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
Bright silvery light
reflected from fresh green leaves –
the dark shade of June.
Blue black or hazel
those liquid eyes of nature
clear green next the shore.
June 26, 1852
June 26, 2018
Very cool day.
Our warmest night thus far this year was June 21st.
It began to be cooler the 24th.
Still hazy and dogdayish. June 26, 1860
It was thick weather, after a drizzling forenoon, and we could just see across Buzzard’s Bay from the point to Falmouth. June 26, 1856
A slight hail-storm in the afternoon.
I am struck, as I look toward the Dennis shore from the bathing-place, with the peculiar agreeable dark shade of June, a clear air, and bluish light on the grass and bright silvery light reflected from fresh green leaves. June 26, 1854
At Cliffs. – The air is warmer, but wonderfully clear after the hail-storm. I do not remember when I have seen it more clear. June 26, 1853
The mountains and horizon outlines on all sides are distinct and near.
Nobscot has lost all its blue, is only a more distant hill pasture, and the northwest mountains are too terrestrial a blue and firmly defined to be mistaken for clouds.
It expands me to look so much farther over the rolling surface of the earth. June 26, 1853
Summer returns without its haze. We see infinitely further into the horizon on every side, and the boundaries of the world are enlarged. June 26, 1853
At 5 P. M., — river ten and a half inches above summer level, — cross the meadow to the Hemlocks. June 26, 1860
The hemlocks are too much grown now and are too dark a green to show the handsomest bead-work by contrast. June 26, 1860
Under the Hemlocks, on the bare bank, apparently the Aira flexuosa, not long. June 26, 1860
Under the Hemlocks, on the bare bank, apparently the Aira flexuosa, not long. June 26, 1860
Euphorbia maculata.
The slight reddish-topped grass now gives a reddish tinge to some fields. June 26, 1851
The blue-eyed grass, now in its prime, occupies the drier and harder parts of the meadow, where I can walk dry-shod, but where the coarser sedge grows and it is lower and wetter there is none of it. June 26, 1860
I keep dry by following this blue guide, and the grass is not very high about it. You cross the meadows dry-shod by following the winding lead of the blue-eyed grass, which grows only on the firmer, more elevated, and drier parts. June 26, 1860
I found on the rocky and rather desolate extremity of this point the common Oxalis stricta on the seashore, abundant, going to seed; apparently carrots (?) naturalized; atriplex not yet out; beach pea, still out and going to seed. June 26, 1856
Carrot by railroad.
An abundance of the small iris in the field near by. June 26, 1856
Mine apparently the Erigeron strigosus, yet sometimes tinged with purple.
The tephrosia is an agreeable mixture of white, straw color, and rose pink; unpretending.
What is the result of that one leaf (or more), much and irregularly, or variously, divided and cut, with milk in it, in woods, either a lactuca or prenanthes, probably, one foot or more high? June 26, 1853
I have been surprised to observe that the only obvious employment which ever to my knowledge detained at Walden Pond for a whole half-day, unless it was in the way of business, any of my “fellow-citizens,” whether fathers or children of the town, with just one exception, was fishing.
Such is oftenest the young man’s introduction to the forest and wild.
He goes thither at first as a hunter and fisher, until at last the naturalist or poet distinguishes that which attracted him and leaves the gun and fishing-rod behind.
The mass of men are still and always young in this respect.
They might go there a thousand times, perchance, before the sediment of fishing would sink to the bottom and leave their purpose pure, — before they began to angle for the pond itself.
