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
Those handsome red buds
on often red-barked twigs with
some red leaves still left.
November twilight,
clear white light seen through the woods —
the leaves being gone.
My thoughts are with the
polypody long after
my body passes.
A cool gray
November afternoon –
sky overcast.
November 2, 1858
Bright and clear yellow –
that distant poplar is a
P. tremuloides.
November 2, 2023
Bronson Alcott, recorded in his journal for Nov. 2, 1856:
Evening, Thoreau reads his lecture on Walking to the whole company, and interests his company deeply in his treatment of nature. Never had such a walk as this been taken by any one before, and the conversation so flowing and lively and curious – the young people enjoying it particularly.
To Walden. November 2, 1852
P. M. – To Walden and Flint’s. November 2, 1853
Sunday. Took a walk two miles west of Eagleswood. November 2, 1856
Row up Assabet as far as the Pokelogan, thence on foot. November 2, 1857
The last two, this and yesterday, fine days, but not gossamer ones. November 2, 1853
This afternoon a three-days' rain-storm is drawing to an end, though still overcast. November 2, 1852
A cool gray November afternoon; sky overcast. November 2, 1858
As several days past, it has been cloudy and misty in the morning fairer and warmer, if not Indian summer, in the afternoon; yet the mist lingers in drops on the cobwebs and grass until night. November 2, 1860
The muskrat-houses are mostly covered by the rise of the river! — not a very unexpected one either. November 2, 1851
The water is falling fast, and I push direct over the meadow this evening, probably for the last time this fall, scraping the cranberry vines and hummocks from time to time with my flat-bottomed boat. November 2, 1857
Old wells as well as walls must be among the oldest monuments of civilized man here. How old may be the most ancient well which men use to-day. November 2, 1851
Saw a canoe birch beyond Nawshawtuct, growing out of the middle of a white pine stump, which still showed the mark of the axe, sixteen inches in diameter at its bottom, or two feet from the ground, or where it had first taken root on the stump. November 2, 1851
Wetherbee's oak wood is now bare and the leaves just fairly fallen. November 2, 1860
The trees are unusually large and old. Indeed, I doubt if there is another here abouts of oaks as large. November 2, 1860
The trees would average probably between a hundred and fifty and two hundred years. Such a wood has got to be very rare in this neighborhood. November 2, 1860
Such a wood, at the same time that it suggests antiquity, imparts an unusual dignity to the earth. November 2, 1860
The Quercus palustris, or pin oak, very common there, much like the scarlet oak. November 2, 1856
A mile and a half west of Spring's, a new oak, with narrow and entire willow-like leaves November 2, 1856
The Cornus florida was exceedingly common and large there. Conspicuous with its scarlet berries, fed on by robins. The leaves were turned a brown scarlet or orange red. November 2, 1856
Bateman's Pond is agitated by the strong wind, – a slate-colored surface under the cloudy sky. November 2, 1857
The brakes, the sarsaparilla, the osmundas, the Solomon’s-seals, the lady's slippers have long since withered and fallen. November 2, 1857
The huckleberries and blueberries, too, have lost their leaves. November 2, 1857
The witch-hazel appears to be nearly out of bloom, most of the flowers withering or frost-bitten. November 2, 1853
The forest floor is covered with a thick coat of moist brown leaves. November 2, 1857
There are no fresh — or blue — fringed gentians by the swamp-side by Bateman’s now. November 2, 1857
But what is that perennial and spring like verdure that clothes the rocks, of small green plumes pointing various ways? It is the cheerful community of the polypody. November 2, 1857
It survives at least as the type of vegetation, to remind us of the spring which shall not fail. These are the green pastures where I browse now. November 2, 1857
The form of the polypody is strangely interesting; it is even outlandish. Some forms, though common in our midst, are thus perennially foreign as the growths of other latitudes; there being a greater interval between us and their kind than usual. We all feel the ferns to be further from us, essentially and sympathetically, than the phaenogamous plants, the roses and weeds, for instance. It needs no geology nor botany to assure us of that. We feel it, and told them of it first. The bare outline of the polypody thrills me strangely. It is a strange type which I cannot read. It only piques me. Simple as it is, it is as strange as an Oriental character. It is quite independent of my race, and of the Indian, and all mankind. It is a fabulous, mythological form, such as prevailed when the earth and air and water were inhabited by those extinct fossil creatures that we find. It is contemporary with them, and affects as the sight of them. November 2, 1857
Why is not this form copied by our sculptors instead of the foreign acanthus leaves and bays? The sight of this unwithering green leaf excites me like red at some seasons. I don’t care for acanthus leaves; they are far-fetched. I do love this form, however, and would like to see it painted or sculptured, whether on your marble or my butter. How fit for a tuft about the base of a column! November 2, 1857
