The change is mainly in us. (Ice out)

March 31.

I see through the window that it is a very fine day, the first really warm one. I do not know the whole till I come out at 3 P. M. and walk to the Cliffs. 

The slight haze of yesterday has become very thick, with a southwest wind, concealing the mountains. I can see it in the air within two or three rods, as I look against the bushes. 

The fuzzy gnats are in the air, and bluebirds, whose warble is thawed out. I am uncomfortably warm, gradually unbutton both my coats, and wish that I had left the outside one at home. 

I go listening for the croak of the first frog, or peep of a hylodes.

It is suddenly warm, and this amelioration of the weather is incomparably the most important fact in this vicinity. It is incredible what a revolution in our feelings and in the aspect of nature this warmer air alone has produced. 

Yesterday the earth was simple to barrenness, and dead, —bound out. Out-of-doors there was nothing but the wind and the withered grass and the cold though sparkling blue water, and you were driven in upon yourself. 

Now you would think that there was a sudden awakening in the very crust of the earth, as if flowers were expanding and leaves putting forth; but not so.

I listen in vain to hear a frog or a new bird as yet; only the frozen ground is melting a little deeper, and the water is trickling down the hills in some places. 

No, the change is mainly in us. We feel as if we had obtained a new lease of life. 

Some juniper (repens) berries are blue now. 

Looking from the Cliffs I see that Walden is open to-day first.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 31, 1855

Ice-out on Walden. See March 20, 1853 ("It is glorious to behold the life and joy of this ribbon of water sparkling in the sun. The wind ... raises a myriad brilliant sparkles on the bare face of the pond, an expression of glee, of youth, of spring, as if it spoke the joy of the fishes within it and of the sands on its shore. It is the contrast between life and death. There is the difference between winter and spring. The bared face of the pond sparkles with joy."); March 14, 1860 ("No sooner has the ice of Walden melted than the wind begins to play in dark ripples over the surface of the virgin water. Ice dissolved is the next moment as perfect water as if melted a million years.")

In 1845 Walden was first completely open on the 1st of April;

in '46, the 25th of March; 

in '47, the 8th of April; 

in '51, the 28th of March;

 in '52, the 18th of April; 

in '53, the 23rd of March; 

in '54, about the 7th of April. ~ Walden.

See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Ice-Out

March 31. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, March 31

A new lease of life

(a change is mainly in us) 

first warm day in Spring.

 A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau,  The change is mainly in us.

 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

Man comes out of his winter quarters this month

March 30

To Island. 

It is a little warmer than of late, though still the shallows are skimmed over. The pickerel begin to dart from the shallowest parts not frozen. 

I hear many phe-be notes from the chickadees, as if they appreciated this slightly warmer and sunny morning. A fine day. 

As I look through the window, I actually see a warmer atmosphere with its fine shimmer against the russet hills and the dry leaves, though the warmth has not got into the house and it is no more bright nor less windy than yesterday, or many days past. I find that the difference to the eye is a slight haze, though it is but very little warmer than yesterday. 

Mach 30, 2016

To-day and yesterday have been bright, windy days. —west wind, cool, yet, compared with the previous colder ones, pleasantly, gratefully cool to me on my cheek. 

There is a very perceptible greenness on our south bank now, but I cannot detect the slightest greenness on the south side of Lee’s Hill as I sail by it. It is a perfectly dead russet. 

The river is but about a foot above the lowest summer level. 

I have seen a few F. hyemalis about the house in the morning the last few days. You see a few blackbirds, robins, bluebirds, tree sparrows, larks, etc., but the song sparrow chiefly is heard these days. 

He must have a great deal of life in him to draw upon, who can pick up a subsistence in November and March. Man comes out of his winter quarters this month as lean as a woodchuck. Not till late could the skunk find a place where the ground was thawed on the surface. Except for science, do not travel in such a climate as this in November and March. 

