Snowed last night and this morning, about seven inches deep, much more than during the winter, the first truly wintry-looking day so far as snow is concerned; but the snow is quite soft or damp, lodging in perpendicular walls on the limbs, white on black. But it is as yet neither wheeling nor sleighing, the ground being muddy.
I remember to have seen these wood-lots being cut this winter: a little on the southwest edge of R. W. E.’s Pinnacle; Stow’s, up to east end of cold pool; northwest corner of Gowing’s, next Great Fields and Moore; an acre or more of the southwest part of the Dennis swamp by railroad; Cyrus Hosmer’s, southwest of Desert; and west of Marlborough road; except north part of last.
I walk through the Colburn farm pine woods by railroad and thence to rear of John Hosmer’s.
See a large flock of snow buntings, the white birds of the winter, rejoicing in the snow. I stand near a flock in an open field. They are trotting about briskly over the snow amid the weeds, —apparently pigweed and Roman wormwood, —as it were to keep their toes warm, hopping up to the weeds.
Then they restlessly take to wing again, and as they wheel about one, it is a very rich sight to see them dressed in black and white uniforms, alternate black and white, very distinct and regular. Perhaps no colors would be more effective above the snow, black tips (considerably more) to wings, then clear white between this and the back, which is black or very dark again.
One wonders if they are aware what a pleasing uniform appearance they make when they show their backs thus. They alight again equally near. Their track is much like a small crow’s track, showing a long heel and furrowing the snow between with their toes.
The last new journal thinks that it is very liberal, nay, bold, but it dares not publish a child’s thought on important subjects, such as life and death and good books. It requires the sanction of the divines just as surely as the tamest journal does. If it had been published at the time of the famous dispute between Christ and the doctors, it would have published only the opinions of the doctors and suppressed Christ’s.
There is no need of a law to check the license of the press. It is law enough, and more than enough, to itself.
Virtually, the community have come together and agreed what things shall be uttered, have agreed on a platform and to excommunicate him who departs from it, and not one in a thousand dares utter anything else. There are plenty of journals brave enough to say what they think about the government, this being a free one; but I know of none, widely circulated or well conducted, that dares say what it thinks about the Sunday or the Bible. They have been bribed to keep dark. They are in the service of hypocrisy.
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 2, 1858
Snowed last night and this morning, about seven inches deep. See March 2, 1857 ("An inch or two of snow falls, — all day about it, — and strangely blown away."); March 2, 1856 ("Has snowed three or four inches —very damp snow — in the night;")
I remember to have seen these wood-lots being cut this winter. See March 6, 1855 ("There is hardly a wood lot of any consequence left but the chopper’s axe has been heard in it this season. They have even infringed fatally on White Pond, on the south of Fair Haven Pond, shaved ofl’ the topknot of the Cliffs, the Colburn farm, Beck Stow’s, etc., etc.")
Friday. It snows. We have 3 to 4 inches. We walk to the view taking a shortcut at the junction. As usual she gets ahead and I go straight to the chairs. It is too windy to sit and we continue on towards the Middle Pond. There’s a new Hemlock snapped in half in the little valley. It blocks where we spent all that time clearing the beech tree there. The middle pond is open water for yard or so along the shore but eventually I hop onto the ice and cross. We are able to go down the cliff because the snow is perfect for walking then we take the Cliff Trail under the pine tree
I hop onto ice
over open water and
cross the middle pond.
zphx 20180302
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