The earliest promise of the summer, - is it not in the smooth reflecting surface of woodland lakes in which the ice is just melted? Those liquid eyes of nature, blue or black or even hazel, deep or shallow, clear or turbid; green next the shore, the color of their iris. June 26, 1852
The earliest water surfaces, as I remember, as soon as the ice is melted, present as fair and matured scenes, as soft and warm, reflecting the sky through the clear atmosphere, as in midsummer, -- far in advance of the earth. June 26, 1852
Go to the menagerie in the afternoon. June 26, 1860
The Canada naiad (?), which I gathered yesterday, had perhaps bloomed. Thought I detected with my glass something like stamens about the little balls. June 26, 1860
Some of the Salix Torreyana by railroad is cordate and some not. The sterile one there is not, nor those near it. June 26, 1857
Young black willows have sprouted and put forth their two minute round leafets where the cottony seeds have lodged in a scum against the alders, etc. Leafets from one fortieth to one twenty-fifth of an inch in diameter. When separated from the continuous film of down they have a tendency to sink. June 26, 1860
Up Assabet. The black willow down is now quite conspicuous on the trees, giving them a parti-colored or spotted white and green look, quite interesting, like a fruit. It also rests on the water by the sides of the stream, where caught by alders, etc., in narrow crescents ten and five feet long, at right angles with the bank, so thick and white as to remind me of a dense mass of hoar-frost crystals. June 26, 1859
The Canada naiad (?), which I gathered yesterday, had perhaps bloomed. Thought I detected with my glass something like stamens about the little balls. June 26, 1860
Some of the Salix Torreyana by railroad is cordate and some not. The sterile one there is not, nor those near it. June 26, 1857
Young black willows have sprouted and put forth their two minute round leafets where the cottony seeds have lodged in a scum against the alders, etc. Leafets from one fortieth to one twenty-fifth of an inch in diameter. When separated from the continuous film of down they have a tendency to sink. June 26, 1860
Up Assabet. The black willow down is now quite conspicuous on the trees, giving them a parti-colored or spotted white and green look, quite interesting, like a fruit. It also rests on the water by the sides of the stream, where caught by alders, etc., in narrow crescents ten and five feet long, at right angles with the bank, so thick and white as to remind me of a dense mass of hoar-frost crystals. June 26, 1859
Stand over a bream's nest close to the shore at Hubbard's rear wood. At length she ventures back into it, after many approaches. The apparent young bream, hardly half an inch long, are hovering over it all the while in a little school, never offering to swim away from over that yellow spot; such is their instinct. The old one at length returns and takes up her watch beneath, but I notice no recognition of each other. June 26, 1857
The largest tupelo I remember in Concord is on the northerly edge of Staples's clearing. June 26, 1857
See a pack of partridges as big as robins at least. June 26, 1857
I must be near bobolinks' nests many times these days, — in E. Hosmer's meadow by the garlic and here in Charles Hubbard's, — but the birds are so overanxious, though you may be pretty far off, and so shy about visiting their nests while you are there, that you watch them in vain. The female flies close past and perches near you on a rock or stump and chirps whit tit, whit tit, whit it tit tit te incessantly. June 26, 1857
C. has found a wood pewee’s nest on a horizontal limb of a small swamp white oak, ten feet high, with three fresh eggs, cream-colored with spots of two shades in a ring about large end. Have nest and an egg. June 26, 1855
According to Audubon’s and Wilson’s plates, the Fringilla passerina has for the most part clear yellowish-white breast (vide May 28th), but the Savannah sparrow no conspicuous yellow on shoulder, a yellow brow, and white crown line. June 26, 1856
Rode to Sconticut Neck or Point in Fairhaven, five or six miles, and saw, apparently, the F. Savanna near their nests (my seringo note), restlessly flitting about me from rock to rock within a rod. Distinctly yellow-browed and spotted breast, not like plate of passerina. June 26, 1856
Audubon says that the eggs of the Savannah sparrow “are of a pale bluish color, softly mottled with purplish brown,” and those of the yellow-winged sparrow are “of a dingy white, sprinkled with brown spots.” The former is apparently my seringo’s egg of May 28th. June 26, 1856
When R. decided to take another road home from the latter place, because it was less hilly, I said I had not observed a hill in all our ride. June 26, 1856
Audubon says that the eggs of the Savannah sparrow “are of a pale bluish color, softly mottled with purplish brown,” and those of the yellow-winged sparrow are “of a dingy white, sprinkled with brown spots.” The former is apparently my seringo’s egg of May 28th. June 26, 1856
When R. decided to take another road home from the latter place, because it was less hilly, I said I had not observed a hill in all our ride. June 26, 1856
I had been expecting to find the aletris about New Bedford,
and when taking our luncheon on this neck what should I see rising above the luncheon-box, between me and R., but what I knew must be the Aletris farinosa; not yet out, but one nearby would open apparently in two or three days. June 26, 1856
Heard of, and sought out, the hut of Martha Simons, the only pure-blooded Indian left about New Bedford.
The question she answered with most interest was, “What do you call that plant?” and I reached her the aletris from my hat. She took it, looked at it a moment, and said, “That’s husk-root. It ’s good to put into bitters for a weak stomach.” June 26, 1856
I ought to have had my hat full of plants. June 26, 1856
The question she answered with most interest was, “What do you call that plant?” and I reached her the aletris from my hat. She took it, looked at it a moment, and said, “That’s husk-root. It ’s good to put into bitters for a weak stomach.” June 26, 1856
I ought to have had my hat full of plants. June 26, 1856
Had for dinner a pudding made of service-berries. June 26, 1853
It was very much like a rather dry cherry pudding without the stones.
