Friday, July 31, 2015

Dog-days turned rainy.

July 31, 2015
July 31.

Our dog-days seem to be turned to a rainy season. 

Mr. Derby, whose points of compass I go to regulate, tells me that he remembers when it rained for three weeks in haying time every day but Sundays. 


Rode to J. Farmer’s. He says that on a piece of an old road on his land, discontinued forty years ago, for a distance of forty rods which he plowed, he found two or three dollars in small change. Among the rest he showed me an old silver piece about as big as a ten cent-piece, with the word skilli, etc., etc., on it, apparently a Danish shilling?


Tree-toads sing more than before. 


Have observed the twittering over of goldfinches for a week.

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

Our dog-days seem to be turned to a rainy season.  July 31, 1856 ("This dog-day afternoon [a]s I make my way amid rank weeds still wet with the dew, the air filled with a decaying musty scent and the z-ing of small locusts, I hear the distant sound of a flail, and thoughts of autumn occupy my mind, and the memory of past years."); July 31, 1859 ("It is emphatically one of the dog-days. A dense fog, not clearing off till we are far on our way, and the clouds (which did not let in any sun all day) were the dog-day fog and mist, which threatened no rain. A muggy but comfortable day."); July 31, 1860 ("Decidedly dog-days, and a strong musty scent, not to be wondered at after the copious rains and the heat of yesterday.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Locust, Dogdayish Days

Have observed the twittering over of goldfinches for a week. See July 31, 1859 ("The goldfinch's note, the cool watery twitter, is more prominent now.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau the Goldfinch

Lightning strikes the telegraph battery.

July 30. 

See the lightning on the telegraph battery and hear the shock about sundown from our window -- an intensely bright white light.

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

See the lightning on the telegraph battery and hear the shock.  See June 27,1852 ("All the phenomena of nature need be seen from the point of view of wonder and awe, like lightning; and, on the other hand, the lightning itself needs to be regarded with serenity, as the most familiar and innocent phenomena are.")

Wednesday, July 29, 2015

A Book of the Seasons: July 29 (sailing, the color of the harvest, swallows and redwings, low water, meadow haying, blueberries, signs of autumn)

The year is but a succession of days,
and I see that I could assign some office to each day
which, summed up, would be the history of the year.
Henry Thoreau, August 24, 1852


The sailboat is an
invention so contrary
to expectation –

easier to guide
than a horse, the wind transports
you against itself. 

First red leaves – kindred
of fruits in the harvest and
skies in the evening.

The insect that comes
for the pollen of a plant
becomes part of it.


Heat lightning flashes
reveal distant horizons
to our twilight eyes.



July 29, 2017

Another smart rain, with lightning. July 29, 1856

Dog-days and fogs. July 29, 1859

To Lincoln Bridge by railroad. Rain, more or less, by day, and more in the night. July 29. 1860

I think we scared up a black partridge just beyond. July 29, 1857

See large flocks of red-wings now, the young grown. July 29, 1859

Over these meadows the marsh hawk circles undisturbed. July 29, 1853

I see nowadays young martins perched on the dead tops of high trees; also young swallows on the telegraph wire. July 29, 1858 

The chimney swallow is said to break off the twigs as it flies. July 29, 1856

Pratt gave me a chimney swallow's nest, which he says fell down Wesson's chimney with young in it two or three days ago. July 29, 1856

It reminds me of the edible nests of the Chinese swallow. Who knows but their edibleness is due to a similar glue secreted by the bird and used still more profusely in building its nests? July 29, 1856

This sailing on salt water is something new to me. 
July 29, 1851

The boat is such a living creature . . . The sailboat is an admirable invention, by which you compel the wind to transport you even against itself.July 29, 1851

 It is easier to guide than a horse; the slightest pressure on the tiller suffices. July 29, 1851

I think the inventor must have been greatly surprised, as well as delighted, at the success of his experiment. 
July 29, 1851

It is so contrary to expectation, as if the elements were disposed to favor you. July 29, 1851

This deep, unfordable sea! but this wind ever blowing over it to transport you! 
July 29, 1851

