Early raspberries; young oaks

June 30.

June 30, 2014

Jersey tea. 

Young oak shoots have grown from one and a half to three or four feet, but now in some cases appear to be checked and a large bud to have formed. 

Poke, a day or two. 

Small crypta Elatine, apparently some days at least, at Callitriche Pool. 

Rubus triflorus berries, some time, — the earliest fruit of a rubus.The berries are very scarce, light red, semitransparent, showing the seed, — a few (six to ten) large shining grains and rather acid. 

Lobelia spicata, to-morrow.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 30, 1854

Jersey tea. See June 29, 1853 ("Jersey tea, just beginning.")

Young oak shoots have grown from one and a half to three or four feet, but now in some cases appear to be checked and formed a large bud. See May 26, 1854 ("Some young red oaks have already grown eighteen inches, i. e. within a fortnight, before their leaves have two-thirds expanded. They have accomplished more than half their year's growth, as if,. . .  now burst forth like a stream which has been dammed. They are properly called shoots.”); May 25, 1853 ("Many do most of their growing for the year in a week or two at this season. They shoot - they spring - and the rest of the Year they harden and mature,. . .")

Rubus triflorus berries, some time, — the earliest fruit of a rubus. See May 21, 1856 ("Rubus triflorus abundantly out at the Saw Mill Brook”); June 7, 1857 ("Rubus triflorus still in bloom");   June 25, 1854 ("A raspberry on sand by railroad, ripe."); July 6, 1857 (“Rubus triflorus well ripe.”); July 2, 1851("Some of the raspberries are ripe, the most innocent and simple of fruits”); July 11, 1857 ("I see more berries than usual of the Rubus triflorus in the open meadow near the southeast corner of the Hubbard meadow blueberry swamp.. . .They are dark shining red and, when ripe, of a very agreeable flavor and somewhat of the raspberry's spirit.") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Raspberry

Lobelia spicata, to-morrow. See July 19, 1856 ("On the under side of a Lobelia spicata leaf, a sort of loose-spun cocoon, about five eighths of an inch long, of golden-brown silk, beneath which silky mist a hundred young spiders swarm")

Large black birches.

June 29.

All the large black birches on Hubbard's Hill have just been cut down, — half a dozen or more. 

The two largest measure two feet seven inches in diameter on the stump at a foot from the ground; the others, five or six inches less. The inner bark there about five eighths of an inch.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 29, 1854

All the large black birches on Hubbard's Hill have just been cut down . . .See April 24, 1855 ("I see the black birch stumps, where they have cut by Flint’s Pond the past winter, completely covered with a greasy-looking pinkish-colored cream . . ., yet without any particular taste or smell,—what the sap has turned to.")

Blueberries pretty numerously ripe on Fair Haven.

June 27.

June 27, 2014

Blueberries pretty numerously ripe on Fair Haven. 

P. Hutchinson says that he can remember when haymakers from Sudbury, thirty or forty years ago, used to come down the river in numbers and unite with Concord to clear the weeds out of the river in shallow places and the larger streams emptying in. 

H. D Thoreau, Journal, June 27, 1854


Blueberries pretty numerously ripe on Fair Haven. See  June 29, 1852 ("Children bring you the early blueberry to sell now.   It is considerably earlier on the tops of hills which have been recently cut off than on the plains or invales. The girl that has Indian blood in her veins and picks berries for a living will find them out as soon as they turn."); July 9, 1852 ("These blueberries on Fair Haven have a very innocent, ambrosial taste, as if made of the ether itself, as they plainly are colored with it"); July 26, 1854 ("Almost every bush now offers a wholesome and palatable diet to the wayfarer, — large and dense clusters of Vaccinium vacillans, largest in most moist ground, sprinkled with the red ones not ripe; great high blueberries, some nearly as big as cranberries, of an agreeable acid; huckleberries of various kinds, some shining black, some dull-black, some blue; and low blackberries of two or more varieties"). See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The Blueberries

The dark shade of June.

June 26

P. M. — I am struck, as I look toward the Dennis shore from the bathing-place, with the peculiar agreeable dark shade of June, a clear air, and bluish light on the grass and bright silvery light reflected from fresh green leaves.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 26, 1854

The peculiar agreeable dark shade of June. . . .See note to June 6, 1855 ("You see the dark eye and shade of June on the river as well as on land"); and June 11, 1856 ("I think that this peculiar darkness of the shade, or of the foliage as seen between you and the sky, is not accounted for merely by saying that we have not yet got accustomed to clothed trees, but the leaves are rapidly acquiring a darker green, are more and more opaque, and, besides, the sky is lit with the intensest light.”)

