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 melting snow, running and sparkling down-hill in the ruts, was quite springlike. See February 16, 1856 ("the melting snow shines in the ruts."); February 21, 1860 ("When you see the sparkling stream from melting snow in the ruts."); March 9, 1859 ("A true spring day, not a cloud in the sky. The earth shines, its icy armor reflecting the sun, and the rills of melting snow in the ruts shine, too.")
Saw a mink run across the road in Sudbury, a large black weasel, to appearance, worming its supple way over the snow. See December 2, 1852 ("Above the bridge . . .we see a mink, slender, black, very like a weasel in form; February 26, 1856 ("I see at bottom of the mill brook, below Emerson’s, two dead frogs. . . . Were they left by a mink, or killed by cold and ice? "); March 13, 1859 ("I commonly saw two or three in a year. ")
Now, when the sap of the trees is probably beginning to flow, the sap of the earth, the river, overflows and bursts its icy fetters. See February 27, 1852 (" If rivers come out of their icy prison thus bright and immortal, shall not I too resume my spring life with joy and hope ? Have I no hopes to sparkle on the surface of life's current ?")
Saw two or three hawks sailing. See March 8, 1857 ("Get a glimpse of a hawk, the first of the season.") See also March 6, 1858 (" I see the first hen-hawk, or hawk of any kind, methinks, since the beginning of winter, Its scream, even, is inspiring as the voice of a spring bird.") and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The hen-hawk
Heard the phebe, or spring note of the chickadee. See February 24, 1857 ("A chickadee with its winter lisp flits over, and I think it is time to hear its phebe note, and that instant it pipes it forth. "); March 1, 1854 ("I hear the phoebe or spring note of the chickadee"); March 1, 1856 ("I hear several times the fine-drawn phe-be note of the chickadee, which I heard only once during the winter. Singular that I should hear this on the first spring day."); March 10, 1852 ("Hear the phoebe note of the chickadee to-day for the first time.."): March 14, 1852 (" Again I hear the chickadee's spring note.”); March 19, 1958 ("Hear the phebe note of a chickadee."); March 22, 1855 ("My first distinct spring note (phe-be) of the chickadee.”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Chickadee in Winter
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 8, 1854:
Lightning this evening, after a day of successive rains. See February 15, 1861("A little thunder and lightning late in the afternoon"); February 23, 1860 ("About 4 P. M. a smart shower, ushered in by thunder and succeeded by a brilliant rainbow "); March 8, 1854 ("Lightning this evening, after a day of successive rains."); March 16, 1854 (“It is warm weather. A thunder-storm in the evening.”); March 25, 1860 ("The 9th, it is quite warm, with a southwest wind. The first lightning is seen in the horizon by one who is out in the evening")
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 8, 1855:
Stopping in a sunny and sheltered place on a hillock in the woods, — for it is raw in the wind. See note to March 8, 1860 ("Nowadays we separate the warmth of the sun from the cold of the wind")
This sound reminds me of rainy, misty April days in past years. See April 2, 1854 ("Sitting on the rail over the brook, I hear something which reminds me of the song of the robin in rainy days in past springs."); October 10, 1853 ("The faint suppressed warbling of the robins sounds like a reminiscence of the spring.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Robins in Spring
This morning I got my boat out of the cellar. ... The blue river, now almost completely open, admonishes me to be swift. See March 8, 1853 ("That dark-blue meadowy revelation."); March 12, 1854 ("A new feature is being added to the landscape, and that is expanses and reaches of blue water. Men are eager to launch their boats and paddle over the meadows."); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Blue waters in Spring and February 24, 1857 ("Get my boat out the cellar.”); March 17, 1857 ("Launch my boat. “);March 9, 1855 "Painted the bottom of my boat. “); March 15, 1854 ("Paint my boat.”); March 19, 1855 ("Launch my boat.”); March 22, 1854 ("Launch boat and paddle to Fair Haven. Still very cold.”)
I see of late more than before of the fuzzy caterpillars, both black and reddish—brown. See January 8, 1857 ("I picked up on the bare ice of the river, opposite the oak in Shattuck's land, on a small space blown bare of snow, a fuzzy caterpillar, black at the two ends and red-brown in the middle, rolled into a ball . . .”)
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 8, 1857:
. . .the crystalline sap instantly exudes.See March 9, 1855 ("bedewed with crystal drops of turpentine, . . . each one reflecting the world, colorless as light, like drops of dew heaven-distilled and trembling to their fall.")
