A boat with wheels.

November 30.

November 30, 2015

River skimmed over behind Dodd’s and elsewhere. Got in my boat. River remained iced over all day. 

On the 27th, when I made my last voyage for the season, I found a large sound pine log about four feet long floating, and brought it home. Off the larger end I sawed two wheels, about a foot in diameter and seven or eight inches thick, and I fitted to them an axle-tree made of a joist, which also I found in the river, and thus I had a convenient pair of wheels on which to get my boat up and roll it about. 

The assessors called me into their office this year and said they wished to get an inventory of my property; asked if I had any real estate. No. Any notes at interest or railroad shares? No. Any taxable property? None that I knew of. “I own a boat,” I said; and one of them thought that that might come under the head of a pleasure carriage, which is taxable. Now that I have wheels to it, it comes nearer to it.

I was pleased to get my boat in by this means rather than on a borrowed wheelbarrow. It was fit that the river should furnish the material, and that in my last voyage on it, when the ice reminded me that it was time to put it in winter quarters. 

I am waiting for colder weather to survey a swamp, now inaccessible on account of the water. 

This evening I received Cholmondeley’s gift of Indian books, forty-four volumes in all, which came by the Canada, reaching Boston on the morning of the '24th. Left Liverpool the 10th.

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

Got in my boat. See November 30, 1854 ("Sail down river. No ice, but strong cold wind . . ."). See also  A Book of the Seasons: Boat in. Boat out.

Thoreau wrote Blake: "You should have been here to help me get in my boat. The last time I used it, November 27th, paddling up the Assabet, I saw a great round pine log sunk deep in the water, and with labor got it aboard. When I was floating this home so gently, it occurred to me why I had found it. It was to make wheels with to roll my boat into winter quarters upon. So I sawed off two thick rollers from one end, pierced them for wheels, and then of a joist which I had found drifting on the river in the summer I made an axletree, and on this I rolled my boat out. (Letter to Blake, December 9, 1855)

This evening I received Cholmondeley’s gift of Indian books, forty-four volumes in all. See November 16, 1855 ("I have been making shelves for my Oriental books, which I hear to-day are now on the Atlantic in the Canada"); November 9, 1855 ("Yesterday I got a perfectly sound oak timber . . . As it was too heavy to lift aboard, I towed it. As I shall want some shelves to put my Oriental books on, I shall begin to save boards now.")

Thomas Cholmondeley had shipped Thoreau a rare collection of forty-four books on Oriental subjects including the Rig Veda Sanhita, the Madukya Upankishads, the Nala and Damyanta, the Vishnu Purana, the Institutes of Menu the Sankhya Karika, the Aphorisms of the Mimasma andd Nayaya, the Bhagavat Gheeta, Sakoontala and the Bhagavita Purana (Days of Henry Thoreau, 347).

Thoreau wrote Cholmondeley on November 8, 1855, “I must endeavor to thank you for your magnificent, your princely gift to me,” and in 1857 sent Cholmondeley his Week, Emerson's poems, and Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass.

He wrote to Blake: "My books did not arrive till November 30th, the cargo of the Asia having been complete when they reached Liverpool. I have arranged them in a case which I made in the mean while, partly of river boards. I have not dipped far into the new ones yet. One is splendidly bound and illuminated. They are in English, French, Latin, Greek, and Sanscrit. I have not made out the significance of this godsend yet."  (Letter to Blake, December 9, 1855)

He wrote to Ricketson: "Cholmondeley . . has caused to be forwarded to me . . . a royal gift, in the shape of twentyone distinct works (one in nine volumes, — forty-four volumes in all), almost exclusively relating to ancient Hindoo literature, and scarcely one of them to be bought in America. I am familiar with many of them, and know how to prize them. I send you information of this as I might of the birth of a child. (Letter to Ricketson, December 25, 1855)

Among the books Thoreau already knew were the Vishnu Purana, The Laws of Menu, the Bhagavadgita, the Samkhya Karika, and the Sacontala. There were other Hindu texts that were new to him, such as the Rig Veda. (Concord Library)

Sanborn writes, "They arrived, November 30,1855, and I saw them soon after, in a new case which Thoreau had just made for them, out of driftwood that he brought home from his afternoon voyages on the river. . . .Several of them, and their cases are now mine." (FB Sanborn, Life of Thoreau 305 (1917))

A Book of the Seasons: November 30.