June 26. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, June 26

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau,  The dark shade of June

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

tinyurl.com/hdt-540626 

To Assabet Bathing-Place and Derby Bridge.

June 25.

A green bittern, apparently, awkwardly alighting on the trees and uttering its hoarse, zarry note, zskeow-xskeow-xskeow. 

Shad-berry ripe. 

Garlic open, eighteen inches high or more. 

The calla fruit is curving down. 

I observe many kingfishers at Walden and on the Assabet, very few on the dark and muddy South Branch.  

A raspberry on sand by railroad, ripe. 

Through June the song of the birds is gradually growing fainter.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 25, 1854

A green bittern . . .awkwardly alighting on the trees. See  May 6, 1852 ("A green bittern, a gawky bird.");  July 12, 1854 ("A green bittern wading in a shallow muddy place, with an awkward teetering, fluttering pace.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau. The Green Bittern

Shad-berry ripe. See June 25, 1853 ("An unusual quantity of amelanchier berries . . .These are the first berries after strawberries, or the first, and I think the sweetest, bush berries ") See also  June 15, 1854 ("The Amelanchier Botryapium berries are already reddened two thirds over, and are somewhat palatable and soft, — some of them, — not fairly ripe"); June 17, 1854 ("The season of small fruits has arrived.");  See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Shad-bush, Juneberry, or Service-berry (Amelanchier canadensis)

Garlic open, eighteen inches high or more. See June 14, 1853 ("The Allium Canadense in Tarbell's meadow. Wild meadow garlic, with its head of bulbs and a few flower- buds, not yet"); June 15, 1854 ("The garlic not in flower yet. "): June 26, 1857 ("I must be near bobolinks' nests many times these days, — in E. Hosmer's meadow by the garlic."); June 27, 1857 ("A young bobolink fluttering over the meadow. The garlic not even yet quite."); June 29, 1857 ("Allium Canadense in house and probably in field.")

I observe many kingfishers at Walden and on the Assabet. See May 10, 1854 ("Above the railroad bridge I see a kingfisher twice sustain himself in one place, about forty feet above the meadow, by a rapid motion of his wings, somewhat like a devil's-needle, not progressing an inch, apparently over a fish.”); June 9, 1854 (".Meanwhile the kingfishers are on the lookout for the fishes as they rise. I see one dive in the twilight and go off uttering his cr-r-ack, cr-r-rack. "); June 12, 1854 ("Scare a kingfisher on a bough over Walden. As he flies off, he hovers two or three times thirty or forty feet above the pond, and at last dives and apparently catches a fish, with which he flies off low over the water to a tree."); July 28, 1858 ("Heard a kingfisher, which had been hovering over the river, plunge forty rods off. ") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau. The Kingfisher

A raspberry on sand by railroad, ripe. See June 17, 1854 ("The season of small fruits has arrived."); June 30, 1854 ("Rubus triflorus berries, some time, — the earliest fruit of a rubus. The berries are very scarce, light red, semitransparent, showing the seed.") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Raspberry

Through June the song of the birds is gradually growing fainter. See May 28, 1854 ("The woodland quire will rather be diminished than increased henceforth."); June 15, 1854 ("Methinks the birds sing a little feebler nowadays. "); August 2, 1854 ("the woodland quire has steadily diminished in volume.")

July 25. See A Book of the Seasons,, by Henry Thoreau, June 25

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

Partridge season – the glossy light-reflecting greenness of the woods.

June 23.

There has been a foggy haze, dog-day-like, for perhaps ten days, more or less. To-day it is so cold that we sit by a fire. 

Disturb three different broods of partridges in my walk this afternoon in different places. One in Deep Cut Woods, big as chickens ten days old, went flying in various directions a rod or two into the hillside. Another by Heywood's meadow, the young two and a half inches long only, not long hatched, making a fine peep. Held one in my hand, where it squatted without winking. A third near Well Meadow Field. We are now, then, in the very midst of them. Now leading forth their young broods.

June 23, 2014

From the Cliffs the air is beautifully clear, showing the glossy and light-reflecting greenness of the woods. 

It is a great relief to look into the horizon. There is more room under the heavens. 

