P. M. — To Baker's Bridge via Walden.
As we passed the almshouse brook this pleasant winter afternoon, at 2.30 p. m. (perhaps 20°, for it was 10° when I got home at 4.45), I saw vapor curling along over the open part by the roadside.
The most we saw, on the pond and after, was a peculiar track amid the men and dog tracks, which we took to be a fox-track, for he trailed his feet, leaving a mark, in a peculiar manner, and showed his wildness by his turning off the road.
Saw four snow buntings by the railroad causeway, just this side the cut, quite tame. They arose and alighted on the rail fence as we went by. Very stout for their length. Look very pretty when they fly and reveal the clear white space on their wings next the body, — white between the blacks. They were busily eating the seed of the piper grass on the embankment there, and it was strewn over the snow by them like oats in a stable.
Melvin speaks of seeing flocks of them on the river meadows in the fall, when they are of a different color.
Melvin thinks that the musquash eat more clams now than ever, and that they leave the shells in heaps under the ice. As the river falls it leaves them space enough under the ice along the meadow's edge and bushes. I think he is right.
He speaks of the mark of the tail, which is dragged behind them, in the snow, — as if made by a case-knife.
He does not remember that he ever sees the small hawk, i. e. pigeon hawk, here in winter.
He shot a large hawk the other day, when after quails. Had just shot a quail, when he heard another utter a peculiar note which indicated that it was pursued, and saw it dodge into a wall, when the hawk alighted on an apple tree.
Quails are very rare here, but where they are is found the hunter of them, whether he be man or hawk.
When a locomotive came in, just before the sun set, I saw a small cloud blown away from it which was a very rare but distinct violet purple.
I hear that one clearing out a well lately, perhaps in Connecticut, found one hundred and seventy and odd frogs and some snakes in it.
H. D. Thoreau. Journal, January 3, 1860
A peculiar track amid the men and dog tracks, which we took to be a fox-track, for he showed his wildness by his turning off the road. See February 5, 1854 ("Here was one track that crossed the road, — did not turn in it like a dog, — track of a wilder life. How distinct from the others! Such as was made before roads were, as if the road were a more recent track."); November 27, 1857 (“Returning, I see a fox run across the road in the twilight . . . I feel a certain respect for him, . . ., he still maintains himself free and wild in our midst.”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Fox
Saw four snow buntings by the railroad causeway, just this side the cut, busily eating the seed of the piper grass on the embankment there, See January 2, 1856 ("Crossing the railroad at the Heywood meadow, I see some snow buntings rise from the side of the embankment, and with surging, rolling flight wing their way up through the cut. . . Returning, I see, near the back road and railroad, a small flock of eight snow buntings feeding on the the seeds of the pigweed, picking them from the snow,-- apparently flat on the snow, their legs so short, -- and, when I approach, alighting on the rail fence. They are pretty black, with white wings and a brown crescent on their breasts. They have come with this deeper snow and colder weather"); January 22, 1860 (" Snow buntings are very wandering. They were quite numerous a month ago, and now seem to have quit the town. They seem to ramble about the country at will.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Snow Bunting
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, January 3
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 © 2009-2023
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