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
The ice still remains in Walden, though it will not bear. Journal, March 23, 1851
They sing with us in the pleasantest days before they go northward. Journal, March 23, 1852
A pleasant jingling note from the slate-colored snowbird on the oaks in the sun on Minott's hillside. See March 23, 1854 ("The birds in yard active now, — hyemalis, tree sparrow, and song sparrow. The hyemalis jingle easily distinguished. ") See also notes to March 14 1858 ("I see a Fringilla hyemalis, the first bird, perchance, . . .which is an evidence of spring, . . . They are now getting back earlier than our permanent summer residents.") and March 28, 1853 (The woods ring with the cheerful jingle of the F. hyemalis. This is a very trig and compact little bird, and appears to be in good condition. The straight edge of slate on their breasts contrasts remarkably with the white from beneath ; the short, light-colored bill is also very conspicuous amid the dark slate ; and when they fly from you, the two white feathers in their tails are very distinct at a good distance. They are very lively, pursuing each other from bush to bush.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Dark-eyed Junco (Fringilla hyemalis)
Looking with the side of the eye.
Journal, March 23, 1853
I find myself prepared to study lichens there. See January 26, 1852 ("The beauty of lichens, with their scalloped leaves, the small attractive fields, the crinkled edge! I could study a single piece of bark for hour.”); March 5, 1852 ("Such is the mood of my mind, and I call it studying lichens. The habit of looking at things microscopically, as the lichens on the trees and rocks, really prevents my seeing aught else in a walk"); February 5, 1853 ("It is a lichen day. . . . All the world seems a great lichen and to grow like one to-day”). See also August 5, 1851 ("The question is not what you look at, but what you see."); November 18 1851 ("The chopper who works in the woods all day is more open in some respects to the impressions they are fitted to make than the naturalist who goes to see them. He really forgets himself, forgets to observe, and at night he dreams of the swamp, its phenomena and events. Not so the naturalist; enough of his unconscious life does not pass there. A man can hardly be said to be there if he knows that he is there, or to go there if he knows where he is going. The man who is bent upon his work is frequently in the best attitude to observe what is irrelevant to his work.); February 18, 1852 ("One discovery in meteorology, one significant observation, is a good deal. I am grateful to the man who introduces order among the clouds. Yet I look up into the heavens so fancy free, I am almost glad not to know any law for the winds."); September 13, 1852 ("I must walk more with free senses. I must let my senses wander as my thoughts, my eyes see without looking. Carlyle said that how to observe was to look, but I say that it is rather to see, and the more you look the less you will observe. Be not preoccupied with looking. Go not to the object; let it come to you. What I need is not to look at all, but a true sauntering of the eye."); March 23, 1853 ("Man cannot afford to be a naturalist, to look at Nature directly, but only with the side of his eye."); June 14, 1853 (". . . you are in that favorable frame of mind described by De Quincey, open to great impressions, and you see those rare sights with the unconscious side of the eye, which you could not see by a direct gaze before.”); December 11, 1855 ("It is only necessary to behold thus the least fact or phenomenon, however familiar, from a point a hair’s breadth aside from our habitual path or routine, to be overcome, enchanted by its beauty and significance.”); April 28, 1856 ("Again, as so many times, I am reminded of the advantage to the poet, and philosopher, and naturalist, and whomsoever, of pursuing from time to time some other business than his chosen one, — seeing with the side of the eye.")