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 23, 1854

To-day it is so cold that we sit by a fire. See July 4, 1857 (“[F]or nearly a week many people have sat by a fire.”); July 8, 1860 ("The thermometer is at 66°, and some sit by fires.")

We are now, then, in the very midst of them. Now leading forth their young broods. See June 27,1852 ("I meet the partridge with her brood in the woods."); June 27, 1860 (" just this side the Hemlocks, a partridge with her little brood.") See also A Book of the Seasons,by Henry Thoreau, the Partridge.

It is a great relief to look into the horizon. There is more room under the heavens. See June 23 1852 ("You can see far into the horizon.") See also June 26, 1853 ("We see infinitely further into the horizon on every side, and the boundaries of the world are enlarged.") and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Mountains in the Horizon

June 23. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, June 23

Beautiful clear air –

the glossy light-reflecting

greenness of the woods.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, 

 The glossy light-reflecting greenness of the woods.

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-540623

A wild and strange place

June 21.

Now there is a dense mass of weeds along the waterside, where the muskrats lurk, and overhead a canopy of leaves conceals the birds and shuts out the sun. 

In the little meadow pool, or bay, in Hubbard's shore, I see two old pouts tending their countless young close to the shore. The former are slate-colored. The latter are about half an inch long and very black, forming a dark mass from eight to twelve inches in diameter. The old are constantly circling around them, -over and under and through, as if anxiously endeavoring to keep them together, from time to time moving off five or six feet to reconnoitre. The whole mass of the young and there must be a thousand of them at least is incessantly moving, pushing forward and stretching out. Are often in the form of a great pout, apparently keeping together by their own instinct chiefly, now on the bottom, now rising to the top. Alone they might be mistaken for polly-wogs. The old, at any rate, do not appear to be very successful in their apparent efforts to communicate with and direct them. At length they break into four parts. The old are evidently very careful parents. One has some wounds apparently . . . I think also that I see the young breams in schools hovering over their nests while the old are still protecting them. 

Up the grassy hollows in the sprout-lands north of Goose Pond I feel as if in a strange country, — a pleasing sense of strangeness and distance. 

Here are numerous open hollows more or less connected, where for some reason the wood does not spring up, — and I am glad of it, — filled with a fine wiry grass, with the panicled andromeda, which loves dry places, now in blossom around the edges, and small black cherries and sand cherries straggling down into them. 

As wild and strange a place as you might find in the unexplored West or East. The quarter of a mile of sprout-land which separates it from the highway seems as complete a barrier as a thousand miles of earth. 

Your horizon is there all your own.

Again I am attracted by the deep scarlet of the wild moss rose half open in the grass , all glowing with rosy light.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 21, 1854

See August 6, 1851 ("After how few steps, how little exertion, the student stands in pine woods . . .in a place still unaccountably strange and wild to him.")

June 21. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, June 21

The deep scarlet of

the wild moss rose, half open,

glowing in the grass.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, A Wild and Strange Place

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

tinyurl.com/hdt-540621

Suddenly comes the gust,

June 19.

June 19, 2020

A thunder-shower in the north. 

Will it strike us? How impressive this artillery of the heavens! It rises higher and higher. At length the thunder seems to roll quite across the sky and all round the horizon, even where there are no clouds, and I row homeward in haste. 

The top of the swamp white oak in Merrick's pasture with its rich shade of green seems incrusted with light. 

Now by magic the skirts of the cloud are gathered about us, and it shoots forward over our head, and the rain comes at a time and place which baffles all our calculations. 

Suddenly comes the gust, and the big drops slanting from the north, and the birds fly as if rudderless, and the trees bow and are wrenched. It rains against the windows like hail and is blown over the roofs like steam or smoke. It runs down the large elm at Holbrook's and shatters the house near by. 

Soon silver puddles shine in the streets. This the first rain of consequence for at least three weeks.

June 19, 2014

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 19, 1854

Suddenly comes the gust. See June 16, 1860 ("Afternoon thunder-showers almost regular.”); June 29, 1860 (“[T]here is a sudden burst from it with a remarkably strong, gusty wind, and the rain for fifteen minutes falls in a blinding deluge. The roof of the depot shed is taken off. . . I think I never saw it rain so hard.”) 

Big drops slanting from the north, and the birds fly as if rudderless See October 27, 1851("The strong northwest wind blows the damp snow along almost horizontally. The birds fly about as if seeking shelter. ")

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

The rain comes at a 

time and place that baffles all

our calculations.