Get a glimpse of a hawk, the first of the season. See February 16, 1854 ("See two large hawks circling over the woods by Walden, hunting, — the first I have seen since December 15th."); March 15, 1856 ("Hear two hawks scream. There is something truly March-like in it, like a prolonged blast or whistling of the wind . . ."); March 15, 1860("These hawks, as usual, began to be common about the first of March, showing that they were returning from their winter quarters."); March 19, 1855 ("I see a hawk circling over a small maple grove through this calm air, ready to pounce on the first migrating sparrow that may have arrived. "); March 29, 1854 ("See two marsh hawks, white on rump . . . A hen-hawk, - two - circling over Cliffs."); March 30, 1853("The motions of a hawk correcting the flaws in the wind by raising his shoulder from time to time, are much like those of a leaf yielding to them. For the little hawks are hunting now. You have not to sit long on the Cliffs before you see one.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The hen-hawk
It whirs off like a cannon-ball shot from a gun. See April 22, 1852 (" Our dog sends off a partridge with a whir, far across the open field and the river, like a winged bullet."); January 31, 1855 (".At length, on some signal which I did not perceive, they go with a whir, as if shot, off over the bushes."); December 14, 1855 ("They shoot off swift and steady . . .whirs off like a cannon-ball shot from a gun."); September 18, 1857 ("We started a pack of grouse, which went off with a whir like cannon-balls."). See also A Book of Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Partridge.
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 8, 1858:
Pure melody, flowing in its own invisible and impalpable channels. See October 17, 1857 ("It is surprising . . . that so few habitually intoxicate themselves with music, so many with alcohol. I think, perchance, I may risk it, it will whet my senses so; it will reveal a glory where none was seen before. "); January 27, 1857 ("Hear music below. It washes the dust off my life and everything I look at.") and note to January 15, 1857 ("What is there in music that it should so stir our deeps? ")
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 8, 1859:
I see near one pine, however, the fresh track of a partridge and where one has squatted all night. See March 8, 1857 ("A partridge goes off from amid the pitch pines.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Partridge
Such a day as this, I explore the moist ground for the radical leaves of plants, while the storm blows overhead, and I forget how the time is passing. See February, 5, 1852 ("Time never passes so rapidly and unaccountably as when I am engaged in recording my thoughts. The world may perchance reach its end for us in a profounder thought, and Time itself run down.”); January 27, 1858 ("Time never passes so quickly and unaccountably, as when I am engaged in composition, i. e. in writing down my thoughts. Clocks seem to have been put forward."); see April 29, 1852 (“The art of life, of a poet's life, is, not having anything to do, to do something.”)
If there is a good chance to be cold and wet and uncomfortable, in other words to feel weather-beaten, you may consume the afternoon to advantage. See December 25, 1856 ("Take long walks in stormy weather or through deep snows in the fields and woods, if you would keep your spirits up. Deal with brute nature. Be cold and hungry and weary."); February 28, 1852 (“To get the value of the storm we must be out a long time and travel far in it, so that it may fairly penetrate our skin, . . . and there be no part in us but is wet or weather beaten, - so that we become storm men instead of fair weather men.”)
The shepherd's-purse radical leaves are particularly bright. See January 23, 1855 ("The radical leaves of the shepherd’s-purse, seen in green circles on the water-washed plowed grounds, remind me of the internal heat and life of the globe, anon to burst forth anew")
Men of science speak of him as a total stranger whom it is necessary to treat with the highest consideration. They seem suddenly to have lost their wits. See March 5, 1852 ("It is encouraging to know that, though every kernel of truth has been carefully swept out of our churches, there yet remains the dust of truth on their walls, so that if you should carry a light into them they would still, like some powder-mills, blow up at once.")