November 30.

A cold and windy

afternoon with snow not yet

melted on the ground.  

My eye wanders as

I sit on an oak stump by

an old cellar hole.

Transient gladness.--

I do not know what it is,

something that saw.

This recognition

from white pines now reflecting

a silvery light.

Methinks that in my 

mood I was asking Nature 

to give me a sign.

Where is my home now?

Faint as an old cellar hole,

Such is where we live.

And I sit by the

old site on the stump of an

oak which once grew there.

November 30, 1851

A cold afternoon
windy with some snow not yet
melted on the ground.

My eye wanders as

I sit on an oak stump by

an old cellar hole.

Transient gladness.

I do not know what it is --

something that I see.

This recognition

from white pines now reflecting

a silvery light.

Methinks that in my
mood I was asking Nature
to give me a sign.

Where is my home now?

Indistinct old cellar-hole, 

faint indentation.

And  by the old site

I sit on the stump of an
oak which once grew there.

November 30, 1851

Sparkling windows and
vanes of the village now seen
against the mountains.
November 30, 1852

A man advances

somewhat meanderingly

as a river does.

November 30, 1853

There was more light in

 the water than in the sky

as we paddled home.

November 30, 1853

How wild it makes the
pond and the township to find
a new fish in it!
November 30, 1858

From Pine Hill, Wachusett is seen over Walden. The country seems to slope up from the west end of Walden to the mountain. November 30, 1852

Wachusett from Fair Haven Hill, August 2, 1852

Overlooking Walden Pond toward
Waschusett, from Pine Hill
April 28, 1906

The short afternoons are come.   November 30, 1858

We see purple clouds in the east horizon.   November 30, 1858

But did ever clouds flit and change, form and dissolve, so fast as in this clear, cold air?   November 30, 1858

Coming over the side of Fair Haven Hill at sunset, we saw a large, long, dusky cloud in the northwest horizon, apparently just this side of Wachusett, or at least twenty miles off, which was snowing, when all the rest was clear sky. It was a complete snow-cloud.   November 30, 1858


 Thus local is all storm, surrounded by serenity and beauty.     November 30, 1858

My eye wanders across the valley to the pine woods which fringe the opposite side, and in their aspect my eye finds something which addresses itself to my nature.  November 30, 1851

Methinks that in my mood I was asking Nature to give me a sign.  November 30, 1851

Already, a little after 4 o'clock, the sparkling windows and vanes of the village, seen under and against the faintly purple-tinged, slate-colored mountains, remind me of  a village in  a mountainous country at twilight, where early lights appear.  November 30, 1852

I think that this peculiar sparkle without redness, a cold glitter, is peculiar to this season.  November 30, 1852

November 30, 2015

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 © 2009-2019

A Book of the Seasons: November 29.

November 29. 

As you advance, trees

come out of the mist and take

form before your eyes.

November 29, 1850

Soft russet landscape –

the sun now getting low in

a November day.

November 29, 1852

The soothing softness, 

sunlight on russet landscape, 

sun now getting low.

November 29, 1852

Again I am struck

by the wholesome colors of

the withered oak leaves.

Contrasting red-brown

misty-white on the two sides

of the shrub oak leaves.

So strong and cheerful

as if it rejoiced at the

advent of winter.

November 29, 1857

Three inches of snow.

Blue shadows, green rivers and

still winter life now.

November 29, 1858

Snow buntings rise from

the midst of a stubble-field

uinexpectedly.

November 29, 1859

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 © 2009-2018

A Book of the Seasons: November 28.

