Wednesday, October 6, 2021

A Book of the Seasons: October 6 (The jay's shrill note, straggling crows, a great painter at work, a bright afternoon, the bright sheen of the moon)

 



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 jay's shrill note is
more distinct of late about
the edge of the woods.

Bleached and faded corn
stands quite white in the twilight
against the dark earth.

Flocks of straggling crows
fill the air like black fragments
of an explosion.



October 6, 2014
f




A beautiful bright afternoon, still warmer than yesterday. October 6, 1857

How much is written about Nature as somebody has portrayed her, how little about Nature as she is.   October 6, 1857

Return to Concord via Natural History Library. October 6, 1855 

Examine the pigeon and sparrow hawks in the Natural History collection. . . .The sparrow hawks are decidedly red-brown with bluish heads and blue or slate sides; also are much more thickly barred with dark on wing-coverts, back, and tail than the pigeon hawk. October 6, 1859 

The jay's shrill note is more distinct of late about the edges of the woods, when so many birds have left us. October 6, 1856 

The crow . . . hovers and circles about in flocks in an irregular and straggling manner, filling the air over your head and sporting in it as if at home here. They often burst up above the woods where they were perching, like the black fragments of a powder-mill just exploded. October 6, 1860

One crow lingers on a limb of the dead oak . . . and when it launches off to follow its comrades it is blown up and backward still nearer to me. It is obliged to tack four or five times just like a vessel, first to the right, then to the left, before it can get off; for as often as it tries to fly directly forward against the wind, it is blown upward and . . . it only advances directly forward at last by stooping very low within a few feet of the ground where the trees keep off the wind. October 6, 1860

The common notes of the chickadee, so rarely heard for a long time, and also one phebe strain from it, amid the Leaning Hemlocks, remind me of pleasant winter days, when they are more commonly seen. October 6, 1856

Both larks and blackbirds are heard again now occasionally, seemingly after a short absence, as if come to bid farewell. October 6, 1851

Going through Ebby Hubbard's woods, I see thousands of white pine cones on the ground, fresh light brown, which lately opened and shed their seeds and lie curled up on the ground. The seeds are rather pleasant or nutritious tasting, taken in quantity, like beech nuts, methinks. October 6 1857

I see a great quantity of hypopitys, now all sere, along the path in the woods beyond. Call it Pine-Sap Path. It seems to have been a favorable season for it. October 6, 1857

Now, methinks, the autumnal tints are brightest in our streets and in the woods generally. October 6, 1858

The reflections of the bright-tinted maples very perfect. October 6, 1856

The very pumpkins yellowing in the fields become a feature in the landscape, and thus they have shone, maybe, for a thousand years here. October 6, 1857

We are not prepared to believe that the earth is now so parti-colored, and would present to a bird's eye such distinct masses of bright color. A great painter is at work. October 6, 1857

The smooth sumachs, which are in their prime, or perhaps a little past, are, methinks, the most uniform and intense scarlet of any shrub or tree. October 6, 1858

The tupelo at Wharf Rock is completely scarlet, with blue berries amid its leaves October 6, 1858

Only one of the large maples on the Common is yet on fire. October 6, 1858

The medeola leaves are a pale straw-color with a crimson centre; perhaps getting stale now. October 6, 1858

Cinnamon ferns are generally crisped, but in the swamp I saw some handsomely spotted green and yellowish, and one clump, the handsomest I ever saw, October 6, 1858

The Aster undulatus is now very fair and interesting. Generally a tall and slender plant with a very long panicle of middle-sized lilac or paler purple flowers, bent over to one side the path. October 6, 1858

Most S. nemoralis, and most other goldenrods, now look hoary, killed by frost. October 6, 1858

I notice Hieracium paniculatum and scabrum in dark, low wood-paths, turned a hoary white.  October 6, 1858


Carried Sophia and Aunt up the Assabet. October 6, 1856

In the middle of the pond we tried the echo again. October 6, 1851

Leaves now have fairly begun to rustle under foot in wood-paths, especially in chestnut woods, scaring the ducks as you approach the ponds. October 6, 1858
 