It is very pleasant and cheerful nowadays, when the brown and withered leaves strew the ground and almost every plant is fallen or withered, to come upon a patch of polypody on some rocky hillside in the woods, . . .where, in the midst of the dry and rustling leaves, defying frost, it stands so freshly green and full of life. November 2, 1857
The mere greenness, which was not remarkable in the summer, is positively interesting now. My thoughts are with the polypody a long time after my body has passed. November 2, 1857
The evergreen ferns and lycopodiums now have their day; now is the flower of their age, and their greenness is appreciated. November 2, 1857
They are much the clearest and most liquid green in the woods, more yellow and brown specked in the open places. November 2, 1857
The pollen [sic] of the Lycopodium dendroideum falls in showers or in clouds when my foot strikes it. How long? November 2, 1853
I come to a black snake in the wood-path, with its crushed head resting on a stone and its uninjured body trailing thence. How often I see where thus some heel has bruised the serpent's head! I think it an unnatural antipathy. November 2, 1857
Crossed over that high, flat-backed rocky hill, where the rocks, as usual thereabouts, stand on their edges, and the grain, though usually running northeasterly and southwesterly, — by compass east-northeast, west southwest, — is frequently kinked up in a curious manner, reminding me of a curly head. Call the hill Curly-pate. November 2, 1857
I find some good blue pearmains under their tree in a swamp, amid the huckleberry bushes, etc., all fallen. They lie with a rich bloom on them still, though half of them are gnawed by squirrels or rabbits; low in the sedge, with decayed leaves adhering to them. November 2, 1857
How contagious are boys' games! A short time ago they were spinning tops, as I saw and heard, all the country over. Now every boy has a stick curved at the end, a hawkie (?), in his hand, whether in yards or in distant lanes I meet them. November 2, 1857
As I stood on Curly-pate, the air had become gradually thick with mist in the southwest. The sky was overcast, and a cool, strong wind blew from the same quarter, and in the mist I perceived the strong scent of smoke from some burning. November 2, 1857
Standing on one of those curly-headed rocks, whose strata are vertical, gives me a sense of elevation like a mountain-top. In fact, they are on the axis of elevation. November 2, 1857
The leaves which are not withered, whose tints are still fresh and bright, are now remarked in sheltered places. November 2, 1852
Looking back from the causeway, the large willow by Mrs. Bigelow’s and a silvery abele are the only leafy trees to be seen in and over the village, the first a yellowish mass, also some Lombardy poplars on the outskirts. November 2, 1858
I see here and there yet some middle-sized coniferous willows, between humilis and discolor, whose upper leaves, left on, are quite bright lemon-yellow in dry places. These single leaves brighter than their predecessors which have fallen. November 2, 1858
That small poplar seen from Cliffs on the 29th is a P. tremuloides. It makes the impression of a bright and clear yellow at a distance, though it is rather dingy and spotted. November 2, 1858
It is later, then (this and the Baker Farm one), than any P. grandidentata that I know. November 2, 1858
It is remarkable that these (and the weeping willow, yet green) and a few of our Populus tremuloides (lately the grandidentata also, all closely allied, are the only trees now (except the larch and perhaps a very few small white birches) which are conspicuously yellow, almost the only deciduous ones whose leaves are not withered, i. e. except scarlet oaks, red oaks, and some of the others, etc. November 2, 1858
In sprout-lands some young birches are still rather leafy and bright-colored. November 2, 1858
The Scotch larch is changed at least as bright as ours. November 2, 1858
The pitch pine is apparently a little past the midst of its fall. November 2, 1858
Going over the newly cleared pasture on the northeast of Fair Haven Hill, I see that the scarlet oaks are more generally bright than on the 22d ult. Even the little sprouts in the russet pasture and the high tree-tops in the yew wood burn now, when the middle-sized bushes in the sprout-lands have mostly gone out. November 2, 1858
The shrub oak cups which I notice to-day have lost their acorns. November 2, 1853
I see a few shrub oak leaves still fresh where sheltered. The little chinquapin has fallen. November 2, 1858
Comparatively, our gardening is on a petty scale, the gardener still nursing a few asters amid dead weeds, ignorant of the gigantic asters and roses which, as it were, overshadow him and ask for none of his care. Comparatively, it is like a little red paint ground on a teacup and held up against the sunset sky. Why not take more elevated and broader views, walk in the greater garden, not skulk in a little “debauched” nook of it? November 2, 1858
April 26, 1857 ("I have the same objection to killing a snake that I have to the killing of any other animal, yet the most humane man that I know never omits to kill one.")
May 4, 1857 ("Wyman told Minott that he used to see black snakes crossing Walden and would wait till they came ashore and then kill them.")
