Sitting on a rock east of Trillium Woods

October 2. 

P. M. – To Hubbard's Close and Swamp. 

Veronica scutellaria still. 

Sitting on a rock east of Trillium Woods, I perceive that, generally speaking, it is only the edge or pediment of the woods that shows the bright autumnal tints yet (while the superstructure is green), the birches, very young oaks and hickories, huckleberry bushes, blackberries, etc., etc., that stand around the edges, though here and there some taller maple flames upward amid the masses of green, or some other riper and mellower tree. 

The chief incidents in Minott's life must be more distinct and interesting to him now than immediately after they occurred, for he has recalled and related them so often that they are stereotyped in his mind. Never having travelled far from his hillside, he does not suspect himself, but tells his stories with fidelity and gusto to the minutest details, — as much as Herodotus his histories. 

The leaves of some trees merely wither, turn brown, and drop off at this season, without any conspicuous flush of beauty, while others now first attain to the climax of their beauty. There is a more or less general reddening of the leaves at this season, down to the cinquefoil and mouse-ear, sorrel and strawberry under our feet. White oaks are still quite green, with a few distinct red leaves intermixed. A great many red maples are merely yellow; more, scarlet, in some cases deepening to crimson.

Looking at the pines of Trillium Woods, I see that the pitch pines have generally a rounded head, composed of countless distinct small rounded masses of foliage, the tops of their plumes, while the white pines are more smooth, or only flaky. 

Since the cooler weather many crickets are seen clustered on warm banks and by sunny wall-sides. 

It is evident from their droppings that the wood chucks (?) eat many of them these evenings. 

I go through Stow's Wood and up Laurel Glen eastward. The chickadees of late have winter ways, flocking after you. 

This changing of the leaves — their brighter tints — must have to do with cold, for it begins in the low meadows and in frosty hollows in the woods. There is where you must look as yet for the bright tints. I see the sprouts at the base of an old red oak for four or five feet upward, investing its trunk, all clear bright red, while all above is green. The shrub oak leaves around are more yellow or scarlet than the red. At the bottom of this hollow, the young walnut leaves have just been killed by the frosts while still green, and generally the hazel leaves also, but not the oaks, cherries, etc., etc. Many little maples in those coldest places have already dropped all their leaves. Generally in low ground many maple and birch and locust leaves have fallen. Grape leaves were killed and crisped by the last frost. 

The fringed gentian at Hubbard's Close has been out some time, and most of it already withered. 

In the clintonia swamp I see where some animal has been getting the seeds of the skunk-cabbage out of their pericarp. 

You may take a dry walk there for a quarter of a mile along the base of the hill through this open swamp, where there is no underwood, all the way in a field of cinnamon fern four or five feet high and level, brushing against its light fronds, which offer now no serious obstacle. They are now generally imbrowned or crisp. In the more open swamp beyond, these ferns, recently killed by the frost and exposed to the sun, fill the air with a very strong sour scent, as if your nose [were] over a hogshead of vinegar. When I strip off a handful of the frond I find it is the cinnamon fern. I perceive it afterward in different parts of the town. 

The erechthites down (fire-weed) is conspicuous in sprout-lands of late, since its leaves were killed.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, October 2, 1857


Minott tells his stories with fidelity and gusto to the minutest details. See February 29, 1856 ("I willingly listen to the stories he has told me half a dozen times already.“)

The chickadees of late have winter ways, flocking after you .See October 15, 1856 (“The chickadees are hopping near on the hemlock above. They resume their winter ways before the winter comes.”); October 23, 1852 ("The chickadees flit along, following me inquisitively a few rods with lisping, tinkling note, — flit within a few feet of me from curiosity, head downward on the pines.");December 1, 1853 (T hey are our most honest and innocent little bird, drawing yet nearer to us as the winter advances. . .”); .December 3, 1856 ("Six weeks ago I noticed the advent of chickadees and their winter habits. As you walk along a wood-side, a restless little flock of them, whose notes you hear at a distance, will seem to say, "Oh, there he goes! Let's pay our respects to him." And they will flit after and close to you, and naively peck at the nearest twig to you, as if they were minding their own business all the while without any reference to you.”)

The fringed gentian at Hubbard's Close has been out some time, and most of it already withered. See October 2, 1853 ("The gentian in Hubbard's Close is frost-bitten extensively.")

In the more open swamp beyond, these ferns, recently killed by the frost and exposed to the sun, fill the air with a very strong sour scent.  See October 2, 1859 (" I perceive in various places, in low ground, this afternoon, the sour scent of cinnamon ferns decaying. It is an agreeable phenomenon, reminding me of the season and of past years") A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Cinnamon Fern