To Bedford line to set a stone by river on Bedford line.
October 6, 1851

The corn stands bleached and faded — quite white in the twilight — in the fields. No greenness there has the frost and sun left. Seen against the dark earth. October 6, 1858

As we paddle up or down, we see the cabins of muskrats faintly rising from amid the weeds, and the strong odor of musk is borne to us from particular parts of the shore. Also the odor of a skunk is wafted from over the meadows or fields. October 6, 1851 

The reach of the river between Bedford and Carlisle, seen from a distance in the road to-day, as formerly, has a singularly ethereal, celestial, or elysian look October 6, 1851

The moon was so high that the angle of excidence did not permit of our seeing her reflection in the pond. As we paddled down the stream with our backs to the moon, we saw the reflection of every wood and hill on both sides distinctly. October 6, 1851 

The bright sheen of the moon is constantly travelling with us . . . and the reflection of its disk in the rippled water by our boat-side appears like bright gold pieces falling on the river's counter.  October 6, 1851


October 6, 2017
April 1, 1852 ("Now I see the river-reach , far in the north . The more distant river is ever the most ethereal")
April 10, 1852 ("This meadow is about two miles long at one view from Carlisle Bridge southward, appearing to wash the base of Pine hill, and it is about as much longer northward and from a third to a half a mile wide.")
June 30, 1851 ("The lark sings a note which belongs to a New England summer evening.") 
July 2, 1856 (“Looked at the birds in the Natural History Rooms in Boston. Observed no white spots on the sparrow hawk’s wing, or on the pigeon or sharp-shinned hawk’s. Indeed they were so closed that I could not have seen them. Am uncertain to which my wing belongs.”)
August 4, 1852 ("I must make a list of those birds which, like the lark and the robin, if they do not stay all the year, are heard to sing longest of those that migrate.")
August 12, 1854 ("It is already the yellowing year.")
August 23, 1858 (“See an abundance of pine-sap on the right of Pine-sap Path.”)
August 24, 1858 ("I look down a straight reach of water to the hill by Carlisle Bridge, —and this I can do at any season, — the longest reach we have. It is worth the while to come here for this prospect, — to see a part of earth so far away over the water")
August 27, 1853 ("Topping corn now reveals the yellowing pumpkins.")
August 28, 1859 ("Pumpkins begin to be yellow.")
September 4, 1859 ("Topping the corn, which has been going on some days, now reveals the yellow and yellowing pumpkins. This is a genuine New England scene. The earth blazes not only with sun-flowers but with sun-fruits.")
September 7, 1857 ("Measured that large tupelo behind Merriam's which now is covered with green fruit, and its leaves begin to redden")
September 12, 1858 (“Amid the October woods we hear no funereal bell, but the scream of the jay. ”)
September 12, 1859 ("one dense mass of the bright golden recurved wands of the Solidago nemoralis, waving in the wind and turning upward to the light hundreds, if not a thousand, flowerets each. It is the greatest mass of conspicuous flowers in the year,. . , now when pumpkins and other yellow fruits begin to gleam")  
September 14,1851 ("The corn-stalks standing in stacks, in long rows along the edges of the corn-fields, remind me of stacks of muskets.")
September 17, 1852("The corn-stalks are stacked like muskets along the fields. ")
September 18, 1858 ("The earth is yellowing in the September sun.")
September 18, 1851 ("Perambulated Bedford line.")
September 20, 1852 ("The smooth sumachs are turning conspicuously and generally red, apparently from frost")
September 20, 1852 ("Aster undulatus, or variable aster, with a large head of middle-sized blue flowers.") 
September 20, 1852 (“The reflected sky is a deeper blue.”)
September 21, 1854 ("I hear many jays since the frosts began.”)
September 21, 1859 ("Jays are more frequently heard of late, maybe because other birds are more silent")
September 23, 1860 (“Red pine-sap by north side of Yew Path some ten rods east of yew, not long done. The root of the freshest has a decided checkerberry scent")
September 25, 1851 (" In these cooler, windier, crystal days the note of the jay sounds a little more native.”)
September 25, 1855 ("Carry Aunt and Sophia a-barberrying to Conantum ")
September 27, 1857 ("Solidago nemoralis nearly done")
September 27, 1855 (" I see a blaze of red reflected from the troubled water.")
September 29, 1854 ("A large flock of crows wandering about and cawing as usual at this season.")
September 30, 1854 ("I find a fine tupelo near Sam Barrett’s now all turned scarlet. I find that it has borne much fruit — small oval bluish berries, . . ..")
October 1, 1858 ("The cinnamon ferns are crisp and sour in open grounds")
October 2, 1857 ("They are now generally imbrowned or crisp. In the more open swamp beyond, these ferns, recently killed by the frost and exposed to the sun, fill the air with a very strong sour scent")
October 2, 1859 ("I perceive in various places, in low ground, this afternoon, the sour scent of cinnamon ferns decaying. It is an agreeable phenomenon, reminding me of the season and of past years.")
October 2, 1859 ("The A. undulatus looks fairer than ever, now that flowers are more scarce.")
October 3, 1852 ("The Aster undulates is common and fresh, also the Solidago nemoralis of Gray.”)
October 3, 1858 ("Some particular maple among a hundred will be of a peculiarly bright and pure scarlet, and, by its difference of tint and intenser color, attract our eyes even at a distance in the midst of the crowd")
October 5, 1857 (“ There are few flowers, birds, insects, or fruits now, and hence what does occur affects us as more simple and significant. The cawing of a crow, the scream of a jay. The latter seems to scream more fitly and with more freedom now that some fallen maple leaves have made way for his voice. The jay's voice resounds through the vacancies occasioned by fallen maple leaves.”)
 The jay’s voice resounds 
with more freedom now due to
fallen maple leaves. 
October 5, 1857