It was very much like a rather dry cherry pudding without the stones.
 |
 |
| Walden; June, 2012 |
Those liquid eyes of nature, blue or black or even hazel. See May 27, 1859 ("The dark river, now that shades are increased, is like the dark eye of a maiden.”); May 29, 1857 ("I sit on the top of Lee's Cliff, looking into the light and dark eye of the lake."); May 27, 1859 ("These expressions of the face of Nature are as constant and sure to recur as those of the eyes of maidens, from year to year, — sure to be repeated as long as time lasts.")
Green next the shore See September 1, 1852 ("Viewed from the hilltop, [Walden] reflects the color of the sky. Beyond the deep reflecting surface, near the shore, it is a vivid green."); August 27, 1852("Viewed from a hilltop, it is blue in the depths and green in the shallows, but from a boat it is seen to be a uniform dark green.”) and Walden ("Walden is blue at one time and green at another, even from the same point of view. Lying between the earth and the heavens, it partakes of the color of both. Viewed from a hill top it reflects the color of the sky, but near at hand it is of a yellowish tint next the shore where you can see the sand, then a; light green, which gradually deepens to a uniform dark green in the body of the pond. In some lights, viewed even from a hilltop, it is of a vivid green next the shore.”)
They might go there a thousand times, perchance, before the sediment of fishing would sink to the bottom and leave their purpose pure, — before they began to angle for the pond itself. See January 12, 1855 ("On Flint’s Pond I find Nat Rice fishing. He has not caught one. I asked him what he thought the best time to fish. He said, “When the wind first comes south after a cold spell, on a bright morning.”); January 1, 1856 ("Here are two fishermen, and one has preceded them. They have not had a bite, and know not why. It has been a clear winter day."); December 28, 1856 ("There they sit, ever and anon scanning their reels to see if any have fallen, and, if not catching many fish, still getting what they went for, though they may not be aware of it, i. e. a wilder experience than the town affords.") ; October 4, 1858 ("There he stands at length, per chance better employed than ever, holding communion with nature and himself and coming to understand his real position and relation to men in this world. "); December 22, 1859 ("The fisherman stands erect and still on the ice, awaiting our approach, as usual forward to say that he has had no luck. He has been here since early morning, and for some reason or other the fishes won't bite. . . .However, the pond floor is not a bad place to spend a winter day.")
It has cleared the air; summer returns without its haze. We see infinitely further into the horizon on every side, and the boundaries of the world are enlarged. See June 26, 1854 ("The peculiar agreeable dark shade of June, a clear air, and bluish light on the grass and bright silvery light reflected from fresh green leaves."); June 23, 1854 (“The air is beautifully clear, showing the glossy and light-reflecting greenness of the woods. It is a great relief to look into the horizon. There is more room under the heavens”); June 23, 1852 (“ It is an agreeably cool and clear and breezy day, when all things appear as if washed bright and shine . . . You can see far into the horizon.”)
The peculiar agreeable dark shade of June. . . .See note to June 6, 1855 ("You see the dark eye and shade of June on the river as well as on land"); and June 11, 1856 ("I think that this peculiar darkness of the shade, or of the foliage as seen between you and the sky, is not accounted for merely by saying that we have not yet got accustomed to clothed trees, but the leaves are rapidly acquiring a darker green, are more and more opaque, and, besides, the sky is lit with the intensest light.”)