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 8, 1860:
See a small flock of grackles on the willow-row above railroad bridge. How they sit and make a business of chattering! See March 9, 1859 ("C. also saw a skater-insect on the 7th, and a single blackbird flying over Cassandra Ponds, which he thought a grackle."); March 13, 1859 ("Probably grackles have been seen some days. I think I saw them on the 11th?"): March 14, 1859 ("I see a large flock of grackles searching for food along the water's edge, just below Dr. Bartlett's. Some wade in the water. They are within a dozen rods of me and the road.It must be something just washed up that they are searching for, for the water has just risen and is still rising fast.. . .When a grackle sings, it is as if his mouth were full of cotton, which he was trying to spit out"); March 18, 1858 ("Each new year is a surprise to us.We find that we had virtually forgotten the note of each bird, and when we hear it again it is remembered like a dream, reminding us of a previous state of existence... . The blackbird — probably grackle this time —wings his way direct above the swamp northward, with a regular tchuck, carrier haste, calling the summer months along,"); March 19, 1858 ("Met Channing and walked on with him to what we will call Grackle Swamp. . .In the swamp, see grackles, four or five, with the light ring about eye, — their bead eyes. They utter only those ineffectual split notes, no conqueree"); March 29, 1858 ("I see what I suppose is the female rusty grackle; black body with green reflections and purplish-brown head and neck, but I notice no light iris"); March 29, 1857 ("When I have put my boat in its harbor, I hear that sign-squeaking blackbird, and, looking up, see half a dozen on the top of the elm at the foot of Whiting’s lot. . .on the whole I think them grackles (?). Possibly those I heard on the 18th were the same ?? Does the red-wing ever make a noise like a rusty sign?")
I saw, in Monroe's well by the edge of the river, the other day, a dozen frogs, chiefly shad frogs, which had been dead a good while. See February 26, 1856 ("I see at bottom of the mill brook, below Emerson’s, two dead frogs. . . .Were they left by a mink, or killed by cold and ice? ")
At the pool on the south side of Hubbard's Grove, I notice that the crowfoot, i. e. buttercup, leaves which are at the bottom of the water stand up and are much more advanced. See November 8, 1858 (The now more noticeable green radical leaves of the buttercup in the russet pastures remind me of the early spring to come, of which they will offer the first evidence. ""); January 9, 1853 ("On the face of the Cliff the crowfoot buds lie unexpanded just beneath the surface. I dig one up with a stick, and, pulling it to pieces, I find deep in the centre of the plant, just beneath the ground, surrounded by all the tender leaves that are to precede it, the blossom-bud, about half is big as the head of a pin, perfectly white. There it patiently sits, or slumbers, how full of faith, informed of a spring which the world has never seen.”); February 18, 1857 ("The snow is nearly all gone, and it is so warm and springlike that I walk over to the hill, listening for spring birds. The roads are beginning to be settled. I step excited over the moist mossy ground, dotted with the green stars of thistles, crowfoot, etc., the outsides of which are withered."); February 23, 1860 ("I walk over the moist Nawshawtuct hillside and see the green radical leaves of the buttercup"); February 28, 1857 ("At the Cliff, the tower-mustard, early crowfoot, and perhaps buttercup appear to have started of late.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Crowfoot (Ranunculus fascicularis)
Nowadays we separate the warmth of the sun from the cold of the wind and observe that the cold does not pervade all places. See April 8, 1859 ("Cold as it is, and has been for several weeks, in all exposed places, I find it unexpectedly warm in perfectly sheltered places where the sun shines. And so it always is in April. The cold wind from the northwest seems distinct and separable from the air here warmed by the sun."); April 26, 1857 ("How well adapted we are to our climate! In the winter we sit by fires in the house; in spring and fall, in sunny and sheltered nooks; in the summer, in shady and cool groves, or over water where the breeze circulates."); May 10, 1857 ("But now at last I do not go seeking the warm, sunny, and sheltered coves; the strong wind is enlivening and agreeable.”) May 22, 1854 (“I rest in the orchard, doubtful whether to sit in shade or sun.”); May 22, 1857 ("Is it not summer when we do not go seeking sunny and sheltered places, but also love the wind and shade? "); October 26, 1852 ("At this season we seek warm sunny lees and hillsides "); November 18, 1857 ("Now, as in the spring, we rejoice in sheltered and sunny places.")
That willow-clump by railroad at Walden looks really silvery. See March 7, 1855 ("Methinks the buds of the early willows, the willows of the railroad bank, show more of the silvery down than ten days ago") See also A Book of Seasons, by Henry Thoreau. Willows on the Causeway.