I tried if a fish would take the bait to-day; but in vain; I did not get a nibble. Where are they? I read that a great many bass were taken in the Merrimack last week. Do not the suckers move at the same time?

H, D. Thoreau, Journal, March 30, 1855

Still the shallows are skimmed over. The pickerel begin to dart from the shallowest parts not frozen. See March 22, 1860 ("Pickerel begin to dart in shallows."); March 27, 1857 ("Pickerel begin to dart in shallows."); April 1, 1860 ("Pickerel dart, and probably have some time. "); April 7, 1860 ("What was lately motionless and lifeless ice is a transparent liquid in which the stately pickerel moves along.") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Pickerel

I hear many phe-be notes from the chickadees, as if they appreciated this slightly warmer and sunny morning. A fine day. See March 21, 1859 ("It is peculiarly interesting that this, which is one of our winter birds also, should have a note with which to welcome the spring"); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring, the spring note of the chickadee.

A warmer atmosphere with its fine shimmer against the russet hills and the dry leaves. See March 5, 1855 ("This strong, warm wind, rustling the leaves on the hillsides, this blue haze, and the russet earth seen through it, remind me that a new season has come.") See A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Brown Season

To-day and yesterday have been bright, windy days. —west wind, cool, yet . . . gratefully cool to me on my cheek.  See March 29, 1855 ("This, which is a chilling wind to my fellow, is decidedly refreshing to me. ") See also  March 21, 1853 ("It is a genial and reassuring day; the mere warmth of the west wind amounts almost to balminess."); March 21, 1855 ("Clear, but a very cold westerly wind this morning.")  See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring, March is famous for its winds

There is a very perceptible greenness on our south bank now. See March 30, 1856("I can just see a little greening on our bare and dry south bank.");  See also   March 22, 1860 ("The phenomena of an average March are increasing warmth, melting the snow and ice and. .. some greenness appearing on south bank"); March 24, 1855 ("The earliest signs of spring in vegetation noticed thus far are the maple sap, the willow catkins, grass on south banks, and perhaps cowslip in sheltered places. ")  and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring, greening grasses and sedges

I have seen a few F. hyemalis about the house in the morning the last few days. You see a few blackbirds, robins, bluebirds, tree sparrows, larks, etc., but the song sparrow chiefly is heard these days. See  March 30, 1851("Spring is already upon us. . . .  Th,e catkins of the alders have blossomed. The pads are springing at the bottom of the water. The pewee [phoebe] is heard, and the lark. ); March 30, 1854 ("Great flocks of tree sparrows and some F. hyemalis,") See also. March 15, 1854 ("Hear on the alders by the river the lill lill lill lill of the first F. hyemalis, mingled with song sparrows and tree sparrows");  March 23, 1854 ("The birds in yard active now, — hyemalis, tree sparrow, and song sparrow. The hyemalis jingle easily distinguished. Hear all together on apple trees these days."); April 1, 1854 (" The tree sparrows, hyemalis, and song sparrows are particularly lively and musical in the yard this rainy and truly April day. The air rings with them."); April 2, 1852 (“The air is full of the notes of birds, - song sparrows, red-wings, robins (singing a strain), bluebirds, - and I hear also a lark, - as if all the earth had burst forth into song.”)  See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Dark-eyed Junco (Fringilla hyemalis); A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Robins in Spring; A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Tree Sparrow; A Book of Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Song Sparrow (Fringilla melodia); A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Bluebird in Early Spring. A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Red-wing in Spring

Man comes out of his winter quarters this month as lean as a woodchuck. See March 22, 1853 ("It affects one's philosophy, after so long living in winter quarters, to see the day dawn from some hill . . . such reviving spring days."); March 22, 1860 ("The phenomena of an average March . . . Skunks are active and frolic; woodchucks and ground squirrels come forth."). See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring; The Woodchuck Ventures Out

