I paddle up the river to see the moonlight

July 12. 

Another hot day. 96° at mid-afternoon.

July 12, 2019

 P. M. — To Assabet Bath. 

The elm avenue above the Wheeler farm is one of the hottest places in the town; the heat is reflected from the dusty road. The grass by the roadside begins to have a dry, hot, dusty look. 

The melted ice is running almost in a stream from the countryman's covered wagon, containing butter, which is to be conveyed hard to Boston market. He stands on the wheel to relieve his horses at each shelf in the ascent of Colburn Hill. 

I think I have distinguished our eriophorums now. There is the E. vaginatum, the earliest, out long ago; the E. polystachyon, well out June 19th; and to-day I see the E. gracile, which apparently has not been out quite so long as the last. Its leaves are channelled triangular. Saw yesterday the E. Virginicum, apparently in bloom, though very little woolly or reddish as yet, — a dense head. 

The taller dark rhynchospora is well out. 

In the evening, the moon being about full, I paddle up the river to see the moonlight and hear the bullfrogs. The toads and the pebbly dont dont are most common. 

There are fireworks in the village, — rockets, blue lights, etc. I am so far off that I do not hear the rush of the rocket till it has reached its highest point, so that it seems to be produced there. So the villagers entertain themselves this warm evening. Such are the aspirations. 

I see at 9.30 p. m. a little brood of four or five barn swallows, which have quite recently left the nest, perched close together for the night on a dead willow twig in the shade of the tree, about four feet above the water. Their tails not yet much grown. When I passed up, the old bird twittered about them in alarm. I now float within four feet, and they do not move or give sign of awaking. I could take them all off with my hand. 

They have been hatched in the nearest barn or elsewhere, and have been led at once to roost here, for coolness and security. There is no cooler nor safer place for them. I observe that they take their broods to the telegraph-wire for an aerial perch, where they teach them to fly. 

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, July 12, 1859

 In the evening, the moon being about full, I paddle up the river to see the moonlight and hear the bullfrogs. See  July 17, 1856 ("Returning after ten, by moonlight, see the bullfrogs lying at full length on the pads where they trump.") ;May 8, 1857 ("The full moon rises, and I paddle by its light. It is an evening for the soft-snoring, purring frogs ");   July 8, 1854 ("The 4th and 5th were the hot bathing days thus far; thermometer at 98 and 96 respectively. 8 p. m. — Full moon . . The moon reflected from the rippled surface like a stream of dollars."); Also July 6, 1851 ("I walked by night last moon, and saw its disk reflected in Walden Pond, the broken disk, now here, now there, a pure and memorable flame unearthly bright.")

Another hot day. 96° at mid-afternoon. See June 21, 1856 ("Very hot day, as was yesterday, -— 98° at 2 P. M., 99° at 3"); June 30, 1855 ("2 P. M. -- Thermometer north side of house, 95°");June 29, 1860 ("At 6 P.M. 91°, the hottest yet."); July 13, 1852 ("The weather has been remarkably warm for a week or ten days, the thermometer at ninety-five degrees, more or less; and we have had no rain"). 


A little brood of four or five barn swallows perched close together for the night on a dead willow twig above the water. I now float within four feet, and they do not move or give sign of awaking.See July 12, 1854 ("Many young barn swallows sit in flocks on the bared dead willows over the water and let me float within four or five feet. Birds do not distinguish a man sitting in a boat.")

They take their broods to the telegraph-wire for an aerial perch, where they teach them to fly. See 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. See A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, July 12

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