October 5, 1857 ("The smooth sumach is very important for its mass of clear red or crimson. Some of it is now a very dark crimson.")
October 5, 1857 ("A warm and bright October afternoon.")
October 5, 1858 ("Phebe note of Chickadee often these days.")



October 7, 1852 ("It is a warm Indian-summerish afternoon. The sun comes out of clouds, and lights up and warms the whole scene. It is perfect autumn. It is the mellowing year")
October 7, 1857  ("When I turn round half-way up Fair Haven Hill, by the orchard wall, and look northwest, I am surprised for the thousandth time at the beauty of the landscape.")
October 7, 1857 ("I see, some fifty rods off, looking toward the sun, the top of the maple swamp just appearing over the sheeny russet edge of the hill . . . the most intensely brilliant scarlet, orange, and yellow, equal to any flowers or fruits or any tints ever painted.")
October 8, 1852 (“Nothing can exceed the brilliancy of some of the maples which stand by the shore and extend their red banners over the water.”)
October 8, 1856 ("Asters and goldenrods are now scarce; no longer that crowd along the low roadsides. . . S. nemoralis, done, many hoary, though a very few flowers linger.")
October 8, 1856 ("Of asters, only corymbosus, undulatus, Tradescanti, and longifolius . . .are common.")
October 8, 1856 ("At length I discover some white pine cones, a few, on Emerson Heater Piece trees. They are all open, and the seeds, all the sound ones but one, gone. So September is the time to gather them.")
 October 9, 1858 ("Crows fly over and caw at you now. October 9, 1858")
October 8, 1858 ("Fine pasture grass seen in the sun, begins to.look faded and bleached like the corn.")
October 10, 1851 ("The chickadee, sounding all alone, now that birds are getting scarce, reminds me of the winter, in which it almost alone is heard.")
October 10, 1851 ("You make a great noise now walking in the woods.”)
October 11, 1859 ("The note of the chickadee, heard now in cooler weather and above many fallen leaves, has a new significance.")
October 11, 1856 (“In the woods I hear the note of the jay, a metallic, clanging sound, some times a mew. Refer any strange note to him.”)
October 12, 1858 ("The coarse grass of the riverside (Phalaris?) is bleached as white as corn.")
October 14, 1852 (Jays and chickadees are oftener heard in the fall than in summer.”)
October 14, 1859 ("Medeola probably fallen several weeks")
October 14, 1857 ("Near by [Hubbard;'s Grove] is a tupelo which is all a distinct yellow with a little green.")
October 14, 1858("Perfect reflections in the still water. The blue of the sky, and indeed all tints, are deepened in the reflection.")
October 14, 1859 ("Some tupelos bare maybe a week or more")
October 15, 1855 ("Go to look for white pine cones, but see none. ")
October 15, 1851 ("The muskrat-houses appear now for the most part to be finished. Some, it is true, are still rising. They line the river all the way. Some are as big as small hay cocks")
October 16, 1859 ("I see the new musquash-houses erected, conspicuous on the now nearly leafless shores. To me this is an important and suggestive sight, as, perchance, in some countries new haystacks in the yards . . . It has an important place in my Kalendar. So surely as the sun appears to be in Libra or Scorpio, I see the conical winter lodges of the musquash rising above the withered pontederia and flags.")