The river is very nearly down to summer level now, and I notice there, among other phenomena of low water by the river, the great yellow lily pads flat on bare mud, the Ranunculus Flammula (just begun), a close but thin green matting now bare for five or six feet in width, bream nests bare and dried up, or else bare stones and sand for six or eight feet. July 29, 1859

The white lilies are generally lifted an inch or two above water by their stems; also the Utricularia vulgaris and purpurea are raised higher above the surface than usual. July 29, 1859

Rails are lodged amid the potamogetons in midstream and have not moved for ten days. July 29, 1859

Rocks unsuspected peep out and are become visible. July 29, 1859

The water milfoil (the ambiguum var. nutans), otherwise not seen, shows itself. This is observed only at lowest water. July 29, 1859

I examined some of these bream nests left dry at Cardinal Shore. These were a foot or two wide and excavated five inches deep (as I measured) in hard sand. The fishes must have worked hard to make these holes. Sometimes they are amid or in pebbles, where it is harder yet. July 29, 1859

There are now left at their bottoms, high and dry, a great many snails (Paludina decisa) young and old, some very minute. July 29, 1859

They either wash into them or take refuge there as the water goes down. I suspect they die there. July 29, 1859

The fishes really work hard at making their nests — these, the stone-heaps, etc. — when we consider what feeble means they possess. July 29, 1859

About these times some hundreds of men with freshly sharpened scythes make an irruption into my garden when in its rankest condition, and clip my herbs all as close as they can, and I am restricted to the rough hedges and worn-out fields which had little to attract them, to the most barren and worthless pastures. July 29, 1853

I know how some fields of johnswort and goldenrod look, left in the natural state, but not much about our richest fields and meadows. July 29, 1853

Most fields are so completely shorn now that the walls and fence-sides, where plants are protected, appear unusually rich. July 29, 1853

How large a proportion of flowers, for instance, are referred to and found by hedges, walls, and fences. July 29, 1853

Rhexia. Probably would be earlier if not mowed down.July 29, 1856

I know not what aspect the flowers would present if our fields and meadows were untouched for a year, if the mower were not permitted to swing his scythe there. July 29, 1853

No doubt some plants contended long in vain with these vandals, and at last withdrew from the contest. July 29, 1853

In the Poorhouse Meadow, the white orchis spike almost entirely out, some days at least.  July 29, 1853

What I have called Hieracium Gronovii, with three cauline leaves and without veins, has achenia like H . venosum; so I will give it up. Its radical leaves are very hairy beneath, especially along midrib. July 29, 1856

 Aralia racemosa, and Aster macrophyllus in bloom, with bluish rays and quite fragrant (!), like some medicinal herb, so that I doubted at first if it were that. .July 29, 1857 . . 

I found on the edge of this clearing the Cirsium muticum, or swamp thistle, abundantly in bloom. July 29, 1857

Beck Stow's is much frequented by cows, which burst through the thickest bushesJuly 29, 1853


Butterflies of various colors are now more abundant than I have seen them before, especially the small reddish or coppery ones. July 29, 1853

I counted ten yesterday on a single Sericocarpus conyzoides
They were in singular harmony with the plant, as if they made a part of it. July 29, 1853 

The insect that comes after the honey or pollen of a plant is necessary to it and in one sense makes a part of it. July 29, 1853

Being constantly in motion and, as they moved, opening and closing their wings to preserve their balance, they presented a very lifesome scene. July 29, 1853

To-day I see them on the early goldenrod (Solidago strict).July 29, 1853


Bartonia tenella, how long? July 29, 1859

Rich-weed, how long? July 29, 1854

Amaranthus hypochondriacus, apparently some days, with its interesting spotted leaf, lake beneath, and purple spike; amid the potatoes. July 29, 1854

American pine-sap, just pushing up, — false beech-drops.  Gray says from June to August. It is cream-colored or yellowish under the pines in Hubbard's Wood Path. Some near the fence east of the Close. A plant related to the tobacco-pipe. July 29, 1853