November 28. 

These November days

twilight makes so large a part

of the afternoon.

November 28, 1859

Snow. Do we know of

any other so silent

and sudden a change? 

So sudden a change –

the russet earth painted white

to the horizon.

November 28, 1858

 

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 © 2009-20120

There is little now to be heard along the river

November 27. 

P. M. — By river to J. Farmer’s.

I told him I saw a mink. He said he would have given me $1.50 and perhaps something more for him. I hear that he gives $1.75, and sells them again at a profit. They are used to trim ladies’ coats with, among other things. 

A mink skin which he showed me was a darker brown than the one I saw last (he says they changed suddenly to darker about a fortnight since); and the tail was nearly all black.

There is little now to be heard along the river but the sedge rustling on the brink. There is a little ice along most of the shore throughout the day.

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

I told him I saw a mink. See November 17, 1855 ("Mink seem to be more commonly seen now . . .”)

I hear that he gives $1.75, and sells them again at a profit. See March 15, 1855 ("He sells about a hundred mink skins in a year. . . .He says (I think) a mink’s skin is worth two dollars!”)

A Book of the Seasons: November 27.

November 27.

Too cold to paddle –

water freezes the handle 

and numbs my fingers.

The bare barren earth

cheerless without ice and snow –   

but how bright the stars.

November 27, 1853

I find acorns which

have sent a shoot down into

the earth this fall.

November 27, 1852

So new this country

inhabited by species

unknown to science.

November 27, 1858

November 27, 2021

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 © 2009-2019

First ice

November 26. 

Bottom of boat covered with ice. 

The ice next the shore bears me and my boat.

November 26, 2015

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

Bottom of boat covered with ice.  See November 26, 1857 ("Got my boat up this afternoon. . . . One end had frozen in.”)  See also  November 24, 1855 ("Ice has frozen pretty thick in the bottom of my boat.”): November 24, 1853 ("Ice forms in my boat.”); December 2, 1854 ("Got up my boat and housed it, ice having formed about it.”); 

A Book of the Seasons: November 26.

November 26.

Got my boat up this

Thanksgiving day afternoon.

One end frozen in.

November 26, 1857

Got my boat up this

afternoon – Thanksgiving day.

One end frozen in.

November 26, 1857

Small unpainted house

 the south side of a long hill

a third the way up

Spring comes earlier

to that dooryard and summer

lingers longest there.

November 26, 1857

Faint creak of a limb

heard in this oak wood is the

note of a nuthatch.

I detect it much

nearer than I suspected,

its mate not far off.

November 26, 1860

 November 26, 2012

"I love to have the river

closed up for a season

and a pause put to my boating,

to be obliged to get my boat in.

I shall launch it again in the spring

with so much more pleasure.

I love best to have each thing

in its season only,

and enjoy doing without it

at all other times. 

December 5, 1856:

Bottom of boat covered with ice. The ice next the shore bears me and my boat. November 26,1855

Got my boat up this afternoon. (It is Thanksgiving Day.) One end had frozen in. November 26, 1857

Got in boat on account of Reynolds’s new fence going up (earlier than usual). November 26, 1858

)

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 © 2009-2019

A Book of the Seasons: November 25.

November 25.

Ice on the water
and winter in the air but
no snow on the ground.
November 25, 1850

Just as the sun shines
our Creator breathes on us
and re-creates us.
November 25, 1850

This morning the ground
is again covered with snow
deeper than before.
November 25, 1851

I hear at sundown 

what proves to be a flock of 

wild geese going south.  

November 25, 1852

Western mountains seen

through this clear and sparkling air

remarkably near.

November 25, 1853

Western mountains seen

remarkably near through this 

clear and sparkling air

November 25, 1853

Am glad to get back 

to wholesome New England now

in her russet dress.

November 25, 1856

The unexpected
exhilarating yellow
light of November.
November 25, 1857

Late these afternoons,
yellow sunlight reflected
through the clear, cold air.
November 25, 1858

This clear cold water
is as empty as the air.
I see no fishes.
November 25, 1859

Cold gleam reflected

from countless crows flying low.