September 2 <<<<<<<<< November 2 >>>>>>>> January 2
P. M. – To Walden and Flint’s. November 2, 1853
Sunday. Took a walk two miles west of Eagleswood. November 2, 1856
Row up Assabet as far as the Pokelogan, thence on foot. November 2, 1857
The last two, this and yesterday, fine days, but not gossamer ones. November 2, 1853
This afternoon a three-days' rain-storm is drawing to an end, though still overcast. November 2, 1852
A cool gray November afternoon; sky overcast. November 2, 1858
As several days past, it has been cloudy and misty in the morning fairer and warmer, if not Indian summer, in the afternoon; yet the mist lingers in drops on the cobwebs and grass until night. November 2, 1860
The muskrat-houses are mostly covered by the rise of the river! — not a very unexpected one either. November 2, 1851
The water is falling fast, and I push direct over the meadow this evening, probably for the last time this fall, scraping the cranberry vines and hummocks from time to time with my flat-bottomed boat. November 2, 1857
Old wells as well as walls must be among the oldest monuments of civilized man here. How old may be the most ancient well which men use to-day. November 2, 1851
Saw a canoe birch beyond Nawshawtuct, growing out of the middle of a white pine stump, which still showed the mark of the axe, sixteen inches in diameter at its bottom, or two feet from the ground, or where it had first taken root on the stump. November 2, 1851
Wetherbee's oak wood is now bare and the leaves just fairly fallen. November 2, 1860
The trees are unusually large and old. Indeed, I doubt if there is another here abouts of oaks as large. November 2, 1860
The trees would average probably between a hundred and fifty and two hundred years. Such a wood has got to be very rare in this neighborhood. November 2, 1860
Such a wood, at the same time that it suggests antiquity, imparts an unusual dignity to the earth. November 2, 1860
The Quercus palustris, or pin oak, very common there, much like the scarlet oak. November 2, 1856
A mile and a half west of Spring's, a new oak, with narrow and entire willow-like leaves November 2, 1856
The Cornus florida was exceedingly common and large there. Conspicuous with its scarlet berries, fed on by robins. The leaves were turned a brown scarlet or orange red. November 2, 1856
Bateman's Pond is agitated by the strong wind, – a slate-colored surface under the cloudy sky. November 2, 1857
If the fisherman was looking at the reflection, he would not know when he had a nibble! November 2, 1857
I think that most men, as farmers, hunters, fishers, etc., walk along a river's bank, or paddle along its stream, without seeing the reflections.
Their minds are not abstracted from the surface, from surfaces generally. November 2, 1857
I am aware often that I have been occupied with shallow and commonplace thoughts, looking for something superficial, when I did not see the most glorious reflections. November 2, 1857
The pond, dark before, was now a glorious and indescribable blue, mixed with dark, perhaps the opposite side of the wave, a sort of changeable or watered-silk blue, more cerulean if possible than the sky itself, which was now seen overhead. It required a certain division of the sight, however, to discern this. Like the colors on a steel sword-blade. November 2, 1852
If you look discerningly, so as to see the reflection only, you see a most glorious light blue, in comparison with which the original dark green of the opposite side of the waves is but muddy. November 2, 1852
Sailing past the bank above the railroad, just before a clear sundown, close to the shore on the east side I see a second fainter shadow of the boat, sail, myself, and paddle, etc., directly above and upon the first on the bank. November 2, 1854
What makes the second? At length I discovered that it was the reflected sun which cast a higher shadow like the true one. November 2, 1854
It is only a reflecting mind that sees reflections. November 2, 1857
You must be in an abstract mood to see reflections however distinct. November 2, 1857
When we are enough abstracted, the opaque earth itself reflects images to us; November 2, 1857
Returning, I see the red oak on R. W. E.'s shore reflected in the bright sky water. In the reflection the tree is black against the clear whitish sky, though as I see it against the opposite woods it is a warm greenish yellow. But the river sees it against the bright sky, and hence the reflection is like ink. The water tells me how it looks to it seen from below. November 2, 1857
Such a reflection, this inky, leafy tree, against the white sky, can only be seen at this season. November 2, 1857
I think that most men, as farmers, hunters, fishers, etc., walk along a river's bank, or paddle along its stream, without seeing the reflections.