Not till late could the skunk find a place where the ground was thawed on the surface. See March 10, 1854 ("I have no doubt they have begun to probe already where the ground permits, — or as far as it does. But what have they eat all winter?"); March 28, 1855 (" I see where a skunk (apparently) has been probing the sod, though it is thawed but a few inches, and all around this spot frozen hard still. "); See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring; Skunks Active

I tried if a fish would take the bait to-day . . . Where are they? See March 20, 1858 ("The fish lurks by the mouth of its native brook, watching its opportunity to dart up the stream . . . Each rill is peopled with new life rushing up it")

March 30. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau,   March 30

Man comes out of his

winter quarters this month as

lean as a woodchuck.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau,  

Man comes out of his winter quarters this month 

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

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-18550329

Already sparkling blue water

March 29 

Flint’s Pond is entirely open; may have been a day or two. There was only a slight opening about the boat-house on the 21st, and the weather has been very cold ever since. 

March 29, 2016

Walden is more than half open, Goose Pond only a little about the shores, and Fair Haven Pond only just open over the channel of the river. 

There is washed up on the shore of Flint’s some pretty little whorls of the radical leaves of the Lobelia Dortmanna, with its white root-fibres. 

As I stand on Heywood’s Peak, looking over Walden, more than half its surface already sparkling blue water, I inhale with pleasure the cold but wholesome air like a draught of cold water, contrasting it in my memory with the wind of summer, which I do not thus eagerly swallow. This, which is a chilling wind to my fellow, is decidedly refreshing to me, and I swallow it with eagerness as a panacea. I feel an impulse, also, already, to jump into the half-melted pond. This cold wind is refreshing to my palate, as the warm air of summer is not, methinks. I love to stand there and be blown on as much as a horse in July. 

A field of ice nearly half as big as the pond has drifted against the eastern shore and crumbled up against it, forming a shining white wall of its fragments.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 29, 1855

Flint’s Pond is entirely open.See March 21, 1853 (" I am surprised to find Flint's Pond not more than half broken up."); March 21, 1855 ("There is no opening in Flint’s Pond except a very little around the boat-house.”); March 23, 1853 (“The ice went out . . . of Flint's Pond day before yesterday, I have no doubt”); April 1, 1852 (" I am surprised to find Flint's Pond frozen still, which should have been open a week ago.")  See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Ice Out

Walden is more than half open. A field of ice nearly half as big as the pond has drifted against the eastern shore and crumbled up against it, forming a shining white wall of its fragments. See March 29, 1859 ("Walden is first clear after to-day.”) and note to March 29, 1857 ("Walden open, say to-day, though there is still a little ice in the deep southern bay and a very narrow edging along the southern shore.") See also  March 31, 1855 ("We feel as if we had obtained a new lease of life . . . Looking from the Cliffs I see that Walden is open to-day first.")

Sparkling blue water. See March 2, 1860 (“he great phenomenon these days is the sparkling blue water, — a richer blue than the sky ever is. ”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Bright Blue Water

A field of ice nearly half as big as the pond . . ., forming a shining white wall of its fragments. See March 29, 1854 ("Thin cakes of ice at a distance now and then blown up on their edges glistening in the sun.")

March 29. See  A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, March 29

Sparkling blue water

Walden more than half open –

inhale the cold air.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Already sparkling blue water

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

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-550329

The bluebird’s warble comes feeble and frozen to my ear.

March 28

P. M. —— To Cliffs, along river. 

It is colder than yesterday; wind strong from northwest. The mountains are still covered with snow. They have not once been bare. 

I go looking for meadow mice nests, but the ground is frozen so hard, except in the meadow below the banks, that I cannot come at them. 

That portion of the meadow next the upland, which is now thawed, has already many earth worms in it. I can dig a quantity of them,—I suspect more than in summer. Moles might already get their living there. 

A yellow-spotted tortoise in a still ditch, which has a little ice also. It at first glance reminds me of a bright freckled leaf, skunk-cabbage scape, perhaps. They are generally quite still at this season, or only slowly put their heads out (of their shells). 