This strong northwest wind.

November 25 1860

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 © 2009-2019

A Book of the Seasons: November 24

November 24.

Clear and wintry cold 

with a strong northerly wind –

the winter begins.

November 24, 1853

Some poets have said 

writing poetry is for 

youths only – not so. 

November 24, 1857

Air so filled with snow

that we cannot see a hill

a half a mile off.

November 24, 1858 

Looking toward the sun

the andromeda is a 

very warm red brown.

November 24, 1857

looking from the sun

the andromeda is a 

 uniform pale brown.

 November 24, 1857

Clear and freezing cold,

the beginning of winter.

Ice forms in my boat.

November 24, 1853

Cold and blustering –

ice has frozen thick in the

bottom of my boat.

November 24, 1855

Looking toward the sun –

the andromeda is a

very warm red brown.

November 24, 1857

Snow sugars the ground

to reveal a cow-path in

the distant landscape.

First sugaring of

snow reveals a cow-path in

the distant landscape.

November 24, 1858

White anemone.

How pretty amid downy

fruits of November.

November 24, 1859

November 24, 2016

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 © 2009-2015

Ice has frozen pretty thick in the bottom of my boat.

November 24.

Geese went over on the 13th and 14th, on the 17th the first snow fell, and the 19th it began to be cold and blustering. 

That first slight snow has not yet gone off! and very little has been added. The last three or four days have been quite cold, the side walks a glare of ice and very little melting. 

To-day has been exceedingly blustering and disagreeable, as I found while surveying for Moore. 

The farmers now bring the apples they have engaged (and the cider); it is time to put them in the cellar, and the turnips. 

Ice has frozen pretty thick in the bottom of my boat.

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

Geese went over on the 13th and 14th, on the 17th the first snow fell.  See November 13, 1855 ("Seventy or eighty geese, in three harrows successively smaller, flying southwest—pretty well west—over the house. A completely overcast, occasionally drizzling forenoon.“);November 17, 1855 ("Just after dark the first snow is falling, after a chilly afternoon with cold gray clouds, when my hands were uncomfortably cold.”);November 18, 1855 ("About an inch of snow fell last night, but the ground was not at all frozen or prepared for it. A little greener grass and stubble here and there seems to burn its way through it this forenoon."); See also November 24, 1860 ("Though a slight touch, this was the first wintry scene of the season. The rabbits in the swamps enjoy it, as well as you.”)

Ice has frozen pretty thick in the bottom of my boat. See November 24, 1853 ("Ice forms in my boat . . .”); December 2, 1854 ("Got up my boat and housed it, ice having formed about it.”)

it is time to put them in the cellar, and the turnips. See November 21, 1860 ("Another finger-cold evening, which I improve in pulling my turnips. . .”)

A Book of the Seasons: November 23.

November 23

To make myself the

thoroughfare of thrilling thoughts,

live what can be lived.

November 23, 1850

A pond in the woods

quite frozen over so that

I walk across it.

November 23, 1850

A shallow pond – I

lay down on the ice and look

through at the bottom.

November 23, 1850

This morning is white –

the beauty and purity

of new-fallen snow.

November 23, 1852

The new-fallen snow

seen lying just as it fell

on the twigs and leaves.

November 23, 1852

With the first snowfall

Nature seems to relent her

November harshness.

November 23, 1852

Weeds against the sky --

the reflection enchants us

as an echo does.