The slight reddish-topped grass now gives a reddish tinge to some fields. See June 19, 1859 ("Is that red-top, nearly out on railroad bank?"); July 6, 1851 ("The red-topped grass is in its prime, tingeing the fields with red."); July 13, 1860 ("I especially notice some very red fields where the red-top grass grows luxuriantly and is now in full bloom, - a red purple, passing into brown. First we had the June grass reddish-brown, and the sorrel red, of June; now the red-top red of July."); July 15, 1860 ("Looking down on a field of red-top now in full bloom, at 2.30 P.M. in a blazing sun I am surprised to see a very distinct white vapor like a low cloud drifting along close over the moist coolness of that dense grass-field. Field after field, densely packed like the squares of a checker-board, all through and about the villages, paint the earth")
Go to the menagerie in the afternoon. See June 26, 1851 ("Visited a menagerie this afternoon. I am always sur prised to see the same spots and stripes on wild beasts from Africa and Asia and also from South America, — on the Brazilian tiger and the African leopard , — and their general similarity . All these wild animals — lions, tigers, chetas, leopards, etc . — have one hue, — tawny and commonly spotted or striped, — what you may call pard - color , a color and marking which I had not as sociated with America These are wild beasts. What constitutes the difference between a wild beast and a tame one How much more human the one than the other Growling, scratching, roaring, with whatever beauty and gracefulness, still untamable, this royal Bengal tiger or this leopard. They have the character and the importance of another order of men . The majestic lion, the king of beasts, he must retain his title ")
The hemlocks are too much grown now and are too dark a green to show the handsomest bead-work by contrast. See June 5, 1853 ("The fresh light green shoots of the hemlocks have now grown half an inch or an inch, spotting the trees, contrasting with the dark green of last year's foliage."); June 7, 1860 ("the bead-work of the hemlock"); June 11, 1859 ("Hemlocks are about at height of their beauty, with their fresh growth.")
Young black willows have sprouted and put forth their two minute round leafets where the cottony seeds have lodged in a scum against the alders. See June 26, 1859 ("The black willow down . . . rests on the water by the sides of the stream, where caught by alders, etc., in narrow crescents ten and five feet long, at right angles with the bank, so thick and white "); June 27, 1860 ("The black willow down is now washed up and collected against the alders and weeds."); June 29, 1857 ("The river is now whitened with the down of the black willow, and I am surprised to see a minute plant abundantly springing from its midst and greening it,. . ., — like grass growing in cotton in a tumbler.")
Savannah sparrow no conspicuous yellow on shoulder, a yellow brow, and white crown line. . . Audubon says that the eggs “are of a pale bluish color, softly mottled with purplish brown,” See May 28, 1856 ("A seringo or yellow-browed (?) sparrow’s nest . . . Egg, bluish-white ground, thickly blotched with brown . . ..”); April 22, 1856 ("The seringo also sits on a post, with a very distinct yellow line over the eye,_and the rhythm of its strain is ker chick | ker che | ker-char—r-r-r-r | chick, the last two bars being the part chiefly heard."); October 22, 1855 ("I sit on a bank at the brook crossing, beyond the grove, to watch a flock of seringos, perhaps Savannah sparrows, which, with some F. hyemalis and other sparrows, are actively flitting about amid the alders and dogwood. "); July 16, 1854 ("Is it the yellow-winged or Savannah sparrow with yellow alternating with dark streaks on throat, as well as yellow over eye, reddish flesh-colored legs, and two light bars on wings?“). See also Guide to Thoreau’s Birds "(Thoreau frequently called the Savannah Sparrow Passerculus sandwichensis the seringo or seringo-bird, but he also applied the name to other small birds.)”
I had been expecting to find the aletris about New Bedford. . . See June 25 1856 ( “[i]n answer to my question what were the rare or peculiar plants thereabouts, [Green] named the Aletris farinosa, or star-grass”). See also November 4, 1858 ("We cannot see any thing until we are possessed with the idea of it, . . . In my botanical rambles I find that first the idea, or image, of a plant occupies my thoughts, . . . expecting it unconsciously, and at length I surely see it . . . This is the history of my finding a score or more of rare plants which I could name.”)
I ought to have had my hat full of plants. See June 23, 1852 ("I am inclined to think that my hat, whose lining is gathered in midway so as to make a shelf, is about as good a botany-box as I could have and far more convenient. . ."); September 7, 1852 ("We reach . . . Concord . . . four hours from the time we were picking blueberries on the mountain, with the plants of the mountain fresh in my hat.”); December 4, 1856 ("About half a dozen years ago I found myself again attending to plants with more method, looking out the name of each one and remembering it. I began to bring them home in my hat, a straw one with a scaffold lining to it, which I called my botany- box. I never used any other, and when some whom I visited were evidently surprised at its dilapidated look, as I deposited it on their front entry table, I assured them it was not so much my hat as my botany-box.”)