Their minds are not abstracted from the surface, from surfaces generally. November 2, 1857
I am aware often that I have been occupied with shallow and commonplace thoughts, looking for something superficial, when I did not see the most glorious reflections. November 2, 1857
The pond, dark before, was now a glorious and indescribable blue, mixed with dark, perhaps the opposite side of the wave, a sort of changeable or watered-silk blue, more cerulean if possible than the sky itself, which was now seen overhead. It required a certain division of the sight, however, to discern this. Like the colors on a steel sword-blade. November 2, 1852
If you look discerningly, so as to see the reflection only, you see a most glorious light blue, in comparison with which the original dark green of the opposite side of the waves is but muddy. November 2, 1852
Sailing past the bank above the railroad, just before a clear sundown, close to the shore on the east side I see a second fainter shadow of the boat, sail, myself, and paddle, etc., directly above and upon the first on the bank. November 2, 1854
What makes the second? At length I discovered that it was the reflected sun which cast a higher shadow like the true one. November 2, 1854
It is only a reflecting mind that sees reflections. November 2, 1857
You must be in an abstract mood to see reflections however distinct. November 2, 1857
When we are enough abstracted, the opaque earth itself reflects images to us; November 2, 1857
Returning, I see the red oak on R. W. E.'s shore reflected in the bright sky water. In the reflection the tree is black against the clear whitish sky, though as I see it against the opposite woods it is a warm greenish yellow. But the river sees it against the bright sky, and hence the reflection is like ink. The water tells me how it looks to it seen from below. November 2, 1857
Such a reflection, this inky, leafy tree, against the white sky, can only be seen at this season. November 2, 1857
November 2, 2017
The brakes, the sarsaparilla, the osmundas, the Solomon’s-seals, the lady's slippers have long since withered and fallen. November 2, 1857
The huckleberries and blueberries, too, have lost their leaves. November 2, 1857
The witch-hazel appears to be nearly out of bloom, most of the flowers withering or frost-bitten. November 2, 1853
The forest floor is covered with a thick coat of moist brown leaves. November 2, 1857
There are no fresh — or blue — fringed gentians by the swamp-side by Bateman’s now. November 2, 1857
But what is that perennial and spring like verdure that clothes the rocks, of small green plumes pointing various ways? It is the cheerful community of the polypody. November 2, 1857
It survives at least as the type of vegetation, to remind us of the spring which shall not fail. These are the green pastures where I browse now. November 2, 1857
The form of the polypody is strangely interesting; it is even outlandish. Some forms, though common in our midst, are thus perennially foreign as the growths of other latitudes; there being a greater interval between us and their kind than usual. We all feel the ferns to be further from us, essentially and sympathetically, than the phaenogamous plants, the roses and weeds, for instance. It needs no geology nor botany to assure us of that. We feel it, and told them of it first. The bare outline of the polypody thrills me strangely. It is a strange type which I cannot read. It only piques me. Simple as it is, it is as strange as an Oriental character. It is quite independent of my race, and of the Indian, and all mankind. It is a fabulous, mythological form, such as prevailed when the earth and air and water were inhabited by those extinct fossil creatures that we find. It is contemporary with them, and affects as the sight of them. November 2, 1857
Why is not this form copied by our sculptors instead of the foreign acanthus leaves and bays? The sight of this unwithering green leaf excites me like red at some seasons. I don’t care for acanthus leaves; they are far-fetched. I do love this form, however, and would like to see it painted or sculptured, whether on your marble or my butter. How fit for a tuft about the base of a column! November 2, 1857
It is very pleasant and cheerful nowadays, when the brown and withered leaves strew the ground and almost every plant is fallen or withered, to come upon a patch of polypody on some rocky hillside in the woods, . . .where, in the midst of the dry and rustling leaves, defying frost, it stands so freshly green and full of life. November 2, 1857
polypody in snow
November 2, 2023
The mere greenness, which was not remarkable in the summer, is positively interesting now. My thoughts are with the polypody a long time after my body has passed. November 2, 1857
The evergreen ferns and lycopodiums now have their day; now is the flower of their age, and their greenness is appreciated. November 2, 1857
They are much the clearest and most liquid green in the woods, more yellow and brown specked in the open places. November 2, 1857
The pollen [sic] of the Lycopodium dendroideum falls in showers or in clouds when my foot strikes it. How long? November 2, 1853
I come to a black snake in the wood-path, with its crushed head resting on a stone and its uninjured body trailing thence. How often I see where thus some heel has bruised the serpent's head! I think it an unnatural antipathy. November 2, 1857
Crossed over that high, flat-backed rocky hill, where the rocks, as usual thereabouts, stand on their edges, and the grain, though usually running northeasterly and southwesterly, — by compass east-northeast, west southwest, — is frequently kinked up in a curious manner, reminding me of a curly head. Call the hill Curly-pate. November 2, 1857