Remarkable this doubleness in nature, — not only that nature should be composed of just these individuals, but that there should be so rarely or never an individual without its kindred, — its cousin. It is allied to something else. July 29, 1853

There is not only the tobacco-pipe, but pine-sap. July 29, 1853

I also see some small, umbrella-shaped (with sharp cones), shining and glossy yellow fungi, like an election cake atop, also some dead yellow and orange. July 29, 1853


Nature made ferns for pure leaves, to show what she could do in that line. July 29, 1853 

To Pine Hill, looking for the Vaccinium Pennsylvanicum berries. July 29, 1858 

I find plenty of bushes, but these bear very sparingly. July 29, 1858 

They appear to bear but one or two years before they are overgrown. July 29, 1858 

Also they probably love a cool atmosphere, for they bear annually on mountains, as Monadnock. July 29, 1858 

Where the woods have been cut a year or two they have put forth fresh shoots of a livelier green. July 29, 1858 

The V. vacillans berries are in dense clusters, raceme-like, as huckleberries are not. July 29, 1858 

Vaccinium vacillans begin to be pretty thick and some huckleberries. July 29, 1859

The Cyperus dentatus in bloom on hard sandy parts of meadows now is very interesting and handsome on being inspected now, with its bright chestnut purple sided flat spikelets, -- a plant and color looking toward autumn. Very neat and handsome on a close inspection. July 29, 1859

Also in dry sandy soil the little tufts of Fimbristylis capillaris in bloom are quite brown and withered-looking now, – another yet more autumnal-suggesting sight. 
July 29, 1859

The sight of the small rough sunflower about a dry ditch bank and hedge advances me at once further toward autumn. July 29, 1853

At the same time I hear a dry, ripe, autumnal chirp of a cricket. It is the next step to the first goldenrod. July 29, 1853

I see a geranium leaf turned red in the shade of a copse; the same color with the woodbine seen yesterday. July 29, 1852

The colors which some rather obscure leaves assume in the fall in dark copses or unobserved by the roadside interest me more than their flowers.  July 29, 1852

These leaves interest me as much as flowers. July 29, 1852

I should like to have a complete list of those that are the first to turn red or yellow. July 29, 1852

How attractive is color, especially red; kindred this with the color of fruits in the harvest and skies in the evening. July 29, 1852

Heat lightning flashes, which reveal a distant horizon to our twilight eyes. But my fellows simply assert that it is not broad day, which everybody knows, and fail to perceive the phenomenon at all. July 29, 1857

At 10 P.M. it is perfectly fair and bright starlight. July 29, 1851

I am interested in an indistinct prospect, a distant view, a mere suggestion often, revealing an almost wholly new world to me. I rejoice to get, and am apt to present, a new view. July 29, 1857

But I find it impossible to present my view to most people. In effect, it would seem that they do not wish to take a new view in any case. July 29, 1857

The most valuable communication or news consists of hints and suggestions. When a truth comes to be known and accepted, it begins to be bad taste to repeat it. Every individual constitution is a probe employed in a new direction, and a wise man will attend to each one's report. July 29, 1857

I am willing to pass for a fool in my often desperate, perhaps foolish, efforts to persuade them to lift the veil from off the possible and future, which they hold down with both their hands, before their eyes. July 29, 1857

*****

A Book of the Seasons by Henry Thoreau:

