker sounds distinct and hollow this still cloudy day.”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring, Woodpeckers Tapping

On the chimney was the date 1703 (?), — I think that was it. See February 15, 1857 (“I found that the Lee house, of which six weeks ago I made an accurate plan, had been completely burned up the evening before, i. e. the 13th, while I was lecturing in Worcester. . . . In the course of the forenoon of yesterday I walked up to the site of the house, . . .. On my way I met Abel Hunt, to whom I observed that it was perhaps the oldest house in town. "No," said he, "they saw the date on it during the fire, — 1707." ”)

What we do best or most perfectly is what we have most thoroughly learned by the longest practice, and at length it falls from us without our notice. See January 12, 1852 ("Go not so far out of your way for a truer life; keep strictly onward in that path alone which your genius points out. Do the things which lie nearest to you, but which are difficult to do.") See also Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics (Book 7) (“Life is an activity, and each man actively exercises his favorite faculties upon the objects he loves most.”); John Rawls, A Theory of Justice (defining the Aristotilean Principle)(“Other things equal, human beings enjoy the exercise of their realized capacities (their innate or trained abilities), and this enjoyment increases the more the capacity is realized, or the greater its complexity."); Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, Beyond Boredom and Anxiety ("Flow a state of complete absorption in a challenge that matches one’s skill . . . in the flow, using skills to the utmost that are matched with the degree of challenge, one’s whole being is completely involved in an activity [and the] ego falls away [and] time flies without our conscious notice.")

Do the things which lie 

nearest to you – but which are 

difficult to do.

HDT

March 11 See A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, March 11.

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,  What we do best or most perfectly

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-590311

Thoreau’s Dream

In the crucible of my celibate life
purified of all desire,
I enter truth from behind
and call her name.

Simplify! Simplify!



Zphx