I find some good blue pearmains under their tree in a swamp, amid the huckleberry bushes, etc., all fallen. They lie with a rich bloom on them still, though half of them are gnawed by squirrels or rabbits; low in the sedge, with decayed leaves adhering to them. November 2, 1857
How contagious are boys' games! A short time ago they were spinning tops, as I saw and heard, all the country over. Now every boy has a stick curved at the end, a hawkie (?), in his hand, whether in yards or in distant lanes I meet them. November 2, 1857
As I stood on Curly-pate, the air had become gradually thick with mist in the southwest. The sky was overcast, and a cool, strong wind blew from the same quarter, and in the mist I perceived the strong scent of smoke from some burning. November 2, 1857
Standing on one of those curly-headed rocks, whose strata are vertical, gives me a sense of elevation like a mountain-top. In fact, they are on the axis of elevation. November 2, 1857
The leaves which are not withered, whose tints are still fresh and bright, are now remarked in sheltered places. November 2, 1852
Looking back from the causeway, the large willow by Mrs. Bigelow’s and a silvery abele are the only leafy trees to be seen in and over the village, the first a yellowish mass, also some Lombardy poplars on the outskirts. November 2, 1858
I see here and there yet some middle-sized coniferous willows, between humilis and discolor, whose upper leaves, left on, are quite bright lemon-yellow in dry places. These single leaves brighter than their predecessors which have fallen. November 2, 1858
That small poplar seen from Cliffs on the 29th is a P. tremuloides. It makes the impression of a bright and clear yellow at a distance, though it is rather dingy and spotted. November 2, 1858
It is later, then (this and the Baker Farm one), than any P. grandidentata that I know. November 2, 1858
It is remarkable that these (and the weeping willow, yet green) and a few of our Populus tremuloides (lately the grandidentata also, all closely allied, are the only trees now (except the larch and perhaps a very few small white birches) which are conspicuously yellow, almost the only deciduous ones whose leaves are not withered, i. e. except scarlet oaks, red oaks, and some of the others, etc. November 2, 1858
In sprout-lands some young birches are still rather leafy and bright-colored. November 2, 1858
The Scotch larch is changed at least as bright as ours. November 2, 1858
The pitch pine is apparently a little past the midst of its fall. November 2, 1858
Going over the newly cleared pasture on the northeast of Fair Haven Hill, I see that the scarlet oaks are more generally bright than on the 22d ult. Even the little sprouts in the russet pasture and the high tree-tops in the yew wood burn now, when the middle-sized bushes in the sprout-lands have mostly gone out. November 2, 1858
The large scarlet oak trees and tree-tops in woods, perhaps especially on hills, apparently are late because raised above the influence of the early frosts. Methinks they are as bright, even this dark day, as I ever saw them. November 2, 1858
The blossoming of the splendor (at least since the maple)! I do not know but they interest me more than the maples, they are so widely and equally dispersed throughout the forest; they are so hardy, a nobler tree on the whole, lasting into November; our chief November flower, abiding the approach of winter with us, imparting warmth to November prospects. November 2, 1858
It is remarkable that the latest bright color that is general should be this deep, dark scarlet and red, the intensest of colors, the ripest fruit of the year, like the cheek of a glossy red ripe apple from the cold Isle of Orleans, which will not be mellow for eating till next spring! When I rise to a hilltop, a thousand of these great oak roses, distributed on every side as far as the horizon! This my unfailing prospect for a fortnight past as surely as I rose to a hilltop! This late forest flower surpasses all that spring or summer could do. Their colors were but rare and dainty specks, which made no impression on a distant eye. Now it is an extended forest or a mountain-side that bursts into bloom, through or along which we may journey from day to day. I admire these roses three or four miles off in the horizon. November 2, 1858
The blossoming of the splendor (at least since the maple)! I do not know but they interest me more than the maples, they are so widely and equally dispersed throughout the forest; they are so hardy, a nobler tree on the whole, lasting into November; our chief November flower, abiding the approach of winter with us, imparting warmth to November prospects. November 2, 1858
It is remarkable that the latest bright color that is general should be this deep, dark scarlet and red, the intensest of colors, the ripest fruit of the year, like the cheek of a glossy red ripe apple from the cold Isle of Orleans, which will not be mellow for eating till next spring! When I rise to a hilltop, a thousand of these great oak roses, distributed on every side as far as the horizon! This my unfailing prospect for a fortnight past as surely as I rose to a hilltop! This late forest flower surpasses all that spring or summer could do. Their colors were but rare and dainty specks, which made no impression on a distant eye. Now it is an extended forest or a mountain-side that bursts into bloom, through or along which we may journey from day to day. I admire these roses three or four miles off in the horizon. November 2, 1858