March 18, 1860 (“There is but one flower in bloom in the town, and this insect knows where to find it . . . No doubt this flower, too, has learned to expect its winged visitor knocking at its door in the spring.”)
May 21, 1860 (“The birches . . . leaves more like flowers than foliage.”)
July 5, 1854 ("One hundred and nine swallows on telegraph-wire at bridge within eight rods, and others flying about.")
July 11, 1856 (“See quite a flock of red-wing blackbirds and young (?)”)
July 12, 1853 ("Spikenard, not quite yet")
July 12, 1852 ("I observed this morning a row of several dozen swallows perched on the telegraph-wire by the bridge, and ever and anon a part of them would launch forth as with one consent, circle a few moments over the water or meadow, and return to the wire again."); 
July 12, 1859 (" They take their broods to the telegraph-wire for an aerial perch, where they teach them to fly.")
July 13, 1852 ("It is impossible to say what day — almost what week — the huckleberries begin to be ripe, unless you are acquainted with, and daily visit, every huckleberry bush in the town")
July 13, 1852 ("Huckleberries, both blue and black,must have been ripe several days.") 
July 13, 1856 (“See quite a large flock of chattering red-wings, the flight of first broods.”);
July 14, 1856 (“See and hear martins twittering on the elms by riverside.”)
July 15, 1854 (“There are many butterflies, yellow and red, about the Asclepias incarnata now.”)
July 16, 1857(“I hear of the first early blueberries brought to market.”)
July 17, 1857 ("Aralia racemosa, not in bloom")
July 17, 1853 ("I think we have no Hieracium Gronoviis")
July 18, 1852 ("The petals of the rhexia have a beautiful clear purple with a violet tinge.")
July 22, 1852 ("The Aster macrophyllus, large-leafed, in Miles's Swamp.") 
July 22, 1855 "See small flocks of red-wings, young and old, now, over the willows.”); 
July 24, 1853 ("The berries of the Vaccinium vacillans are very abundant and large this year on Fair Haven, where I am now.Indeed these and huckleberries and blackberries are very abundant in this part of the town.")
July 24, 1853 ("A spikenard just beyond the spring has already pretty large green berries, though a few flowers")
July 28, 1852 ("Goldenrod and asters have fairly begun; there are several kinds of each out")
July 28, 1856 ("Richweed at Brown's oak, several days (since 16th; say 22d).")
July 28, 1854 ("Partridges begin to go off in packs.")

Magically at dusk
the woods fill with fireflies and
the flute of the thrush.
July 29, 2013

July 30, 1852 ("Do not all flowers that blossom after mid-July remind us of the fall? ")
July 30, 1854 ("The tobacco-pipes are still pushing up white amid the dry leaves, sometimes lifting a canopy of leaves with them four or five inches")
July 30, 1853 ("If the meadows were untouched, I should no doubt see many more of the rare white and the beautiful smaller purple orchis there, as I now see a few along the shaded brooks and meadow's edge")
July 30, 1856 ("This is a perfect dog-day. The atmosphere thick, mildewy, cloudy. It is difficult to dry anything. The sun is obscured, yet we expect no rain.")
July 30, 1859 ("This dog-day weather I can see the bottom where five and a half feet deep.")
July 30, 1860 ("Am glad to press my way through Miles's Swamp . . . in cool openings, stands an island or two of great dark-green high blueberry bushes, with big cool blueberries,")
July 31, 1856 (“How thick the berries — low blackberries, Vaccinium vacillans, and huckleberries — on the side of Fair Haven Hill!”)
July 31, 1857 ("I also saw here, or soon after, the red cohosh berries, ripe, (for the first time in my life); spikenard, etc..")
August 1, 1856 ("They make a splendid show, these brilliant rose-colored [rhexia] patches . . Yet few ever see them in this perfection, unless the haymaker who levels them, or the birds that fly over the meadow.")
August 4, 1852 (“Most huckleberries and blueberries and low blackberries are in their prime now.”)
August 4, 1854 ("On this hill (Smith's) the bushes are black with huckleberries . . . Now in their prime. Some glossy black, some dull black, some blue; and patches of Vaccinium vacillans inter mixed.")
August 4. 1856 ("This favorable moist weather has expanded some of the huckleberries to the size of bullets") 
August 6, 1852 ("Aralia racemosa, how long?")
August 9, 1856 ("The flowers of A. macrophyllusare white with a very slight bluish tinge, in a coarse flat-topped corymb. Flowers nine to ten eighths of an inch in diameter."); 
August 22, 1858 ("How sturdily it pulls, shooting us along, catching more wind than I knew to be wandering in this river valley! It suggests a new power in the sail. . .The boat is like a plow drawn by a winged bull.")
August 26, 1856 ("Aster macrophyllus, now in its prime. It grows large and rank, two feet high. On one I count seventeen central flowers withered, one hundred and thirty in bloom, and half as many buds.") 
September 18, 1854 ("Fringed gentian . . .that has been cut off by the mowers . . . may after all be earlier.")
September 4, 1856 ("Aralia racemosa berries just ripe . . . not edible. ")
September 4, 1859 ("See a very large mass of spikenard berries fairly ripening, eighteen inches long.") September 9, 1856 [at Brattleboro] ("High up the mountain the Aster macrophyllus")
September 14, 1852 ("Amaranthus hypochondriacus, prince's-feather, with 'bright red-purple flowers' and sanguine stem")
October 23, 1853  ("Is it Gronovii or veiny-leaved?") 

