It is perfect autumn.

October 7

Now is the time to behold the maple swamps, one mass of red and yellow, all on fire, as it were; and then, in the village, the warm brownish-yellow elms.

The green pines springing out of huckleberries on the hillsides look as if surrounded by red or vermilion paint. 

I notice the Viola ovata, houstonia, Ranunculus repens, caducous polygala, small scratch-grass polygonum, autumnal dandelion (very abundant, yellowing the low turfy grounds and hills), small bushy white aster, a few goldenrods, Polygonum hydropiperoides and the unknown flowerless bidens, soapwort gentian (now turned dark purple), yarrow, the white erigeron, red clover, hedge-mustard. 

The muskrats have begun to erect their cabins. Thev begin soon after the pontederias are (dead (??). Saw one done. Do they build them in the night? 

Heat and see larks, bluebirds, robins, song sparrows. Also see painted tortoises and shad frogs. 

There must be in abundance of mast this year. I could gather up nearly a bushel of acorns under one white oak, out of their cups, and, I think, quite good to eat. They are earlier to fall than the walnuts. It is encouraging to see a large crop of acorns, though we do not use them. 

The white maples turn yellowish, though some boughs are red. 

I sit on Poplar Hill. It is a warm Indian-summerish afternoon. The sun comes out of clouds, and lights up and warms the whole scene. It is perfect autumn. 

I see a hundred smokes arising through the yellow elm-tops in the village, where the villagers are preparing for tea. It is the mellowing year. 

The sunshine harmonizes with the imbrowned and fiery foliage.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, October 7, 1852

Now is the time to behold the maple swamps, one mass of red and yellow, all on fire, See October 7, 1857 ("I see looking toward the sun the top of the maple swamp just appearing over the hill, - a strip of the most intensely brilliant scarlet, orange, and yellow, equal to any flowers or fruits or any tints ever painted.") See also October 9, 1858 ("The maple swamps begin to look smoky, they are already so bare. Their fires, so faded."); October 10, 1851("Now is the time to enjoy the dry leaves. Now all nature is a dried herb, full of medicinal odors."); October 18, 1855 ("The maple swamps, bare of leaves, here and there about the meadow, look like smoke blown along the edge of the woods."); October 18, 1858 ("I am struck by the magical change which has taken place in the red maple swamps . . . like the smoke that is seen where a blaze is extinguished — desolate gray twigs")

Now is the time to behold . . . in the village, the warm brownish-yellow elms. See` October 6 & 7, 1853 ("Windy. Elms bare.") See also October 9, 1857 ("The elms are now at the height of their change. As I look down our street, which is lined with them, now clothed in their very rich brownish-yellow dress, they remind me of yellowing sheaves of grain, as if the harvest had come to the village itself"); October 10, 1853 ("Cooler and windy at sunset, and the elm leaves come down again.”); October 12, 1852 (" The elms in the village, losing their leaves, reveal the birds' nests.”); October 13, 1858 ("The elms are at least half bare."); October 17, 1857 (“A great many more ash trees, elms, etc., are bare now.”)

The muskrats have begun to erect their cabins. See October 16, 1859 ("For thirty years I have annually observed, about this time or earlier, the freshly erected winter lodges of the musquash along the riverside. . . This may not be an annual phenomenon to you. It may not be in the Greenwich almanac or ephemeris, but it has an important place in my Kalendar. So surely as the sun appears to be in Libra or Scorpio, I see the conical winter lodges of the musquash rising above the withered pontederia and flags."); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Musquash

It is a warm Indian-summerish afternoon. See October 4, 1859 ("This is a fine and warm afternoon, Indian-summer like, but we have not had cold enough before it."); October 5, 1857. ("A warm and bright October afternoon."); October 10, 1856 ("These are the finest days in the year, Indian summer.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Indian Summer

It is perfect autumn. It is the mellowing year. See October 7, 1857 ("When I turn round half-way up Fair Haven Hill, by the orchard wall, and look northwest, I am surprised for the thousandth time at the beauty of the landscape."); See also October 8, 1852 (“Nothing can exceed the brilliancy of some of the maples which stand by the shore and extend their red banners over the water.”)

There must be in abundance of mast this year. I could gather up nearly a bushel of acorns under one white oak.  See September 30, 1854 ("Acorns are generally now turned brown and fallen or falling; the ground is strewn with them and in paths they are crushed by feet and wheels.");October 11, 1860 ("There is a remarkably abundant crop of white oak acorns this fall, also a fair crop of red oak acorns; but not of scarlet and black, very few of them. The acorns are now in the very midst of their fall."); October 13, 1860 ("This is a white oak year . . . I should think that there might be a bushel or two of acorns on and under some single trees."); October 14, 1859 ("The ground is strewn also with red oak acorns now, and, as far as I can discover, acorns of all kinds have fallen.")

October 7. See A Book of the Seasons,,  by Henry Thoreau,  October 7

Indian-summer –

the sun comes out and lights up

the mellowing year.

 A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, It is perfect autumn.

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-521007

***

We set out intending to go over the far ridge.

We are delayed on our own ridge cutting a log that has been in the way a long time. It is still solid in the core, and once i get it cut in one place, it cant be moved because it is binding on some trees. We cut nearly through one part, but it still binds. Finally Jane cuts through another spot and we can both drag it out of the way. I end up moving the other end off the trail side. We smooth the trail with wood chips.

We bushwack east over the stream and finally reach the main logging road, but keep east to the next road then edge up along the cliff. Here is a big beech blowdown and we have to clear a way up along the cliff edge to the saddle where the red trail starts.

But it is late, and will be dark soon.

We decide to go back down and take the main road up to the north and bushwack over to the double chair.

Jane stops at the wintergreen patch and samples some.

At the top on that sparse ridge we find our separate ways over the rocks down to the west. it is now getting dark. There are lots of blowdowns separating us.

Jane stops and calls me over. 

She is on a log, her headlamp is not working unless she takes it off and squeezes. Meanwhile her glasses are missing. I have a flashlight; she gets out hers. It takes a while, but finally i spot her glasses.

 It is now dark.

I remember the time we were lost in the dark over here. It’s something different now. A feeling of confidence that we know where we are. We have lights yes, but we know where we are.

We head generally toward the double chair, meandering around the blowdowns. We come to the ridge before the ridge and then we are there. Right at the bottom of the trail up to the double chair.

Up we go and it is reassuring to have the reflectors marking the trail. We rest in the chairs. Then down the ridge trail. We pass through our now log-free spot. and end up at the view. Lights twinkling in the Champlain valley.

Now down round  to the junction upper road and home.

Four or four and a half hours.

Deep woods night hike.

October 7, 2012