They might go there a thousand times, perchance, before the sediment of fishing would sink to the bottom and leave their purpose pure, — before they began to angle for the pond itself. See January 12, 1855 ("On Flint’s Pond I find Nat Rice fishing. He has not caught one. I asked him what he thought the best time to fish. He said, “When the wind first comes south after a cold spell, on a bright morning.”); January 1, 1856 ("Here are two fishermen, and one has preceded them. They have not had a bite, and know not why. It has been a clear winter day."); December 28, 1856 ("There they sit, ever and anon scanning their reels to see if any have fallen, and, if not catching many fish, still getting what they went for, though they may not be aware of it, i. e. a wilder experience than the town affords.") ; October 4, 1858 ("There he stands at length, per chance better employed than ever, holding communion with nature and himself and coming to understand his real position and relation to men in this world. "); December 22, 1859 ("The fisherman stands erect and still on the ice, awaiting our approach, as usual forward to say that he has had no luck. He has been here since early morning, and for some reason or other the fishes won't bite. . . .However, the pond floor is not a bad place to spend a winter day.")
It has cleared the air; summer returns without its haze. We see infinitely further into the horizon on every side, and the boundaries of the world are enlarged. See June 26, 1854 ("The peculiar agreeable dark shade of June, a clear air, and bluish light on the grass and bright silvery light reflected from fresh green leaves."); June 23, 1854 (“The air is beautifully clear, showing the glossy and light-reflecting greenness of the woods. It is a great relief to look into the horizon. There is more room under the heavens”); June 23, 1852 (“ It is an agreeably cool and clear and breezy day, when all things appear as if washed bright and shine . . . You can see far into the horizon.”)The peculiar agreeable dark shade of June. . . .See note to June 6, 1855 ("You see the dark eye and shade of June on the river as well as on land"); and June 11, 1856 ("I think that this peculiar darkness of the shade, or of the foliage as seen between you and the sky, is not accounted for merely by saying that we have not yet got accustomed to clothed trees, but the leaves are rapidly acquiring a darker green, are more and more opaque, and, besides, the sky is lit with the intensest light.”)
The slight reddish-topped grass now gives a reddish tinge to some fields. See June 19, 1859 ("Is that red-top, nearly out on railroad bank?"); July 6, 1851 ("The red-topped grass is in its prime, tingeing the fields with red."); July 13, 1860 ("I especially notice some very red fields where the red-top grass grows luxuriantly and is now in full bloom, - a red purple, passing into brown. First we had the June grass reddish-brown, and the sorrel red, of June; now the red-top red of July."); July 15, 1860 ("Looking down on a field of red-top now in full bloom, at 2.30 P.M. in a blazing sun I am surprised to see a very distinct white vapor like a low cloud drifting along close over the moist coolness of that dense grass-field. Field after field, densely packed like the squares of a checker-board, all through and about the villages, paint the earth")
The hemlocks are too much grown now and are too dark a green to show the handsomest bead-work by contrast. See June 5, 1853 ("The fresh light green shoots of the hemlocks have now grown half an inch or an inch, spotting the trees, contrasting with the dark green of last year's foliage."); June 7, 1860 ("the bead-work of the hemlock"); June 11, 1859 ("Hemlocks are about at height of their beauty, with their fresh growth.")
Young black willows have sprouted and put forth their two minute round leafets where the cottony seeds have lodged in a scum against the alders. See June 26, 1859 ("The black willow down . . . rests on the water by the sides of the stream, where caught by alders, etc., in narrow crescents ten and five feet long, at right angles with the bank, so thick and white "); June 27, 1860 ("The black willow down is now washed up and collected against the alders and weeds."); June 29, 1857 ("The river is now whitened with the down of the black willow, and I am surprised to see a minute plant abundantly springing from its midst and greening it,. . ., — like grass growing in cotton in a tumbler.")
Spots of two shades in a ring.... Modern field guides say, "3 [eggs], sometimes 2, rarely 4. Whitish, with brown and lavender blotches often concentrated toward larger end" (Audubon) and "White or creamy with a wreath of brown or purple speckles." (Cornell.)
A wood pewee’s nest on a horizontal limb of a small swamp white oak SeeJune 11, 1860 ("See one wood pewee nest on a swamp white oak, not quite done.")Savannah sparrow no conspicuous yellow on shoulder, a yellow brow, and white crown line. . . Audubon says that the eggs “are of a pale bluish color, softly mottled with purplish brown,” See May 28, 1856 ("A seringo or yellow-browed (?) sparrow’s nest . . . Egg, bluish-white ground, thickly blotched with brown . . ..”); April 22, 1856 ("The seringo also sits on a post, with a very distinct yellow line over the eye,_and the rhythm of its strain is ker chick | ker che | ker-char—r-r-r-r | chick, the last two bars being the part chiefly heard."); October 22, 1855 ("I sit on a bank at the brook crossing, beyond the grove, to watch a flock of seringos, perhaps Savannah sparrows, which, with some F. hyemalis and other sparrows, are actively flitting about amid the alders and dogwood. "); July 16, 1854 ("Is it the yellow-winged or Savannah sparrow with yellow alternating with dark streaks on throat, as well as yellow over eye, reddish flesh-colored legs, and two light bars on wings?“). See also Guide to Thoreau’s Birds "(Thoreau frequently called the Savannah Sparrow Passerculus sandwichensis the seringo or seringo-bird, but he also applied the name to other small birds.)”