July 29, 2018
If you make the least correct 
observation of nature this year,
 you will have occasion to repeat it
 with illustrations the next, 
and the season and life itself is prolonged.

  July 28    < <<<<<  July 29  >>>>>   July 30

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau,  July 29
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 ©  2009-2022

https://tinyurl.com/HDT29JULY

Friday, July 24, 2015

A Book of the Seasons: July 24.


Dark cloud in the west.
Small and nearer clouds float past,
white against dark-blue.

In low Flint's Pond Path 
goldenrod makes a thicket 
higher than my head. 

What we know is an
insignificant portion
of what can be seen.


Look toward the sun
very lit-up fresh light green
fields where grass is cut.

I hear again the loud thunder and see the dark cloud in the west. July 24, 1854

The hairy huckleberry still lingers in bloom, — a few of them. July 24, 1859

The white orchis will hardly open for a week. July 24, 1859
In the low Flint's Pond Path, beyond Britton's, the tall rough goldenrod makes a thicket higher than my head. July 24, 1856

At the Corner Spring the berries of the trillium are already pink. July 24, 1853

The dark indigo-blue (Sophia says), waxy, and like blue china blue berries of the clintonia are already well ripe. July 24, 1853

This season of berrying is so far respected that the children have a vacation to pick berries. July 24, 1853

There is a short, fresh green on the shorn fields. July 24, 1852

Many a field where the grass has been cut shows now a fresh and very lit-up light green as you look toward the sun. Journal, July 24, 1860

When the first crop of grass is off, and the aftermath springs, the year has passed its culmination. July 24, 1852

Where most I sought for flowers in April and May I do not think to go now July 24, 1853

Some small and nearer clouds are floating past, white against the dark-blue distant one. July 24, 1854

The effects of drought are never more apparent than at dawn. July 24, 1851

The ground is very dry, the berries are drying up. It is long since we have had any rain to speak of. July 24, 1852

Nature is like a hen panting with open mouth, in the grass, as the morning after a debauch. July 24, 1851

The street and fields betray the drought and look more parched than at noon; they look as I feel, -- languid and thin and feeling my nerves. July 24, 1851
*****

July 15, 1859 ("The white orchis not yet, apparently, for a week or more. Hairy huckleberry still in bloom, but chiefly done.")

July 16, 1851 ("Berries are just beginning to ripen, and children are planning expeditions after them.")\

July 18, 1854 ("Where I looked for early spring flowers I do not look for midsummer ones.")

July 18, 1854 ("Methinks the asters and goldenrods begin, like the early ripening leaves, with midsummer heats.")

July 19, 1851("The wind rises more and more. The river and the pond are blacker than the threatening cloud in the south. The thunder mutters in the distance. The surface of the water is slightly rippled. ... The woods roar. Small white clouds [hurry] across the dark-blue ground of the storm . . .")

July 22, 1852 ("The green berries of the arum are seen, and the now reddish fruit of the trillium, and the round green-pea-sized green berries of the axil-flowering Solomon's-seal.")

July 28, 1854 (Methinks the season culminated about the middle of this month, — . . .having as it were attained the ridge of the summer, commenced to descend the long slope toward winter, the afternoon and down-hill of the year.")

August 27, 1856 ("the peculiar large dark blue indigo clintonia berries of irregular form and dark-spotted, in umbels of four or five on very brittle stems which break with a snap and on erectish stemlets or pedicels.")