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 8, 1861:
Saw the F. hyemalis. See October 5, 1857 ( F. hyemalis . . . only transiently visit us in spring and fall."); February 16, 1854 ("I have not seen F . hyemalis since last fall"); March 6, 1860 ("I hear the well-known note and see a flock of F. hyemalis flitting in a lively manner about trees, weeds, walls, and ground, by the roadside, showing their two white tail-feathers. . . . These attract notice by their numbers and incessant twittering in a social manner. "); March 7, 1853 ("The only birds I see to-day are the lesser redpolls. I have not seen a fox-colored sparrow or a Fringilla hyemalis"); March 14, 1858 (" I see a Fringilla hyemalis, the first bird, perchance, — unless one hawk, – which is an evidence of spring,. . .They are now getting back earlier than our permanent summer residents. It flits past with a rattling or grating chip, showing its two white tail-feathers") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Dark-eyed Junco
Nature will get her seeds along in due season. See March 2, 1856 ("The birches appear not to have lost a quarter of their seeds yet. As I went home up the river, I saw some of the seeds forty rods off, and perhaps, in a more favorable direction, I might have found them much further. It suggested how unwearied Nature is, spreading her seeds. Even the spring does not find her unprovided with birch, aye, and alder and pine seed. A great proportion of the seed that was carried to a distance lodged in the hollow over the river, and when the river breaks up will be carried far away, to distant shores and meadows.."); October 16, 1860 (Looking from a hilltop, I observe that pines, white birches, red maples, alders, etc., often grow in more or less regular rounded or oval or conical patches, while oaks, chestnuts, hickories, etc., simply form woods of greater or less extent, whether by themselves or mixed, and do not naturally spring up in an oval form. This is a consequence of the different manner in which trees which have winged seeds and those which have not are planted") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, ,Birches in Season
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 8, 1855:
Stopping in a sunny and sheltered place on a hillock in the woods, — for it is raw in the wind. See note to March 8, 1860 ("Nowadays we separate the warmth of the sun from the cold of the wind")
This sound reminds me of rainy, misty April days in past years. See April 2, 1854 ("Sitting on the rail over the brook, I hear something which reminds me of the song of the robin in rainy days in past springs."); October 10, 1853 ("The faint suppressed warbling of the robins sounds like a reminiscence of the spring.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Robins in Spring
This morning I got my boat out of the cellar. ... The blue river, now almost completely open, admonishes me to be swift. See March 8, 1853 ("That dark-blue meadowy revelation."); March 12, 1854 ("A new feature is being added to the landscape, and that is expanses and reaches of blue water. Men are eager to launch their boats and paddle over the meadows."); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Blue waters in Spring and February 24, 1857 ("Get my boat out the cellar.”); March 17, 1857 ("Launch my boat. “);March 9, 1855 "Painted the bottom of my boat. “); March 15, 1854 ("Paint my boat.”); March 19, 1855 ("Launch my boat.”); March 22, 1854 ("Launch boat and paddle to Fair Haven. Still very cold.”)
I see of late more than before of the fuzzy caterpillars, both black and reddish—brown. See January 8, 1857 ("I picked up on the bare ice of the river, opposite the oak in Shattuck's land, on a small space blown bare of snow, a fuzzy caterpillar, black at the two ends and red-brown in the middle, rolled into a ball . . .”)
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 8, 1857:
. . .the crystalline sap instantly exudes.See March 9, 1855 ("bedewed with crystal drops of turpentine, . . . each one reflecting the world, colorless as light, like drops of dew heaven-distilled and trembling to their fall.")
Get a glimpse of a hawk, the first of the season. See February 16, 1854 ("See two large hawks circling over the woods by Walden, hunting, — the first I have seen since December 15th."); March 15, 1856 ("Hear two hawks scream. There is something truly March-like in it, like a prolonged blast or whistling of the wind . . ."); March 15, 1860("These hawks, as usual, began to be common about the first of March, showing that they were returning from their winter quarters."); March 19, 1855 ("I see a hawk circling over a small maple grove through this calm air, ready to pounce on the first migrating sparrow that may have arrived. "); March 29, 1854 ("See two marsh hawks, white on rump . . . A hen-hawk, - two - circling over Cliffs."); March 30, 1853("The motions of a hawk correcting the flaws in the wind by raising his shoulder from time to time, are much like those of a leaf yielding to them. For the little hawks are hunting now. You have not to sit long on the Cliffs before you see one.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The hen-hawk
It whirs off like a cannon-ball shot from a gun. See April 22, 1852 (" Our dog sends off a partridge with a whir, far across the open field and the river, like a winged bullet."); January 31, 1855 (".At length, on some signal which I did not perceive, they go with a whir, as if shot, off over the bushes."); December 14, 1855 ("They shoot off swift and steady . . .whirs off like a cannon-ball shot from a gun."); September 18, 1857 ("We started a pack of grouse, which went off with a whir like cannon-balls."). See also A Book of Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Partridge.