I see a few shrub oak leaves still fresh where sheltered. The little chinquapin has fallen. November 2, 1858
Comparatively, our gardening is on a petty scale, the gardener still nursing a few asters amid dead weeds, ignorant of the gigantic asters and roses which, as it were, overshadow him and ask for none of his care. Comparatively, it is like a little red paint ground on a teacup and held up against the sunset sky. Why not take more elevated and broader views, walk in the greater garden, not skulk in a little “debauched” nook of it? November 2, 1858
Wild apples have lost some of their brilliancy now and are chiefly fallen. November 2, 1857
Apples in the village and lower ground are now generally killed brown and crisp, without having turned yellow, especially the upper parts, while those on hills and [in] warm places turned yellowish or russet, and so ripened to their fall. November 2, 1858
Apples in the village and lower ground are now generally killed brown and crisp, without having turned yellow, especially the upper parts, while those on hills and [in] warm places turned yellowish or russet, and so ripened to their fall. November 2, 1858
Of quince bushes the same, only they are a little later and are greener yet. November 2, 1858
The sap is now frequently flowing fast in the scarlet oaks (as I have not observed it in the others), and has a pleasant acorn-like taste. _ Their bright tints, now that most other oaks are withered, are connected with this phenomenon. They are full of sap and life. They flow like a sugar maple in the spring. It has a pleasantly astringent taste, this strong oak wine. November 2, 1858
Looking down on the oak wood southeast of Yew Wood, I see some large black oak tops a brown yellow still; so generally it shows life a little longer than the White and swamp white apparently. One just beyond the smallpox burying-ground is generally greenish inclining to scarlet, looking very much like a scarlet oak not yet completely. changed, for the leaf would not be distinguished. However, the nuts, with yellow meat, and the strong bitter yellow bark betrayed it. Yet it did not amount to scarlet. November 2, 1858
What are those sparrows in loose flocks which I have seen two or three weeks, — some this afternoon on the railroad causeway, — with small heads and rather long necks in proportion to body, which is longish and slender, yellowish-white or olivaceous breast, striped with dark, ashy sides of neck, whitish over and beneath the eye, and some white observed in tail when they fly ? I think a dark bill and legs. November 2, 1853
Slate - colored snowbirds (?) with a faint note. November 2, 1852
They utter a peculiar note, not heard here at other seasons, somewhat like the linarias, a sort of shuffling or chuckling iche-tche tche-tche, quickly uttered. November 2, 1853
Can they be the grass-bird ? They resemble it in marking. They are much larger than the tree sparrows. Methinks it is a very common fall bird. November 2, 1853
At long intervals I see or hear a robin still. November 2, 1852
C. says he saw succory yesterday, and a loon on the pond the 30th ult. November 2, 1853
The sap is now frequently flowing fast in the scarlet oaks (as I have not observed it in the others), and has a pleasant acorn-like taste. _ Their bright tints, now that most other oaks are withered, are connected with this phenomenon. They are full of sap and life. They flow like a sugar maple in the spring. It has a pleasantly astringent taste, this strong oak wine. November 2, 1858
Looking down on the oak wood southeast of Yew Wood, I see some large black oak tops a brown yellow still; so generally it shows life a little longer than the White and swamp white apparently. One just beyond the smallpox burying-ground is generally greenish inclining to scarlet, looking very much like a scarlet oak not yet completely. changed, for the leaf would not be distinguished. However, the nuts, with yellow meat, and the strong bitter yellow bark betrayed it. Yet it did not amount to scarlet. November 2, 1858
What are those sparrows in loose flocks which I have seen two or three weeks, — some this afternoon on the railroad causeway, — with small heads and rather long necks in proportion to body, which is longish and slender, yellowish-white or olivaceous breast, striped with dark, ashy sides of neck, whitish over and beneath the eye, and some white observed in tail when they fly ? I think a dark bill and legs. November 2, 1853
Slate - colored snowbirds (?) with a faint note. November 2, 1852
They utter a peculiar note, not heard here at other seasons, somewhat like the linarias, a sort of shuffling or chuckling iche-tche tche-tche, quickly uttered. November 2, 1853
Can they be the grass-bird ? They resemble it in marking. They are much larger than the tree sparrows. Methinks it is a very common fall bird. November 2, 1853
At long intervals I see or hear a robin still. November 2, 1852
C. says he saw succory yesterday, and a loon on the pond the 30th ult. November 2, 1853
Two ducks on Walden. November 2, 1853
A red-tailed hawk. November 2, 1853
The leaves of the umbelled pyrola are as glossy as in the spring, which proves that they do not owe their glossiness in the spring to the influence of that season. November 2, 1853
I gather some fine large pignuts by the wall (near the beech trees) on Baker's land. It is just the time to get these, and this seems to be quite early enough for most pignuts. November 2, 1853
I find that there have been plenty of beechnuts, and there are still some empty burs on the trees and many nuts on the ground, but I cannot find one with meat in it. November 2, 1853