October 16, 1858 ("The tupelo by Staples’s meadow is completely bare.")
October 17, 1857 ("The cinnamon ferns . . .have acquired their November aspect")
October 17, 1858 ("Methinks the reflections are never purer and more distinct than now at the season of the fall of the leaf, just before the cool twilight has come")
October 17, 1858 ("One reason why I associate perfect reflections from still water with this and a later season may be that now, by the fall of the leaves, so much more light is let in to the water. The river reflects more light.")
October 18, 1853 ("With Sophia boat to Fair Haven, where she makes a sketch.") 
October 18, 1856 ("The sugar maples are now in their glory, all aglow with yellow, red, and green.”)
October 18, 1858 ("The large sugar maples on the Common are now at the height of their beauty. “)
October 19, 1859 ("The tupelo berries have all fallen")
October 20, 1856 (“Thus, of late, when the season is declining, many birds have departed, and our thoughts are turned towards winter . . .we hear the jay again more frequently, and the chickadees are more numerous and lively and familiar and utter their phebe note”)
October 22, 1854 ("Now they rustle as you walk through them in the woods.”) 
October 22, 1857 (“As I go through the woods now, so many oak and other leaves have fallen the rustling noise somewhat disturbs my musing. However, Nature in this may have intended some kindness to the ducks, which are now loitering hereabouts on their migration south ward, mostly young and inexperienced birds, for, as they are feeding [in] Goose Pond, for instance, the rustling of the leaves betrays the approach of the sports man and his dog, or other foe; so perhaps the leaves on the ground protect them more than when on the trees.”) 
October 24, 1855 (“The rich yellow and scarlet leaves of the sugar maple on the Common now thickly cover the grass in great circles about the trees, and, half having fallen, look like the reflection of the trees ")
October 25, 1858 ("The Aster undulatus is now a dark purple (its leaves), with brighter purple or crimson under sides.")
November 3, 1853 ("I see many white pine cones fallen and open, with a few seeds still in them.")
November 3, 1858 ("The jay is the bird of October. I have seen it repeatedly flitting amid the bright leaves,. . .It, too, with its bright color, stands for some ripeness in the bird harvest. And its scream! it is as if it blowed on the edge of an October leaf. It is never more in its element and at home than when flitting amid these brilliant colors.")
November 3, 1858 ("Aster undulatus is still freshly in bloom")
November 4, 1855 ("I have failed to find white pine seed this year, though I began to look for it a month ago. The cones were fallen and open. Look the first of September.  ")
November 7, 1858 ("Aster undulatus and several goldenrods, at least, may be found yet.")
November 14, 1855 ("Up Assabet with Sophia. A clear, bright, warm afternoon.”) 

October 6, 2017

If you make the least correct 
observation of nature this year,
 you will have occasion to repeat it
 with illustrations the next, 
and the season and life itself is prolonged.

October 5  <<<<<<<<<  October 6  >>>>>>>>  October 7

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,  October 6
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 © 2009-2022

https://tinyurl.com/HDT06Oct
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