November 23, 1853

November 23, 2015

This morning the ground is white with snow, and it still snows. The beauty and purity of new-fallen snow, lying just as it fell, on the twigs and leaves all the country over.  November 23, 1852 

You must go forth early to see the snow on the twigs. Now, a few hours later, the twigs and leaves are all bare, and the snow half melted on the ground.   Sportsmen have already been out with their dogs, improving this first snow to track their game.  November 23, 1852 

Having descended the Cliff, I go along to the Andromeda Ponds.  November 23, 1852 

The air is full of low, heavy mist, almost rain. The pines, in this atmosphere and contrasted with the snow, are suddenly many degrees darker, and the oaks redder.  November 23, 1852 

The andromeda a warm reddish brown.  November 23, 1852 

The mist so low is clouds close to the ground, and the steam of the engine hugs the earth in the Cut, concealing all objects for a great distance.  November 23, 1852 

Unexpectedly I find ice by the side of the brooks this afternoon nearly an inch thick.  November 23, 1850

I am surprised to see Fair Haven entirely skimmed over. November 23, 1852 

  If I am surprised to find ice on the sides of the brooks, I am much more surprised to find a pond in the woods, containing an acre or more, quite frozen over so that I walk across it.  November 23, 1850

I lay down on the ice and look through at the bottom. November 23, 1850

We find Heywood's Pond frozen five inches thick. This pond is bordered on the northeast with much russet sedge grass beneath the bushes, and the sun, now falling on the ice, seems to slide or glance off into this grass and light it up wonderfully, filling it with yellowish light. This ice being whitened and made partially opaque by heat, while the surface is quite smooth, perhaps from new freezings, reflects the surrounding trees, their forms and colors, distinctly like water. The white air-bubbles are the quicksilver on the back of the mirror. November 23, 1850 

The beauty and purity of new-fallen snow, lying just as it fell, on the twigs and leaves all the country over. November 23, 1852

The Indian summer itself, said to be more remarkable in this country than elsewhere, no less than the reblossoming of certain flowers, the peep of the hylodes, and sometimes the faint warble of some birds, is the reminiscence, or rather the return, of spring, the year renewing its youth.November 23, 1853

Famous fruits imported from the tropics and sold in our markets — as oranges, lemons, pineapples, and bananas do not concern me so much as many an unnoticed wild berry whose beauty annually lends a new charm to some wild walk, or which I have found to be palatable to an outdoor taste. November 23, 1860

Walked through Gowing's Swamp from west to east. . . . The trees are larch, white birch, red maple, spruce, white pine, etc. Journal, November 23, 1857

Walked through Gowing's Swamp from west to east. You may say it is divided into three parts, – 

first, the thin woody; 

second, the coarse bushy or gray; and 

third, the fine bushy or brown . . . November 23, 1857 

Third: There are the smooth brown and wetter spaces where the water andromeda chiefly prevails, together with purplish lamb-kill about the sides of them, and hairy huckleberry . . . November 23, 1857 

but in the midst and wettest part the narrow revolute and glaucous (beneath) leaves of the Andromeda Polifolia and Kalmia glaucaare seen, and in the sphagnum the Vaccinium Oxycoccus. In one of the latter portions occurs that open pool. November 23, 1857

This [Gowing's] swamp appears not to have had any natural outlet, though an artificial one has been dug. The same is perhaps the case with the C. Miles Swamp. And is it so with Beck Stow's These three are the only places where I have found the Andromeda Polifolia. November 23, 1857 

This morning the ground is white with snow, and it still snows. This is the first time it has been fairly white this season, though once before, many weeks ago, it was slightly whitened for ten or fifteen minutes. It was so warm and still last night at sundown that I remarked to a neighbor that it was moderating to snow. It is, in some degree, also, warmer after the first snow has come and banked up the houses and filled the crevices in the roof. Already the landscape impresses me with a greater sense of fertility.  November 23, 1852