I see where a skunk (apparently) has been probing the sod, though it is thawed but a few inches, and all around this spot frozen hard still. I dig up there a frozen and dead white grub, the large potato grub; this I think he was after. The skunk’s nose has made small round holes such as a stick or cane would make. 

The river has not yet quite worn its way through Fair Haven Pond, but probably will to-morrow. 

I run about these cold and blustering days, on the whole perhaps the worst to bear in the year, — partly because they disappoint expectation, — looking almost in vain for some animal or vegetable life stirring. The warmest springs hardly allow me the glimpse of a frog’s heel as he settles himself in the mud, and I think I am lucky if I see one winter-defying hawk or a hardy duck or two at a distance on the water. 

As for the singing of birds, — the few that have come to us, — it is too cold for them to sing and for me to hear. The bluebird’s warble comes feeble and frozen to my ear. 

We still walk on frozen ground, though in the garden I can thrust a spade in about six inches. 

Over a great many acres, the meadows have been cut up into great squares and other figures by the ice of February, as if ready to be removed, sometimes separated by narrow and deep channels like muskrat paths, but oftener the edges have been raised and apparently stretched and, settling, have not fallen into their places exactly but lodged on their neighbors. Even yet you see cakes of ice surmounted by a shell of meadow-crust, which has preserved it, while all around is bare meadow.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 28, 1855

Colder . . . wind strong from northwest. The mountains are still covered with snow. See March 11, 1854 ("The distant mountains are all white with snow while our landscape is nearly bare");  March 20, 1853 ("The mountains are white with snow, and sure as the wind is northwest it is wintry.");April 4, 1859 ("When I look with my glass, I see the cold and sheeny snow still glazing the mountains. This it is which makes  the wind so piercing cold."); . April 12, 1855 ("The mountains are again thickly clad with snow, and, the wind being northwest, this coldness is accounted for") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Mountains in the Horizon

I go looking for meadow mice nests. See   March 15, 1855 ("Mr. Rice tells me that  . . . he heard a squeaking and found that he was digging near the nest of what he called a " field mouse," – by his description probably the meadow mouse. It was made of grass, etc., and, while he stood over it, the mother, not regarding him, came and carried off the young, one by one. . . and finally she took the nest itself."); March 22, 1855 ("A (probably meadow) mouse nest in the low meadow by stone bridge."); April 7, 1855 ("A mouse-nest of grass, in Stow's meadow east of railroad, on the surface . . . I think is the nest of the meadow mouse.") [Thoreau's meadow mouse or "short-tailed meadow mouse" (Arvicola hirsuta) s now known as Microtus pennsylvanicus, meadow Vole.] See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Wild Mouse

 A yellow-spotted tortoise in a still ditch, which has a little ice also. See March 26, 1860 ("The yellow-spotted tortoise may be seen February 23, as in '57, or not till March 28, as in '55, — thirty-three days. "); February 23, 1857 (“See two yellow-spotted tortoises in the ditch south of Trillium Wood.”); March 10, 1853 ("I find a yellow-spotted tortoise (Emys guttata) in the brook.”); March 18, 1854 (" C. has already seen a yellow-spotted tortoise in a ditch.”); March 23, 1858 ("See something stirring amid the dead leaves in the water at the bottom of a ditch, in two or three places, and presently see the back of a yellow-spotted turtle."); March 27, 1853 ("I see but one tortoise (Emys guttata) in Nut Meadow Brook now; the weather is too raw and gusty."); March 28, 1852 (" A yellow-spotted tortoise by the causeway side in the meadow near Hubbard's Bridge. "); March 28, 1857 ("The Emys guttata is found in brooks and ditches. I passed three to-day, lying cunningly quite motionless, with heads and feet drawn in, on the bank of a little grassy ditch, close to a stump, in the sun, on the russet flattened grass, . . .Do I ever see a yellow-spot turtle in the river? "); April 1, 1857 ("Up Assabet. See an Emys guttata sunning on the bank. I had forgotten whether I ever saw it in this river") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Yellow-Spotted Turtle