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 © 2009-2021


Wednesday, July 22, 2015

Dog day weather begins.

July 22.

I hear that many of those balls have been found at Flint’s Pond within a few days. 

See small flocks of red-wings, young and old, now, over the willows. 

The pigeon woodpeckers have flown.

Dog day weather begins.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, July 22, 1855

Many of those balls have been found at Flint’s Pond See June 19, 1853 ("No grass balls yet."); July 24, 1856 ("I find, at the shallow stone wharf shore, three balls in good condition, walking about half the length of that shore. Methinks it was about a week earlier than this that they were found last year.")
See small flocks of red-wings, young and old, now. See July 13, 1856 (“See quite a large flock of chattering red-wings, the flight of first broods.”); July 29, 1859 (“See large flocks of red-wings now, the young grown.”)

Dog day weather begins. See July 22, 1860 ("First locust heard.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Locust, Dogdayish Days

July 22. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, July 22

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



A Book of the Seasons: July 22 (season of morning fogs, dog days, haymaking, bathing, rainbows, butterflies, berries and. young birds, the wild rose)

The year is but a succession of days,
and I see that I could assign some office to each day
which, summed up, would be the history of the year.
Henry Thoreau, August 24, 1852



Our fairest days born
in a fog –– the season of
morning fogs arrived.

July 22, 2023

The hottest night, — the last. It was almost impossible to pursue any work out-of- doors yesterday. There were but few men to be seen out. You were prompted often, if working in the sun, to step into the shade to avoid a sunstroke. July 22, 1854

Yesterday having been a rainy day, the air is now clear and cool. Rarely is the horizon so distinct.  July, 22, 1860

This morning, though perfectly fair except a haziness in the east, which prevented any splendor, the birds do not sing as yesterday. They appear to make distinctions which we cannot appreciate. July 22, 1852

The season of morning fogs has arrived. A great crescent over the course of the river, the fog retreats, and I do not see how it is dissipated, leaving this slight, thin vapor to curl over the surface of the still, dark water, still as glass. July 22, 1851

These are our fairest days, which are born in a fog.  July 22, 1851 

Fogs almost every morning now. Now clouds have begun to hang about all day, which do not promise rain, as it were the morning fogs elevated but little above the earth and floating through the air all day. July 22, 1854

A strong west wind, saving us from intolerable heat, accompanied by a blue haze, making the mountains invisible. We have more of the furnace-like heat to-day, after all. July 22, 1852

There is a cool wind from the east, which makes it cool walking that way while it is melting hot walking westward.  July 22, 1854

Dog day weather begins. July 22, 1855

Start just before 8 A.M. and sail to the Falls of Concord River. We are early enough to see the light reflected from the sides of the gyrating water-bugs. July 22, 1859

The air is now clear and cool . . . The surface of the earth, - grass grounds, pastures, and meadows, - is remarkably beautiful. July 22, 1860

I stand in Heywood's pasture and, leaning over the wall, look westward.  The next field, as I look over the wall, is a sort of terrestrial rainbow. 
  • First dark-green, where white clover has been cut; 
  • next along the edge of the meadow is a strip of red-top, uncut, perfectly distinct; 
  • then the cheerful bright-yellow sedge of the meadow; 
  • then a corresponding belt of red-top on its upper edge, quite straight and rectilinear like the first; 
  • then a glaucous-green field of grain still quite low; 
  • and, in the further corner of the field, a much darker square of green than any yet -- 
all brilliant in this wonderful light.  July 22, 1860

Flocks of yellow-breasted, russet-backed female bobolinks are seen flitting stragglingly across the meadows. The bobolink loses his song as he loses his colors. July 22, 1852

See small flocks of red-wings, young and old, now, over the willows.   July 22, 1855 

Here is a kingfisher frequenting the Corner Brook Pond. They find out such places. July 22, 1852

Heard from a bittern, a peculiar hoarse, grating note, lazily uttered as it flew over the meadows. A bittern's croak: a sound perfectly becoming the bird, as far as possible from music.  July 22, 1859