I had been expecting to find the aletris about New Bedford. . . See June 25 1856 ( “[i]n answer to my question what were the rare or peculiar plants thereabouts, [Green] named the Aletris farinosa, or star-grass”). See also November 4, 1858 ("We cannot see any thing until we are possessed with the idea of it, . . . In my botanical rambles I find that first the idea, or image, of a plant occupies my thoughts, . . . expecting it unconsciously, and at length I surely see it . . . This is the history of my finding a score or more of rare plants which I could name.”)
I ought to have had my hat full of plants. See June 23, 1852 ("I am inclined to think that my hat, whose lining is gathered in midway so as to make a shelf, is about as good a botany-box as I could have and far more convenient. . ."); September 7, 1852 ("We reach . . . Concord . . . four hours from the time we were picking blueberries on the mountain, with the plants of the mountain fresh in my hat.”); December 4, 1856 ("About half a dozen years ago I found myself again attending to plants with more method, looking out the name of each one and remembering it. I began to bring them home in my hat, a straw one with a scaffold lining to it, which I called my botany- box. I never used any other, and when some whom I visited were evidently surprised at its dilapidated look, as I deposited it on their front entry table, I assured them it was not so much my hat as my botany-box.”)
The black willow down is now quite conspicuous. See March 11, 1861 ("The seed of the willow is exceedingly minute, . . .- and is surrounded at base by a tuft of cotton - like hairs about one fourth of an inch long rising around and above it, forming a kind of parachute. These render it the most buoyant of the seeds of any of our trees, and it is borne the furthest horizontally with the least wind. . . . Each of the numerous little pods, more or less ovate and beaked, which form the fertile catkin is closely packed with down and seeds. At maturity these pods open their beaks, which curve back, and gradually discharge their burden like the milkweed."); June 15, 1854 ("Black willow is now gone to seed, and its down covers the water, white amid the weeds."); June 27, 1860 ("To-day it is cool and clear and quite windy, and the black willow down is now washed up and collected against the alders and weeds, and the river looking more sparkling."); July 9, 1857 ("There is now but little black willow down left on the trees.")
A bream's nest close to the shore . . .See note to July 10, 1853 ("The bream poised over its sandy nest on waving fin - how aboriginal! So it has poised here and watched its ova before this New World was known to the Old.")
See a pack of partridges as big as robins at least. See June 23, 1854 ("Disturb three different broods of partridges in my walk this afternoon in different places. . . ."); June 27,1852 ("I meet the partridge with her brood in the woods, a perfect little hen. . . .”); June 27, 1860 ("See on the open grassy bank and shore, just this side the Hemlocks, a partridge with her little brood.”); July 1, 1860 (I see young partridges not bigger than robins fly three or four rods. . .”); July 5, 1856 ("Young partridges (with the old bird), as big as robins, make haste into the woods from off the railroad.")
I must be near bobolinks' nests . . . See July 2, 1855 ("Young bobolinks are now fluttering over the meadow, but I have not been able to find a nest ..")
See a pack of partridges as big as robins at least. See June 23, 1854 ("Disturb three different broods of partridges in my walk this afternoon in different places. . . ."); June 27,1852 ("I meet the partridge with her brood in the woods, a perfect little hen. . . .”); June 27, 1860 ("See on the open grassy bank and shore, just this side the Hemlocks, a partridge with her little brood.”); July 1, 1860 (I see young partridges not bigger than robins fly three or four rods. . .”); July 5, 1856 ("Young partridges (with the old bird), as big as robins, make haste into the woods from off the railroad.")
I must be near bobolinks' nests . . . See July 2, 1855 ("Young bobolinks are now fluttering over the meadow, but I have not been able to find a nest ..")
The Salix Torreyana by railroad. See May 12, 1857 ("How many species of willow have been planted along the railroad causeway within ten years, of which no one knows the history")
June 26, 2015
If you make the least correctobservation of nature this year,you will have occasion to repeat itwith illustrations the next,and the season and life itself is prolonged.
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
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