The beech leaves have all fallen except some about the lower part of the trees, and they make a fine thick bed on the ground. They are very beautiful, firm, and perfect leaves, unspotted and not eaten by insects, of a handsome, clear leather color, like a book bound in calf. Crisp and elastic; no wonder they make beds of them. November 2, 1853
They cover the ground so perfectly and cleanly as to tempt you to recline on it and admire the beauty of their smooth boles from that position, covered with lichens of various colors-green, etc. — which you think you never see elsewhere. November 2, 1853
They impress you as full of health and vigor, so that their bark can hardly contain their spirits but lies in folds or wrinkles about their ankles like a sock, with the embonpoint of infancy, wrinkles of fat. November 2, 1853
I examined a squirrel's nest in a tree which suggested to me (it having a foundation of twigs, coarse basketwork; above, shreds or fibres of bark and a few leaves) that perchance the squirrel, like the mouse, sometimes used a deserted bird's nest,-a crow's or hawk' . November 2, 1853
I go past the Well Meadow Field. There is a sympathy between this cold, gray, overcast November afternoon and the grayish-brown oak leaves and russet fields. November 2, 1858
Those plants which are earliest in the spring have already made the most conspicuous preparation for that season. November 2, 1853
The skunk-cabbage spathes have started, the alder catkins, as I have said, hazel, etc.; and is there anything in the double scales of the maples, the prominent scales of willow and other catkins, sometimes burst (?) ? November 2, 1853
Among the buds, etc., etc., to be noticed now, remember the alder and birch catkins, so large and conspicuous, — on the alder, pretty red catkins dangling in bunches of three or four, — the minute red buds of the panicled andromeda, the roundish plump ones of the common hazel, the longish sharp ones of the witch-hazel, etc. November 2, 1853
Those handsome red buds on often red-barked twigs, with some red leaves still left, appear to be blueberry buds. November 2, 1852
The leaves of the umbelled pyrola are as glossy as in the spring, which proves that they do not owe their glossiness in the spring to the influence of that season. November 2, 1853
I gather some fine large pignuts by the wall (near the beech trees) on Baker's land. It is just the time to get these, and this seems to be quite early enough for most pignuts. November 2, 1853
I find that there have been plenty of beechnuts, and there are still some empty burs on the trees and many nuts on the ground, but I cannot find one with meat in it. November 2, 1853
The beech leaves have all fallen except some about the lower part of the trees, and they make a fine thick bed on the ground. They are very beautiful, firm, and perfect leaves, unspotted and not eaten by insects, of a handsome, clear leather color, like a book bound in calf. Crisp and elastic; no wonder they make beds of them. November 2, 1853
They cover the ground so perfectly and cleanly as to tempt you to recline on it and admire the beauty of their smooth boles from that position, covered with lichens of various colors-green, etc. — which you think you never see elsewhere. November 2, 1853
They impress you as full of health and vigor, so that their bark can hardly contain their spirits but lies in folds or wrinkles about their ankles like a sock, with the embonpoint of infancy, wrinkles of fat. November 2, 1853
I examined a squirrel's nest in a tree which suggested to me (it having a foundation of twigs, coarse basketwork; above, shreds or fibres of bark and a few leaves) that perchance the squirrel, like the mouse, sometimes used a deserted bird's nest,-a crow's or hawk' . November 2, 1853
I go past the Well Meadow Field. There is a sympathy between this cold, gray, overcast November afternoon and the grayish-brown oak leaves and russet fields. November 2, 1858
Those plants which are earliest in the spring have already made the most conspicuous preparation for that season. November 2, 1853
The skunk-cabbage spathes have started, the alder catkins, as I have said, hazel, etc.; and is there anything in the double scales of the maples, the prominent scales of willow and other catkins, sometimes burst (?) ? November 2, 1853
Among the buds, etc., etc., to be noticed now, remember the alder and birch catkins, so large and conspicuous, — on the alder, pretty red catkins dangling in bunches of three or four, — the minute red buds of the panicled andromeda, the roundish plump ones of the common hazel, the longish sharp ones of the witch-hazel, etc. November 2, 1853
Those handsome red buds on often red-barked twigs, with some red leaves still left, appear to be blueberry buds. November 2, 1852
The Canada snap dragon is still fresh and in flower by roadside near pond, and a sprig from root of Solidago nemoralis. November 2, 1853
Plucked quite a handsome nosegay from the side of Heywood's Peak, - white and blue-stemmed goldenrods, asters (undulatus and ?). November 2, 1852
I am somewhat surprised to find that the Aster undulatus at Walden is killed by the frost; only one low and obscure one has any flowers left. November 2, 1853
Therefore, though it is the latest aster that is abundant, I am not sure that it lasts absolutely longer than the A. puniceus, or even Tradescanti. November 2, 1853
I see no other flowers on the Peak. November 2, 1853
I might put by themselves the November flowers, — flowers which survive severe frosts and the fall of the leaf. November 2, 1853
I see hedge-mustard very fresh. November 2, 1853
A part of the lambkill is turned dull-reddish. November 2, 1853