I see where a skunk (apparently) has been probing the sod.  See February 24, 1857 ("I have seen the probings of skunks for a week or more.); February 25, 1860 ("They appear to come out commonly in the warmer weather in the latter part of February."); March 30, 1855 ("Not till late could the skunk find a place where the ground was thawed on the surface.")  See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring; Skunks Active

The river has not yet quite worn its way through Fair Haven Pond, but probably will to-morrow.  See March 29, 1855 ("Fair Haven Pond only just open over the channel of the river. ");  See also March 29, 1854 (" Fair Haven half open; channel wholly open."); March 30, 1852 ("From the Cliffs I see that Fair Haven Pond is open over the channel of the river . . . I never knew before exactly where the channel was."); March 26, 1860 ("Fair Haven Pond may be open by the 20th of March, as this year or not till April 13 as in '56.")

As for the singing of birds, — the few that have come to us, — it is too cold for them to sing and for me to hear. See March 28, 1853 ("Too cold for the birds to sing much.")

The bluebird’s warble comes feeble and frozen to my ear. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Bluebird in Early Spring.

Snow last evening, about one inch deep

March 27.

6.30 A. M. — To Island. 

The ducks sleep these nights in the shallowest water which does not freeze, and there may be found early in the morning. I think that they prefer that part of the shore which is permanently covered. 

March 27, 2025

Snow last evening, about one inch deep, and now it is fair and somewhat warmer. Again I see the tracks of rabbits, squirrels, etc. It would be a good time this forenoon to examine the tracks of wood chucks and see what they are about. 

P. M. — To Hubbard’s Close and down brook. Measure a black oak just sawed down. Twenty three inches in diameter on the ground, and fifty-four rings. It had grown twice as much on the east side as on the west. 

The Fringilla linaria still here. See a wood tortoise in the brook. 

Am surprised to see the cowslip so forward, showing so much green, in E. Hubbard’s Swamp, in the brook, where it is sheltered from the winds. The already expanded leaves rise above the water. If this is a spring growth, it is the most forward herb I have seen, as forward as the celandine. 

See my frog hawk. (C. saw it about a week ago.) It is the hen-barrier, i.e. marsh hawk, male. Slate-colored; beating the bush; black tips to wings and white rump. 

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 27, 1855

The ducks sleep these nights in the shallowest water which does not freeze. See March 21, 1854 ("Thirty black ducks asleep with their heads on their backs, motionless, and thin ice formed about them."); March 31, 1858 ("I see about a dozen black ducks on Flint's Pond, asleep with their heads in their backs and drifting across the pond before the wind.") ee also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the American Black Duck

The Fringilla linaria still here.  Compare April 17, 1854 ("Did not see a linaria the past winter, though they were the prevailing bird the winter before");  March 25, 1856 ("I have not seen . . . more than one redpoll since Christmas.  They probably went further south."); March 26, 1860 ("I think I heard the last lesser redpolls near the beginning of this month; say about 7th")

See a wood tortoise in the brook. See March 27. 1857 ("As I go up the Assabet, I see two Emys insculpta on the bank in the sun, and one picta. They are all rather sluggish, and I can paddle up and take them up.") See also A Book of the Seasons,   by Henry Thoreau The Wood Turtlw (Emys insculpta)

Am surprised to see the cowslip so forward, showing so much green. See March 24, 1855 ("The earliest signs of spring in vegetation noticed thus far are the maple sap, the willow catkins, grass on south banks, and perhaps cowslip in sheltered places."); March 26, 1857 ("The buds of the cowslip are very yellow, and the plant is not observed a rod off, it lies so low and close to the surface of the water in the meadow. It may bloom and wither there several times before villagers discover or suspect it") See also 
A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Signs of Spring: the Cowslip