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 8, 1858:
Pure melody, flowing in its own invisible and impalpable channels. See October 17, 1857 ("It is surprising . . . that so few habitually intoxicate themselves with music, so many with alcohol. I think, perchance, I may risk it, it will whet my senses so; it will reveal a glory where none was seen before. "); January 27, 1857 ("Hear music below. It washes the dust off my life and everything I look at.") and note to January 15, 1857 ("What is there in music that it should so stir our deeps? ")
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 8, 1859:
I see near one pine, however, the fresh track of a partridge and where one has squatted all night. See March 8, 1857 ("A partridge goes off from amid the pitch pines.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Partridge
Such a day as this, I explore the moist ground for the radical leaves of plants, while the storm blows overhead, and I forget how the time is passing. See February, 5, 1852 ("Time never passes so rapidly and unaccountably as when I am engaged in recording my thoughts. The world may perchance reach its end for us in a profounder thought, and Time itself run down.”); January 27, 1858 ("Time never passes so quickly and unaccountably, as when I am engaged in composition, i. e. in writing down my thoughts. Clocks seem to have been put forward."); see April 29, 1852 (“The art of life, of a poet's life, is, not having anything to do, to do something.”)
If there is a good chance to be cold and wet and uncomfortable, in other words to feel weather-beaten, you may consume the afternoon to advantage. See December 25, 1856 ("Take long walks in stormy weather or through deep snows in the fields and woods, if you would keep your spirits up. Deal with brute nature. Be cold and hungry and weary."); February 28, 1852 (“To get the value of the storm we must be out a long time and travel far in it, so that it may fairly penetrate our skin, . . . and there be no part in us but is wet or weather beaten, - so that we become storm men instead of fair weather men.”)
The shepherd's-purse radical leaves are particularly bright. See January 23, 1855 ("The radical leaves of the shepherd’s-purse, seen in green circles on the water-washed plowed grounds, remind me of the internal heat and life of the globe, anon to burst forth anew")
Men of science speak of him as a total stranger whom it is necessary to treat with the highest consideration. They seem suddenly to have lost their wits. See March 5, 1852 ("It is encouraging to know that, though every kernel of truth has been carefully swept out of our churches, there yet remains the dust of truth on their walls, so that if you should carry a light into them they would still, like some powder-mills, blow up at once.")
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 8, 1860:
See a small flock of grackles on the willow-row above railroad bridge. How they sit and make a business of chattering! See March 9, 1859 ("C. also saw a skater-insect on the 7th, and a single blackbird flying over Cassandra Ponds, which he thought a grackle."); March 13, 1859 ("Probably grackles have been seen some days. I think I saw them on the 11th?"): March 14, 1859 ("I see a large flock of grackles searching for food along the water's edge, just below Dr. Bartlett's. Some wade in the water. They are within a dozen rods of me and the road.It must be something just washed up that they are searching for, for the water has just risen and is still rising fast.. . .When a grackle sings, it is as if his mouth were full of cotton, which he was trying to spit out"); March 18, 1858 ("Each new year is a surprise to us.We find that we had virtually forgotten the note of each bird, and when we hear it again it is remembered like a dream, reminding us of a previous state of existence... . The blackbird — probably grackle this time —wings his way direct above the swamp northward, with a regular tchuck, carrier haste, calling the summer months along,"); March 19, 1858 ("Met Channing and walked on with him to what we will call Grackle Swamp. . .In the swamp, see grackles, four or five, with the light ring about eye, — their bead eyes. They utter only those ineffectual split notes, no conqueree"); March 29, 1858 ("I see what I suppose is the female rusty grackle; black body with green reflections and purplish-brown head and neck, but I notice no light iris"); March 29, 1857 ("When I have put my boat in its harbor, I hear that sign-squeaking blackbird, and, looking up, see half a dozen on the top of the elm at the foot of Whiting’s lot. . .on the whole I think them grackles (?). Possibly those I heard on the 18th were the same ?? Does the red-wing ever make a noise like a rusty sign?")