Suddenly the gust

big drops slanting from the north –

birds fly rudderless.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Suddenly comes the gust. 

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

tinyurl.com/hdt-540619

Another round red sun of dry and dusty weather – Stawberries in season.

June 18.

The Rosa lucida is pale and low on dry sunny banks like that by Hosmer's pines. 

There are many strawberries this season, in meadows now, just fairly begun there. The meadows, like this Nut Meadow, are now full of the taller grasses, just beginning to flower.

Ovenbird

Observe in two places golden-crowned thrushes, near whose nests I must have been, hopping on the lower branches and in the underwood, — a somewhat sparrow-like bird, with its golden-brown crest and white circle about eye, carrying the tail somewhat like a wren, and inclined to run along the branches. Each had a worm in its bill, no doubt intended for its young. That is the chief employment of the birds now, gathering food for their young. I think I heard the anxious peep of a robin whose young have just left the nest.

Small grasshoppers very abundant in some dry grass. 

Another round red sun of dry and dusty weather to-night, — a red or red-purple helianthus. Every year men talk about the dry weather which has now begun as if it were something new and not to be expected.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 18, 1854

And more today on slavery:

My advice to the State is simply this: to dissolve her union with the slaveholder instantly. ... And to each inhabitant of Massachusetts, to dissolve his union with the State, as long as she hesitates to do her duty.

See May 29, 1854 , June 9, 1854, June 16, 1854, June 17, 1854 and ""Slavery in Massachusetts.

The Rosa lucida is pale and low on dry sunny banks. See June 13, 1854 ("Is not the rose-pink Rosa lucida paler than the R. nitida?"); June 16, 1854 ("The R. lucida, with its broader and duller leaves, but larger and perhaps deeper-colored and more purple petals, perhaps yet higher scented, and its great yellow centre of stamens.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Wild Rose

There are many strawberries this season, in meadows now, just fairly begun there. See June 17, 1854 ("Already the season of small fruits has arrived.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau: Strawberries

Observe in two places golden-crowned thrushes, near whose nests I must have been . . . See June 10, 1855 ("Oven-bird’s nest with four eggs two thirds hatched, under dry leaves, composed of pine-needles and dry leaves and a hair or two for lining,”)

Another round red sun.  See June 17, 1854 ("The sun goes down red again, like a high-colored flower of summer.")

I think I heard the anxious peep of a robin whose young have just left the nest. See June 10, 1853 ("We hear the cool peep of the robin calling to its young, now learning to fly.") See also May 13, 1853 ("A robin's nest, with young, on the causeway."): May 24, 1855 ("Young robins some time hatched");June 9, 1856 ("A young robin abroad. "); June 15, 1855 ("Robin’s nest in apple tree, twelve feet high — young nearly grown."): June 15, 1852 ("Young robins,speck dark-led,"); June 20, 1855 (" A robin’s nest with young, which was lately, in the great wind, blown down and somehow lodged on the lower part of an evergreen by arbor,—without spilling the young!")

Every year men talk about the dry weather which has now begun as if it were something new and not to be expected. See July 7, 1853 ("Now is that annual drought which is always spoken of as something unprecedented and out of the common course.")

June18. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, June 18

Many strawberries 

this season in meadows now –

just fairly begun.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Strawberries in Season

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-540618

Already the season of small fruits has arrived.

June 17.

June 17, 2019

A cold fog. 

These mornings those who walk in grass are thoroughly wetted above mid-leg. All the earth is dripping wet. I am surprised to feel how warm the water is, by contrast with the cold, foggy air.

From the Hill I am reminded of more youthful mornings, seeing the dark forms of the trees eastward in the low grounds, partly within and against the shining white fog, the sun just risen over it. The mist fast rolling away eastward from them, their tops at last streaking the mist and dividing it into vales. All beyond them a submerged and unknown country, as if they grew on the sea shore. 

See the sun reflected up from the Assabet to the hill top, through the dispersing fog, giving to the water a peculiarly rippled, pale-golden hue.

Another remarkably hazy day; our view is confined, the horizon near, no mountains; as you look off only four or five miles, you see a succession of dark wooded ridges and vales filled with mist. It is dry, hazy June weather. 

We are more of the earth, farther from heaven, these days.  We are getting deeper into the mists of earth.