The nest of the marsh hawk is empty. It has probably flown. July 22, 1858

The pigeon woodpeckers have flown. .July 22, 1855 

The green berries of the arum are seen, and the now reddish fruit of the trillium, and the round green-pea-sized green berries of the axil-flowering Solomon's-seal.   July 22, 1852

Smooth sumach berries crimson there. July 22, 1853

The orchis and spikenard at Azalea Brook are not yet open.July 22, 1853

The Asclepias syriaca is going to seed. July 22, 1852

Solidago odora, a day or two, Lupine Hillside, and what I will call S. puberula, to-morrow. S. altissima on railroad, a day or two. July 22, 1854

The spear thistle. [Cirsium lanceolatum.] July 22, 1852

Observed, on the wild basil on Annursnack, small reddish butterflies which looked like a part of the plant. It has a singularly soft, velvety leaf. July 22, 1853

Tansy is now conspicuous by the roadsides, covered with small red butterflies. July 22, 1852

Yellow butterflies in the road. July 22, 1853

First locust heard. July 22, 1860

The early roses are now about done. July 22, 1853

I bathe me in the river. I lie down where it is shallow, amid the weeds over its sandy bottom; but it seems shrunken and parched; I find it difficult to get wet through. I would fain be the channel of a mountain brook. I bathe, and in a few. hours I bathe again, not remembering that I was wetted before. July 22, 1851

When I come to the river, I take off my clothes and carry them over, then bathe and wash off the mud and continue my walk. I would fain take rivers in my walks endwise. July 22, 1851

Farmers have commenced their meadow-haying. July 22, 1852

On one account, at least, I enjoy walking in the fields less at this season than at any other; there are so many men in the fields haying now.. July 22, 1853

C. and I took refuge from a shower under our boat at Clamshell; staid an hour at least. A thunderbolt fell close by. July 22, 1858

Left a little too soon, but enjoyed a splendid rainbow for half an hour. July 22, 1858

July 22, 2018

The orchis and spikenard at Azalea Brook are not yet open. See July 12, 1853 ("Spikenard, not quite yet.The green-flowered lanceolate-leafed orchis at Azalea Brook will soon flower.") The locally rare Spikenard (Aralia racemosa) that Thoreau saw near Azalea brook still persisted in 2007.~ Place Names of Henry David Thoreau in Concord, Massachusetts(and in Lincoln, Massachusetts) & Other Botanical Sites in Concord compiled by Ray Angelo./ See also May 31, 1853 ("I am going in search of the Azalea nudiflora")

Yellow butterflies in the road. See July 14, 1852 ("See to-day for the first time this season fleets of yellow butterflies in compact assembly in the road”); July 16, 1851 ("I see the yellow butterflies now gathered in fleets in the road, and on the flowers of the milkweed");   July 19, 1856 ("Fleets of yellow butterflies on road."); July 26, 1854 ("Today I see in various parts of the town the yellow butterflies in fleets in the road, on bare damp sand, twenty or more collected within a diameter of five or six inches in many places."); September 3, 1854 ("Even at this season I see some fleets of yellow butterflies in the damp road after the rain, as earlier.")

See small flocks of red-wings, young and old, now. See July 13, 1856 (“See quite a large flock of chattering red-wings, the flight of first broods.”); July 29, 1859 (“See large flocks of red-wings now, the young grown.”)

Flocks of yellow-breasted, russet-backed female bobolinks are seen flitting stragglingly across the meadows See August 15, 1852 (" I see a dense, compact flock of bobolinks going off in the air over a field. They cover the rails and alders, and go rustling off with a brassy, tinkling note as I approach, revealing their yellow breasts and bellies. This is an autumnal sight, that small flock of grown birds in the afternoon sky. ") S

A bittern's croak. See September 20, 1855 (“The great bittern, as it flies off from near the railroad bridge. . . utters a low hoarse kwa kwa”); September 25, 1855 ("Scare up the usual great bittern above the railroad bridge, whose hoarse qua qua, as it flies heavily off, a pickerel-fisher on the bank imitates.”)

