The shrilling of the alder locust is the solder that welds these autumn days together.
I thread my way through the blueberry swamp in front of Martial Miles's. The high blueberries far above my head in the shade of the swamp retain their freshness and coolness a long time. Little blue sacks full of swampy nectar and ambrosia commingled. And now a far greater show of choke-berries is here, rich to see.
I press my way through endless thickets of these berries, their lower leaves now fast reddening. All bushes resound with the song of the alder locust; I wade up to my ears in it.
Methinks the burden of their song is the countless harvests of the year, - berries, grain, and other fruits.
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, August 26, 1860
I thread my way through the blueberry swamp in front of Martial Miles's.. .. Now a far greater show of choke-berries is here, rich to see. See July 30, 1860 ("Am glad to press my way through Miles's Swamp. Thickets of choke-berry bushes higher than my head, with many of their lower leaves already red"); August 5, 1852 ("How wildly rich and beautiful hang on high there the blueberries which might so easily be poisonous, the cool blue clusters high in air. Choke-berries, fair to the eye but scarcely palatable, hang far above your head, weighing down the bushes. The wild holly berry, perhaps the most beautiful of berries, hanging by slender threads from its more light and open bushes and more delicate leaves. The bushes, eight feet high, are black with choke-berries, and there are no wild animals to eat them. ")
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