The season of hope and promise is past; already the season of small fruits has arrived. We are a little saddened, because we begin to see the interval between our hopes and their fulfillment. The prospect of the heavens is taken away, and we are presented only with a few small berries. 

Before sundown I reach Fair Haven Hill and gather strawberries. I find beds of large and lusty strawberry plants in sprout-lands, but they appear to run to leaves and bear very little fruit, having spent themselves in leaves by the time the dry weather arrives. It is those still earlier and more stinted plants which grow on dry uplands that bear the early fruit, formed before the droughts. But the meadows produce both leaves and fruit.

The sun goes down red again, like a high-colored flower of summer. As the white and yellow flowers of spring are giving place to the rose, and will soon to the red lily, etc., so the yellow sun of spring has become a red sun of June drought, round and red like a midsummer flower, production of torrid heats.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 17, 1854

Another remarkably hazy day; our view is confined, the horizon near, no mountains.  See June 21, 1856 (”Very hot day, as was yesterday, -— 98° at 2 P. M., 99° at 3, and 128° in sun”); June 25, 1858 (“Hotter than yesterday and, like it, muggy or close. So hazy can see no mountains.");  Compare June 23, 1854 (“.The air is beautifully clear  . . It is a great relief to look into the horizon. There is more room under the heavens”); See Also June 23, 1852 (“ It is an agreeably cool and clear and breezy day, when all things appear as if washed bright and shine . . . You can see far into the horizon.”); June 26, 1853 (" Summer returns without its haze. We see infinitely further into the horizon on every side, and the boundaries of the world are enlarged.")

The season of hope and promise is past; already the season of small fruits has arrived. Compare
August 9, 1853 ("This is the season of small fruits. I trust, too, that I am maturing some small fruit as palatable in these months, which will communicate my flavor to my kind.");August 18, 1853 (“The season of flowers or of promise may be said to be over, and 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?”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau: Strawberries

A red sun of June drought, round and red like a midsummer flower, production of torrid heats.See
May 5, 1859 ("The sun sets red (first time), followed by a very hot and hazy day ");June 5, 1854 ("The sun goes down red and shorn of his beams, a sign of hot weather,"); June 18, 1854 ("Another round red sun of dry and dusty weather to-night, – a red or red-purple helianthus.")

June 17. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, June 17

Note: Today there is more on Anthony Burns:

Some men act as if they believed that they could safely slide down-hill a little way, — or a good way, — and would surely come to a place, by and by, whence they could slide up again. This is expediency, or choosing that course which offers the fewest obstacles. But there is no such thing as accomplishing a moral reform by the use of expediency or policy. There is no such thing as sliding up-hill. In morals the only sliders are backsliders.

See May 29, 1854 , June 9, 1854, June 16, 1854 and ""Slavery in Massachusetts.

As white and yellow

flowers give place to the rose

and soon red lily

yellow sun of spring

becomes red sun of June heat –

midsummer flower.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Season of Small Fruits

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

tinyurl.com/hdt-540617

A fine ripple and sparkle on the pond, seen through the mist...

Sunset, June 16, 2014

June 16.  As the sun went down last night, round and red in a damp misty atmosphere, so now it rises in the same manner, though there is no dense fog.

.                   

Sunrise June 16, 2014

Three days in succession, — the 13th, 14th, and 15th, — thunder-clouds, with thunder and lightning, have risen high in the east, threatening instant rain, and yet each time it has failed to reach us. Thus it is almost invariably, methinks, with thunder-clouds which rise in the east; they do not reach us.  

The warmer, or at least drier, weather has now prevailed about a fortnight. Once or twice the sun has gone down red, shorn of his beams. There have been showers all around us, but nothing to mention here yet. 

Panicled cornel well out on Heywood Peak. 

There is a cool east wind, — and has been afternoons for several days, — which has produced a very thick haze or a fog.  

There is a fine ripple and sparkle on the pond, seen through the mist.

June 16, 2014

The Rosa nitida grows along the edge of the ditches, the half-open flowers showing the deepest rosy tints, so glowing that they make an evening or twilight of the surrounding afternoon, seeming to stand in the shade or twilight. Already the bright petals of yesterday's flowers are thickly strewn along on the black mud at the bottom of the ditch. 

• The R. nitida, the earlier (?), with its narrow shiny leaves and prickly stem and its moderate-sized rose pink petals. 
• The R. lucida, with its broader and duller leaves, but larger and perhaps deeper-colored and more purple petals, perhaps yet higher scented, and its great yellow centre of stamens. 
• The smaller, lighter, but perhaps more delicately tinted R. rubiginosa. 