I find myself prepared to study lichens there. See January 26, 1852 ("The beauty of lichens, with their scalloped leaves, the small attractive fields, the crinkled edge! I could study a single piece of bark for hour.”); March 5, 1852 ("Such is the mood of my mind, and I call it studying lichens. The habit of looking at things microscopically, as the lichens on the trees and rocks, really prevents my seeing aught else in a walk"); February 5, 1853 ("It is a lichen day. . . . All the world seems a great lichen and to grow like one to-day”). See also August 5, 1851 ("The question is not what you look at, but what you see."); November 18 1851 ("The chopper who works in the woods all day is more open in some respects to the impressions they are fitted to make than the naturalist who goes to see them. He really forgets himself, forgets to observe, and at night he dreams of the swamp, its phenomena and events. Not so the naturalist; enough of his unconscious life does not pass there. A man can hardly be said to be there if he knows that he is there, or to go there if he knows where he is going. The man who is bent upon his work is frequently in the best attitude to observe what is irrelevant to his work.); February 18, 1852 ("One discovery in meteorology, one significant observation, is a good deal. I am grateful to the man who introduces order among the clouds. Yet I look up into the heavens so fancy free, I am almost glad not to know any law for the winds."); September 13, 1852 ("I must walk more with free senses. I must let my senses wander as my thoughts, my eyes see without looking. Carlyle said that how to observe was to look, but I say that it is rather to see, and the more you look the less you will observe. Be not preoccupied with looking. Go not to the object; let it come to you. What I need is not to look at all, but a true sauntering of the eye."); March 23, 1853 ("Man cannot afford to be a naturalist, to look at Nature directly, but only with the side of his eye."); June 14, 1853 (". . . you are in that favorable frame of mind described by De Quincey, open to great impressions, and you see those rare sights with the unconscious side of the eye, which you could not see by a direct gaze before.”); December 11, 1855 ("It is only necessary to behold thus the least fact or phenomenon, however familiar, from a point a hair’s breadth aside from our habitual path or routine, to be overcome, enchanted by its beauty and significance.”); April 28, 1856 ("Again, as so many times, I am reminded of the advantage to the poet, and philosopher, and naturalist, and whomsoever, of pursuing from time to time some other business than his chosen one, — seeing with the side of the eye.")
Going to another Boston. Journal March 23, 1854
. . .birds in yard active now. . . . See March 23, 1853 ("The birds which are merely migrating or tarrying here for a season are especially gregarious now")
going to another Boston. See August 6, 1851 ("It takes a man of genius to travel in his own country, in his native village"); September 7, 1851 ("The discoveries which we make abroad are special and particular; those which we make at home are general and significant. The further off, the nearer the surface. The nearer home, the deeper.")
The flight of the flying squirrel. Journal, March 23, 1855
Carry my flying squirrel back to the woods in my handkerchief. I place it, about 3.30 P. M., on the very stump I had taken it from. See March 22, 1855 ("I observed a rotten and hollow hemlock stump about two feet high and six inches in diameter , and instinctively approached with my right hand ready to cover it . I found a flying squirrel in it , which , as my left hand had covered a small hole at the bottom , ran directly into my right hand ."); see also June 19, 1859 ("A flying squirrel's nest and young . . . Saw three young run out after the mother and up a slender oak. The young half-grown, very tender-looking and weak-tailed, yet one climbed quite to the top of an oak twenty-five feet high,")
I wish to know an entire heaven and an entire earth. Journal, March 23, 1856
The nobler animals have been exterminated. See January 29, 1856 ("It is observable that not only the moose and the wolf disappear before the civilized man, but even many species of insects, such as the black fly and the almost microscopic 'no-see-em.'"); April 11, 1857 ("The very fishes in countless schools are driven out of a river by the improvements of the civilized man, as the pigeon and other fowls out of the air. . . .That river which the aboriginal and indigenous fishes have not deserted is a more primitive and interesting river to me. "); Natural History of Massachusetts (1842) ("The bear, wolf, lynx, wildcat, deer, beaver, and marten have disappeared ")
To know Nature's moods and manners. See June 22, 1851 ("My pulse must beat with Nature"); September 7, 1851 ("My profession is to be always on the alert to find God in nature, to know his lurking-places, to attend all the oratorios, the operas, in nature.");January 11, 1852 ("Let me not live as if time was short. Catch the pace of the seasons; have leisure to attend to every phenomenon of nature, and to entertain every thought that comes."); March 11, 1856; ("I wish so to live ever as to derive my satisfactions and inspirations from the commonest events, every-day phenomena, so that what my senses hourly perceive, my daily walk, the conversation of my neighbors, may inspire me"); September 24, 1859 ("I would know when in the year to expect certain thoughts and moods, as the sportsman knows when to look for plover.").