Frog hawk/ hen-harrier/ marsh hawk, See March 27, 1854 "Saw a hawk - probably marsh hawk by meadow.") See also March 29, 1854 ("See two marsh hawks, white on rump.“); April 23, 1855 (" Have seen also for some weeks occasionally a brown hawk with white rump, flying low, which I have thought the frog hawk in a different stage of plumage; but can it be at this season? and is it not the marsh hawk?”)  See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Marsh Hawk (Northern Harrier)

March 27. See A Book of the Seasons,   by Henry Thoreau, March 27

Surprised the cowslip

in the brook shows so much green –

sheltered there from winds.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Snow last evening, about one inch deep

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

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-550327

A strong wind with snow driving from the west and thickening the air.

March 26

6 A. M.—Still cold and blustering; wind southwest, but clear. I see a muskrat-house just erected, two feet or more above the water and sharp; and, at the Hubbard Bath, a mink comes teetering along the ice by the side of the river. I am between him and the sun, and he does not notice me. He runs daintily, lifting his feet with a jerk as if his toes were sore. They seem to go a-hunting at night along the edge of the river; perhaps I notice them more at this season, when the shallow water freezes at night and there is no vegetation along the shore to conceal them. 

Muskrat -house

March 1, 2019

The lark sings, perched on the top of an apple tree, quite sweet and plaintive, contrasting with the cheerless season and the bleak meadow. 

P. M. — Sail down to the Great Meadows. 

A strong wind with snow driving from the west and thickening the air. The farmers pause to see me scud before it. At last I land and walk further down on the meadow-bank. 

I scare up several flocks of ducks.

There is but little water on the meadow, and that far down and partly frozen, but a great many acres of the meadow-crust have there been lifted and broken up by the ice and now make hundreds of slanting isles amid the shallow water, looking like waves of earth, and amid these the ducks are sailing and feeding.

The nearest are two, apparently middle sized with black heads, white breast and wings and apparently all above but the tail or tips of wings, which are black. A third with them is apparently all dark. I do not know what to call them. Probably sheldrakes.

You are much more sure to see ducks in a stormy afternoon like this than in a bright and pleasant one. 

Returning. I see, near the Island, two ducks which have the marks (one of them) of the wood duck (i. e. one or two longitudinal white stripes down the head and neck), but when they go over I hear distinctly and for a long time the whistling of their wings, fine and sharp. Are they golden-eyes, or whistlers? Probably male and female wood duck.

For several weeks, or since the ice has melted, I notice the paths made by the muskrats when the water was high in the winter, leading from the river up the bank to a bed of grass above or below the surface. When it runs under the surface I frequently slump into it and can trace it to the bed by the hollow sound when I stamp on the frozen ground. They have disfigured the banks very much in some places, only the past winter. Clams have been carried into these galleries a rod or more under the earth. The galleries kept on the surface and terminated perhaps at some stump where the earth was a little raised, where the ice still remained thick over them after the water had gone down. 

I am surprised to find fishworms only four inches beneath the surface in the meadow, close against the frozen portion of the crust. A few may also be found on the bottom of brooks and ditches in the water, where they are probably food for the earliest fishes. 

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 26, 1855

I see a muskrat-house just erected. See March 22, 1860 ("The phenomena of an average March . . . musquash are commonly drowned out and shot, and sometimes erect a new house, and at length are smelled.") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Musquash

At the Hubbard Bath, a mink comes teetering along the ice by the side of the river. See February 4, 1854  ("I go over to the Hemlocks on the Assabet this morning. See the tracks of a mink, in the shallow snow along the edge of the river, looking for a hole in the ice."); March 8, 1853 ("Saw a mink run across the road in Sudbury, a large black weasel, to appearance, worming its supple way over the snow.");  March 13, 1859 ("I commonly saw two or three in a year. "); April 15, 1858 ("Having stood quite still on the edge of the ditch close to the north edge of the maple swamp some time, and heard a slight rustling near me from time to time, I looked round and saw a mink under the bushes within a few feet. It was pure reddish-brown above, with a blackish and somewhat bushy tail, a blunt nose, and somewhat innocent-looking head. It crept along toward me and around me, within two feet, in a semicircle, snuffing the air, and pausing to look at me several times."); April 29, 1860 ("I now actually see one small-looking rusty or brown black mink scramble along the muddy shore and enter a hole in the bank.")