The green berries of the arum are seen. See September 28, 1856 ("The arum berries are still fresh and abundant, perhaps in their prime. A large cluster is two and a half inches long by two wide ")

The now reddish fruit of the trillium. See August 19, 1852 ("The trillium berries, six-sided, one inch in diameter, like varnished and stained cherry wood, glossy red, crystalline and ingrained, concealed under its green leaves in shady swamps. ")

and I took refuge from a shower under our boat at Clamshell; staid an hour at least. See June 14, 1855 (“It suddenly begins to rain with great violence, and we in haste draw up our boat on the Clamshell shore, upset it, and get under, sitting on the paddles, and so are quite dry while our friends thought we were being wet to our skins. But we have as good a roof as they. It is very pleasant to lie there half an hour close to the edge of the water and see and hear the great drops patter on the river, each making a great bubble”)

These are our fairest days, which are born in a fog. Compare May 5, 1852 ("Every part of the world is beautiful today."); May 18, 1852 (The world can never be more beautiful than now”); August 19, 1853 (“ The dog-day mists are gone; the washed earth shines; the cooler air braces man. No summer day is so beautiful as the fairest spring and fall days . . . It is a glorious and ever-memorable day.");  December 10, 1853 ("These are among the finest days in the year”);May 21, 1854 (“the finest days of the year, days long enough and fair enough for the worthiest deeds.”); December 21, 1854 (“We are tempted to call these the finest days of the year.”); October 10, 1856 ("These are the finest days in the year, Indian Summer.”); October 10, 1857 ("The sixth day of glorious weather, which I am tempted to call the finest in the year"); September 18, 1860 ("If you are not happy to-day you will hardly be so to-morrow.").

A sort of terrestrial rainbow all brilliant in this wonderful light. See July 15, 1860 (“The rich green of young grain now, of various shades; the flashing blades of corn; the yellowing tops of ripening grain; the dense uniform red of red-top; the purple of the fowl-meadow along the low river-banks; the very dark and shadowy green of herd's-grass as if clouds were always passing over it; the fresh light green where June-grass has been cut; the fresh dark green where clover has been cut; the hard, dark green of pastures; the cheerful yellowish green of the meadows where the sedges prevail, with darker patches and veins of grass in the higher and drier parts.”)

First locust heard. See July 17, 1856 (“A very warm afternoon. Thermometer at 97° at the Hosmer Desert. I hear the early locust.”); July 18, 1851 ("I first hear the locust sing, so dry and piercing, by the side of the pine woods in the heat of the day.”); July 19, 1854 ("The more smothering, furnace-like heats are beginning, and the locust days.");July 26, 1854 ("It is a windy day like yesterday, yet almost constantly I hear borne on the wind from far, mingling with the sound of the wind, the z-ing locust, scarcely like a distinct sound.”); July 26, 1853 (“I mark again, about this time when the first asters open, the sound of crickets or locusts that makes you fruitfully meditative, helps condense your thoughts, like the mel dews in the afternoon. This the afternoon of the year.”); July 31, 1856 (“This dog-day afternoon [a]s I make my way amid rank weeds still wet with the dew, the air filled with a decaying musty scent and the z-ing of small locusts, I hear the distant sound of a flail, and thoughts of autumn occupy my mind, and the memory of past years.”) 

I would fain take rivers in my walks endwise. See July 10, 1852 ("I make quite an excursion up and down the river in the water, a fluvial, a water walk. . . .Walking up and down a river in torrid weather with only a hat to shade the head.”) 

A splendid rainbow for half an hour. See April 18, 1855 ("Am overtaken by a sudden sun-shower, after which a rainbow.”); August 17, 1858 (“Being overtaken by a shower, we took refuge in the basement of Sam Barrett’s sawmill, where we spent an hour, and at length came home with a rainbow over arching the road before us.”)


If you make the least correct 
observation of nature this year,
 you will have occasion to repeat it
 with illustrations the next, 
and the season and life itself is prolonged.
A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, July 22
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 © 2009-2023


https://tinyurl.com/HDT22JULY 

 

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