The nobler animals have been exterminated. See January 29, 1856 ("It is observable that not only the moose and the wolf disappear before the civilized man, but even many species of insects, such as the black fly and the almost microscopic 'no-see-em.'"); April 11, 1857 ("The very fishes in countless schools are driven out of a river by the improvements of the civilized man, as the pigeon and other fowls out of the air. . . .That river which the aboriginal and indigenous fishes have not deserted is a more primitive and interesting river to me. "); Natural History of Massachusetts (1842) ("The bear, wolf, lynx, wildcat, deer, beaver, and marten have disappeared ")
To know Nature's moods and manners. See June 22, 1851 ("My pulse must beat with Nature"); September 7, 1851 ("My profession is to be always on the alert to find God in nature, to know his lurking-places, to attend all the oratorios, the operas, in nature.");January 11, 1852 ("Let me not live as if time was short. Catch the pace of the seasons; have leisure to attend to every phenomenon of nature, and to entertain every thought that comes."); March 11, 1856; ("I wish so to live ever as to derive my satisfactions and inspirations from the commonest events, every-day phenomena, so that what my senses hourly perceive, my daily walk, the conversation of my neighbors, may inspire me"); September 24, 1859 ("I would know when in the year to expect certain thoughts and moods, as the sportsman knows when to look for plover.").
All the inhabitants of nature are attracted by the first bare and dry spot. Journal, March 23, 1856
I am reassured and reminded that I am the heir of eternal inheritances which are inalienable, when I feel the warmth reflected from this sunny bank,. . . How many springs I have had this same experience! See March 15, 1852 ("This afternoon I throw off my outside coat. A mild spring day. The air is full of bluebirds. The ground almost entirely bare.. . . I lean over a rail to hear what is in the air, liquid with the bluebirds' warble. My life partakes of infinity.")
I am reassured and reminded that I am the heir of eternal inheritances which are inalienable, when I feel the warmth reflected from this sunny bank,. . . How many springs I have had this same experience! See March 15, 1852 ("This afternoon I throw off my outside coat. A mild spring day. The air is full of bluebirds. The ground almost entirely bare.. . . I lean over a rail to hear what is in the air, liquid with the bluebirds' warble. My life partakes of infinity.")
A yellow-spotted turtle. Journal, March 23, 1858
Something stirring amid the dead leaves in the water at the bottom of a ditch. See March 26, 1860 (“The yellow-spotted tortoise may be seen February 23, as in '57, or not till March 28, as in '55, — thirty-three days.”); See February 23, 1857 (“See two yellow-spotted tortoises in the ditch south of Trillium Wood. . . .I have seen signs of the spring.”); March 10, 1853 ("I find a yellow-spotted tortoise (Emys guttata) in the brook.”); March 18, 1854 (" C. has already seen a yellow-spotted tortoise in a ditch.”); ; March 28, 1852 (“ a yellow-spotted tortoise by the causeway side in the meadow near Hubbard's Bridge.”); March 28, 1855 (“A yellow-spotted tortoise in a still ditch, which has a little ice also. It at first glance reminds me of a bright freckled leaf, skunk-cabbage scape, perhaps. They are generally quite still at this season, or only slowly put their heads out (of their shells).”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Yellow-Spotted TurtleA large flock of fox-colored sparrows. See March 23, 1853 ("The birds which are merely migrating or tarrying here for a season are especially gregarious now”)
Like the note of an alarm-clock set last fall so as to wake Nature up at exactly this date. Journal, March 23, 1859
A male goosander, so near that the green reflections of his head and neck are plainly visible. He looks like a paddle-wheel steamer, so oddly painted up, black and white and green, and moves along swift and straight like one. See March 17, 1860 (“See a large flock of sheldrakes . . . flying with great force and rapidity over my head in the woods. Now I hear the whistling of their wings, and in a moment they are lost in the horizon. Like swift propellers of the air.”); April 6, 1855 (“I am near enough to see its green head and neck. I am delighted to find a perfect specimen of the Mergus merganser, or goosander, undoubtedly shot yesterday by the Fast-Day sportsmen”); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Sheldrake (Merganser, Goosander)
March is the fourth coldest month. Journal, March 23, 1860
The eternity
that I detect in Nature
I see in myself.
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
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