 The lark sings, perched on the top of an apple tree, quite sweet and plaintive, contrasting with the cheerless season and the bleak meadow. See March 22, 1853 ("Already I hear from the rail road the plaintive strain of a lark or two.They sit now conspicuous on the bare russet ground.") See also A Book of the Seasons,   by Henry Thoreau, the Lark in Early Spring

You are much more sure to see ducks in a stormy afternoon like this than in a bright and pleasant one. See March 25, 1854 ("Too cold and windy almost for ducks."); March 28, 1858 ("Apparently they improve this warm and pleasant day, with little or no wind, to continue their journey northward . . . It is a wildlife that is associated with stormy and blustering weather"); March 29, 1858 ("I infer that waterfowl travel in pleasant weather") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the American Black Duck; A Book of the Seasons,   by Henry Thoreau, The Sheldrake (Goosander, Merganser)

The farmers pause to see me scud before it. See May 19, 1856 (“As I sail up the reach of the Assabet above Dove Rock with a fair wind, a traveller riding along the highway is watching my sail while he hums a tune. . . . As he looked at my sail, I listened to his singing. Perchance they were equally poetic, and we repaid each other.”)

I am surprised to find fishworms only four inches beneath the surface in the meadow. See  March 19, 1855 ("Close to the shore under water, where five or six inches deep, I find a fishworm in the mud); See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,Signs of the Spring: insects and worms come forth and are active

More sure to see ducks 

in a stormy afternoon 

than a pleasant one.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, A strong wind with snow 

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

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-550326

Still cold and blustering.

March 25.

Still cold and blustering. The ditches where I have seen salamanders last year before this are still frozen up. 

Was it not a sucker I saw dart along the brook beyond Jenny’s? 

I see where the squirrels have fed extensively on the acorns now exposed on the melting of the snow. The ground is strewn with the freshly torn shells and nibbled meat in some places.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 25, 1855

Still cold and blustering. See March 24, 1855 ("The last four days, including this, have been very cold and blustering.");  March 28, 1855 ("I run about these cold and blustering days, on the whole perhaps the worst to bear in the year.");  See also March 25, 1854 ("Too cold and windy almost for ducks."); March 11, 1860 ("It is cold and blustering walking in the wind, though the thermometer is at 40; i. e., though the temperature is thus high, the strong and blustering northwest winds of March make this notorious March weather, which is worse to bear than severe cold without wind."); April 7, 1858 ("A cold and gusty, blustering day. We put on greatcoats again.")

Cold and blustering.

The ditches open last year 

are still frozen up.

In the course of ages the rivers wriggle in their beds, till it feels comfortable

March 24

P. M. — Up Assabet by boat. 

A cold and blustering afternoon after a flurry of snow which has not fairly whitened the ground. 

I see a painted tortoise at the bottom moving slowly over the meadow. They do not yet put their heads out, but merely begin to venture forth into their calmer element. It is almost as stationary, as inert, as the pads as yet. 

Passing up the Assabet, by the Hemlocks, where there has been a slide and some rocks have slid down into the river, I think I see how rocks come to be found in the midst of rivers. 

Rivers are continually changing their channels, -eating into one bank and adding their sediment to the other, - so that frequently where there is a great bend you see a high and steep bank or bill on one side, which the river washes, and a broad meadow on the other. 

As the river eats into the hill, especially in freshets, it undermines the rocks, large and small, and they slide down, alone or with the sand and soil, to the water’s edge. The river continues to eat into the hill, carrying away all the lighter parts of the sand and soil, to add to its meadows or islands somewhere, but leaves the rocks where they rested, and thus in course of time they occupy the middle of the stream and, later still, the middle of the meadow, perchance, though it may be buried under the mud.