I saw, in Monroe's well by the edge of the river, the other day, a dozen frogs, chiefly shad frogs, which had been dead a good while. See February 26, 1856 ("I see at bottom of the mill brook, below Emerson’s, two dead frogs. . . .Were they left by a mink, or killed by cold and ice? ")
At the pool on the south side of Hubbard's Grove, I notice that the crowfoot, i. e. buttercup, leaves which are at the bottom of the water stand up and are much more advanced. See November 8, 1858 (The now more noticeable green radical leaves of the buttercup in the russet pastures remind me of the early spring to come, of which they will offer the first evidence. ""); January 9, 1853 ("On the face of the Cliff the crowfoot buds lie unexpanded just beneath the surface. I dig one up with a stick, and, pulling it to pieces, I find deep in the centre of the plant, just beneath the ground, surrounded by all the tender leaves that are to precede it, the blossom-bud, about half is big as the head of a pin, perfectly white. There it patiently sits, or slumbers, how full of faith, informed of a spring which the world has never seen.”); February 18, 1857 ("The snow is nearly all gone, and it is so warm and springlike that I walk over to the hill, listening for spring birds. The roads are beginning to be settled. I step excited over the moist mossy ground, dotted with the green stars of thistles, crowfoot, etc., the outsides of which are withered."); February 23, 1860 ("I walk over the moist Nawshawtuct hillside and see the green radical leaves of the buttercup"); February 28, 1857 ("At the Cliff, the tower-mustard, early crowfoot, and perhaps buttercup appear to have started of late.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Crowfoot (Ranunculus fascicularis)
Nowadays we separate the warmth of the sun from the cold of the wind and observe that the cold does not pervade all places. See April 8, 1859 ("Cold as it is, and has been for several weeks, in all exposed places, I find it unexpectedly warm in perfectly sheltered places where the sun shines. And so it always is in April. The cold wind from the northwest seems distinct and separable from the air here warmed by the sun."); April 26, 1857 ("How well adapted we are to our climate! In the winter we sit by fires in the house; in spring and fall, in sunny and sheltered nooks; in the summer, in shady and cool groves, or over water where the breeze circulates."); May 10, 1857 ("But now at last I do not go seeking the warm, sunny, and sheltered coves; the strong wind is enlivening and agreeable.”) May 22, 1854 (“I rest in the orchard, doubtful whether to sit in shade or sun.”); May 22, 1857 ("Is it not summer when we do not go seeking sunny and sheltered places, but also love the wind and shade? "); October 26, 1852 ("At this season we seek warm sunny lees and hillsides "); November 18, 1857 ("Now, as in the spring, we rejoice in sheltered and sunny places.")
That willow-clump by railroad at Walden looks really silvery. See March 7, 1855 ("Methinks the buds of the early willows, the willows of the railroad bank, show more of the silvery down than ten days ago") See also A Book of Seasons, by Henry Thoreau. Willows on the Causeway.
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 8, 1861:
Saw the F. hyemalis. See October 5, 1857 ( F. hyemalis . . . only transiently visit us in spring and fall."); February 16, 1854 ("I have not seen F . hyemalis since last fall"); March 6, 1860 ("I hear the well-known note and see a flock of F. hyemalis flitting in a lively manner about trees, weeds, walls, and ground, by the roadside, showing their two white tail-feathers. . . . These attract notice by their numbers and incessant twittering in a social manner. "); March 7, 1853 ("The only birds I see to-day are the lesser redpolls. I have not seen a fox-colored sparrow or a Fringilla hyemalis"); March 14, 1858 (" I see a Fringilla hyemalis, the first bird, perchance, — unless one hawk, – which is an evidence of spring,. . .They are now getting back earlier than our permanent summer residents. It flits past with a rattling or grating chip, showing its two white tail-feathers") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Dark-eyed Junco
Nature will get her seeds along in due season. See March 2, 1856 ("The birches appear not to have lost a quarter of their seeds yet. As I went home up the river, I saw some of the seeds forty rods off, and perhaps, in a more favorable direction, I might have found them much further. It suggested how unwearied Nature is, spreading her seeds. Even the spring does not find her unprovided with birch, aye, and alder and pine seed. A great proportion of the seed that was carried to a distance lodged in the hollow over the river, and when the river breaks up will be carried far away, to distant shores and meadows.."); October 16, 1860 (Looking from a hilltop, I observe that pines, white birches, red maples, alders, etc., often grow in more or less regular rounded or oval or conical patches, while oaks, chestnuts, hickories, etc., simply form woods of greater or less extent, whether by themselves or mixed, and do not naturally spring up in an oval form. This is a consequence of the different manner in which trees which have winged seeds and those which have not are planted") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, ,Birches in Season
See a small flock of
grackles on the willow-row
above railroad bridge.
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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