At the back of Gowing's hillside, just west of his swamp, in the midst of shrub oaks and other dry up land trees, the ground slopes regularly on all sides to a deep round hollow, perhaps fifteen feet lower than the lowest side and thirty feet in diameter at the bottom. The bottom is rather wet and covered with sphagnum, and many stiff and dead-looking button-bushes stand in it, while all around a dense high hedge of high blueberry curves over it. So sudden a change there will be in the vegetation with a change of soil. Many such a dimple with its peculiar vegetations have I seen in a dry wood-lot. The Vaccinium corymbosum and panicled andromeda in a dense hedge, in a circular or oval or other curved form, surrounding and slanting over it so as almost to conceal it; and in the same manner the blueberry, etc., will grow around and overhang the largest ponds . . . The coarse bushy part, or blueberry thicket, consists of high blueberry, panicled andromeda, Amelanchier Canadensis var. oblongifolia, swamp-pink, choke-berry, Viburnum nudum, rhodora, (and probably prinos, holly, etc., etc., not distinguishable easily now), but chiefly the first two. Much of the blueberry being dead gives it a very gray as well as scraggy as pect. It is a very bad thicket to break through, yet there are commonly thinner places, or often opens, by which you may wind your way about the denser clumps . . . The high blueberry delights singularly in these localities. You distinguish it by its gray spreading mass; its light-gray bark, rather roughened; its thickish shoots, often crimson; and its plump, roundish red buds. Think of its wreaths and canopies of cool blue fruit in August, thick as the stars in the Milky Way! . . .  The blueberry is particularly hard to break through, it is so spreading and scraggy, but a hare can double swiftly enough beneath it. The ground of sphagnum is now thickly strewn with the leaves of these shrubs. November 23, 1857

The water, going down, but still spread far over the meadows, is seen from the window perfectly smooth and full of reflections.  What lifts and lightens and makes heaven of the earth is the fact that you see the reflections of the humblest weeds against the sky, but you cannot put your head low enough to see the substance so.  The reflection enchants us, just as an echo does. . . .Every peculiar curve in the limbs of the trees is doubly conspicuous seen both above and beneath, yet the rhyme makes even what was odd, regular what was irregular. November 23, 1853

I suspect that the song sparrow lingers as late, here and there alone, as any migrating bird. November 23, 1853

At 5 P. M. I saw, flying southwest high overhead, a flock of geese, and heard the faint honking of one or two. They were in the usual harrow form, twelve in the shorter line and twenty four in the longer, the latter abutting on the former at the fourth bird from the front. I judged hastily that the interval between the geese was about double their alar extent, and, as the last is, according to Wilson, five feet and two inches, the former may safely be called eight feet. . . . . This is the sixth flock I have seen or heard of since the morning of the 17th , i . e . within a week .   November 23, 1853 

It is, in some degree, warmer after the first snow has come and banked up the houses and filled the crevices in the roof. There is something genial even in the first snow, and Nature seems to relent a little of her November harshness. Men, too, are disposed to give thanks for the bounties of the year all over the land. November 23, 1852

This, then, may be considered the end of the flower season for this year, though this snow will probably soon melt again. Among the flowers which may be put down as lasting thus far, as I remember, in the order of their hardiness: yarrow, tansy (these very fresh and common),  cerastium, autumnal dandelion, dandelion, and perhaps tall buttercup, etc., the last four scarce. The following seen within a fortnight: a late three-ribbed goldenrod of some kind, blue-stemmed goldenrod (these two perhaps within a week), Potentilla argentea, Aster undulatus, Ranunculus repens, Bidens connata, shepherd's-purse, etc., etc.  November 23, 1852

. . .see over and above myself, entertain sublime conjectures, to make myself the thoroughfare of thrilling thoughts, live all that can be lived. November 23, 1850

November 23, 2018

November 23, 2018

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The world can never be more beautiful than now.

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, November Moods

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Nature is genial to man (the anthropic principle)

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, November days

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Indian Summer

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The Blueberries

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, at Ledum Swamp 

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, at Beck Stow's Swamp

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Geese in Autumn

A Book of the Seasons,    by Henry Thoreau, the Song Sparrow (Fringilla melodia)

A Book of Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,  First Snow

A Book of Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, First Ice

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Red Maple

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The White Pines  

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Lambkill (Kalmia augustifolia)

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Reflections

November 23, 2022

 

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 © 2009-2020