But this does not explain how so many rocks lying in streams have been split in the direction of the current. Again, rivers appear to have traveled back and worn into the meadows of their creating, and then they become more meandering than ever. Thus in the course of ages the rivers wriggle in their beds, till it feels comfortable under them. 

Time is cheap and rather insignificant.

It matters not whether it is a river which changes from side to side in a geological period or an eel that wriggles past in an instant. 

The scales of alders which have been broken by the ice and are lying in the water are now visibly loosened, as you look endwise at the catkins, and the catkins are much lengthened and enlarged. The white maple buds, too, show some further expansion methinks.

The last four days, including this, have been very cold and blustering. 

The ice on the ponds, which was rapidly rotting, has somewhat hardened again, so that you make no impression on it as you walk. I crossed Fair Haven Pond yesterday, and could have crossed the channel there again. 

The wind has been for the most part northwesterly, but yesterday was strong southwesterly yet cold. The northwesterly comes from a snow—clad country still, and cannot but be chilling. 

We have had several flurries of snow, when we hoped it would snow in earnest and the weather be warmer for it. 

It is too cold to think of those signs of spring which I find recorded under this date last year. The earliest signs of spring in vegetation noticed thus far are the maple sap, the willow catkins, grass on south banks, and perhaps cowslip in sheltered places. Alder catkins loosened, and also white maple buds loosened. 

I am not sure that the osiers are decidedly brighter yet. 

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 24, 1855

A cold and blustering afternoon after a flurry of snow which has not fairly whitened the ground. See March 24, 1852 ("The night of the 24th, quite a deep snow covered the ground."); March 24, 1869 ("Cold and rather blustering again, with flurries of snow ")

The northwesterly comes from a snow—clad country still, and cannot but be chilling. See March 24, 1858 ("A cold north-by-west wind, which must have come over much snow and ice. ")

The earliest signs of spring in vegetation noticed thus far. See note to February 23, 1857 ("I have seen signs of the spring. I have seen a frog swiftly sinking in a pool, or where he dimpled the surface as he leapt in. I have seen the brilliant spotted tortoises stirring at the bottom of ditches. I have seen the clear sap trickling from the red maple.”)

Signs of spring which I find recorded under this date last year. See March 24, 1854 ("Great flocks of hyemalis . . . ducks under Clamshell Hill . . . The elm buds . . . expanded . . .Goose Pond half open."); See also  A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring, the note of the dark-eyed junco going northward; A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring, Ducks Afar, Sailing on the Meadow; March 22, 1860 ("The phenomena of an average March . . . white maple and elm buds expand and open "); March 23, 1851 ("For a week past the elm buds have been swollen."); March 20, 1853 ("Goose Pond is wholly open.");March 21, 1855 ("Crossed Goose Pond on ice.")

I am not sure that the osiers are decidedly brighter yet. See February 24, 1855 ("You will often fancy that they look brighter before the spring has come, and when there has been no change in them"); March 2, 1860 ("This phenomenon, whether referable to a change in the condition of the twig or to the spring air and light, or even to our imaginations,is not the less a real phenomenon, affecting us annually at this season"); March 14, 1856 ("They certainly look brighter now and from this point than I have noticed them before this year,. . . Yet I think that on a close inspection I should find no change. Nevertheless, it is, on the whole, perhaps the most springlike sight I have seen."); March 16, 1856 ("There is, at any rate, such a phenomenon as the willows shining in the spring sun, however it is to be accounted for."); March 22, 1854 ("C. thinks some willow osiers decidedly more yellow."); March 25, 1854 ("I am almost certain osiers have acquired a fresher color."); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Osier in Winter and early Spring

March 24. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, March 24

It is too cold to 

think of those signs of spring I

recorded  last year.