One and all drop their petals the second day. I bring home the buds of the three ready to expand at night, and the next day they perfume my chamber.

Add to these the white lily (just begun), also the swamp-pink, and probably morning-glory, and the great orchis, and mountain laurel (now in prime), and perhaps we must say that the fairest flowers are now to be found. 

It is eight days since I plucked the great orchis; one is perfectly fresh still in my pitcher. It may be plucked when the spike is only half opened, and will open completely and keep perfectly fresh in a pitcher more than a week. 

Do I not live in a garden, — in paradise? I can go out each morning before breakfast — I do — and gather these flowers with which to perfume my chamber where I read and write, all day.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 16, 1854

Thunder-clouds which rise in the east; they do not reach us. See June 15, 1860 ("A thunder-shower in the north goes down the Merrimack."); June 16, 1860 (" Thunder-showers show themselves about 2 P.M. in the west, but split at sight of Concord and go past on each side")

There is a cool east wind, — and has been afternoons for several days, — which has produced a very thick haze or a fog. See June 23, 1854 ("There has been a foggy haze, dog-day-like, for perhaps ten days"); See also April 30, 1856 ("Early in the afternoon, or between one and four, the wind changes . . . and a fresh cool wind from the sea produces a mist in the air") and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Sea-turn

I bring home the buds of the three ready to expand at night, and the next day they perfume my chamber. See June 23, 1852 ("I take the wild rose buds to my chamber and put them in a pitcher of water, and they will open there the next day, and a single flower will perfume a room ;and then, after a day, the petals drop off, and new buds open."); June 15, 1853 ("I bring home the[wild rose] buds ready to expand, put them in a pitcher of water, and the next morning they open and fill my chamber with fragrance.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Wild Rose

 It is eight days since I plucked the great orchis; one is perfectly fresh still in my pitcher. See June 9, 1854 ("Find the great fringed orchis out apparently two or three days.Two are almost fully out, two or three only budded.A large spike of peculiarly delicate pale-purple flowers growing in the luxuriant and shady swamp . . .I think that no other but myself in Concord annually finds it. . . . It lifts its delicate spike amid the hellebore and ferns in the deep shade of the swamp. "); June 19, 1852 (" The orchis keeps well. One put in my hat this morning, and carried all day, will last fresh a day or two at home"); June 21, 1852 (" The purple orchis is a good flower to bring home. It will keep fresh many days, and its buds open at last in a pitcher of water") See also Henry Thoreau, A Book of the Seasons, The purple fringed orchids

My chamber where I read and write, all day. See H Daniel Peck, Thoreau's Morning Work (noting that Thoreau "'set aside regular intervals, usually in the morning, for [the Journal's] composition, and typically wrote several days' entries at a sitting, working from notes that he accumulated during his [after-noon] walks' of the previous several days") See also  July 23, 1851 (" If I should reverse the usual, — go forth and saunter in the fields all the forenoon, then sit down in my chamber in the afternoon, which it is so unusual for me to do,-it would be like a new season to me, and the novelty of it (would) inspire me. . . .Is the literary man to live always or chiefly sitting in a chamber through which nature enters by a window only? What is the use of the summer? . . . I expand more surely in my chamber, as far as expression goes . . . but here outdoors is the place to store up influences.")

Note. Today HDT extends his comments on the extradition of Anthony Burns:

But what signifies the beauty of nature when men are base? We walk to lakes to see our serenity reflected in them. When we are not serene, we go not to them. Who can be serene in a country where both rulers and ruled are without principle? The remembrance of the baseness of politicians spoils my walks. My thoughts are murder to the State; I endeavor in vain to observe nature; my thoughts involuntarily go plotting against the State. I trust that all just men will conspire.

We have used up all our inherited freedom . . . It is not an era of repose. If we would save our lives, we must fight for them . . . Why will men be such fools as to trust to lawyers for a moral reform? I do not believe that there is a judge in this country prepared to decide by the principle that a law is immoral and therefore of no force.

See May 29, 1854 , June 9, 1854 and "Slavery in Massachusetts,"

June 16. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, June 16

Thus it is methinks

with thunder-clouds in the east –

they do not reach us.

It is eight days since 

I plucked the great orchis still 

fresh in my pitcher.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, A fine ripple and sparkle on the Pond

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

 

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