Tall buttercups, red clover, houstonias, Polygonum aviculare, still. November 2, 1852
Poke berries there are still partly green, partly ripe, as usual. November 2, 1853
The prinos berries also now attract me in the scarcity of leaves, its own all gone; its berries are apparently a brighter red for it. November 2, 1852
The prinos berries are almost gone. November 2, 1853
In the latter part of October the skaters and water bugs entirely disappear from the surface of the pond, and then and in November, when the weather is perfectly calm, it is almost absolutely as smooth as glass. November 2, 1852
The air is quite still but misty, from time to time mizzling, and the pond is very smooth, and its surface difficult to distinguish, though it no longer reflects the bright tints of autumn but sombre colors only, — calm at the end of a storm, except here and there a slight glimmer or dimple, as if a few skaters which had escaped the frosts were still collected there, or a faint breeze there struck, or a few rain-drops fell there, or perchance the surface, being remarkably smooth, betrayed by circling dimples where a spring-welled up from below. November 2, 1852
I paddled gently toward one of these places and was surprised to find myriads of small perch about five inches long sporting there, one after another rising to the surface and dimpling it, leaving bubbles on it. They were very handsome as they surrounded the boat, with their distinct transverse stripes, a rich brown color. November 2, 1852
There were many such schools in the pond, as it were improving the short season before the ice would close their window. When I approached them suddenly with noise, they made a sudden plash and rippling with their tails in fright, and then took refuge in the depths. Suddenly the wind rose, the mist increased, and the waves rose, and still the perch leaped, but much higher, half out of water, a hundred black points, three inches long, at once above the surface. November 2, 1852
I do not know whether the perch amuse themselves thus more in the fall than at any other time. In such transparent and apparently bottomless water their swimming impresses the beholder as a kind of flight or hovering, like a compact flock of birds passing be low one, just beneath his level on the right or left. What a singular experience must be theirs in their winter quarters, their long night, expecting when the sun will open their shutters! November 2, 1852
Are not the wood frogs the philosophers who walk (?) in these groves? Methinks I imbibe a cool, composed, frog-like philosophy when I behold them. November 2, 1857
What is Nature unless there is an eventful human life passing within her? November 2, 1853
Many joys and many sorrows are the lights and shadows in which she shows most beautiful. November 2, 1853
Plucked quite a handsome nosegay from the side of Heywood's Peak, - white and blue-stemmed goldenrods, asters (undulatus and ?). November 2, 1852
I am somewhat surprised to find that the Aster undulatus at Walden is killed by the frost; only one low and obscure one has any flowers left. November 2, 1853
Therefore, though it is the latest aster that is abundant, I am not sure that it lasts absolutely longer than the A. puniceus, or even Tradescanti. November 2, 1853
I see no other flowers on the Peak. November 2, 1853
I might put by themselves the November flowers, — flowers which survive severe frosts and the fall of the leaf. November 2, 1853
I see hedge-mustard very fresh. November 2, 1853
A part of the lambkill is turned dull-reddish. November 2, 1853
Tall buttercups, red clover, houstonias, Polygonum aviculare, still. November 2, 1852
Poke berries there are still partly green, partly ripe, as usual. November 2, 1853
The prinos berries also now attract me in the scarcity of leaves, its own all gone; its berries are apparently a brighter red for it. November 2, 1852
The prinos berries are almost gone. November 2, 1853
In the latter part of October the skaters and water bugs entirely disappear from the surface of the pond, and then and in November, when the weather is perfectly calm, it is almost absolutely as smooth as glass. November 2, 1852
The air is quite still but misty, from time to time mizzling, and the pond is very smooth, and its surface difficult to distinguish, though it no longer reflects the bright tints of autumn but sombre colors only, — calm at the end of a storm, except here and there a slight glimmer or dimple, as if a few skaters which had escaped the frosts were still collected there, or a faint breeze there struck, or a few rain-drops fell there, or perchance the surface, being remarkably smooth, betrayed by circling dimples where a spring-welled up from below. November 2, 1852
I paddled gently toward one of these places and was surprised to find myriads of small perch about five inches long sporting there, one after another rising to the surface and dimpling it, leaving bubbles on it. They were very handsome as they surrounded the boat, with their distinct transverse stripes, a rich brown color. November 2, 1852
There were many such schools in the pond, as it were improving the short season before the ice would close their window. When I approached them suddenly with noise, they made a sudden plash and rippling with their tails in fright, and then took refuge in the depths. Suddenly the wind rose, the mist increased, and the waves rose, and still the perch leaped, but much higher, half out of water, a hundred black points, three inches long, at once above the surface. November 2, 1852
I do not know whether the perch amuse themselves thus more in the fall than at any other time. In such transparent and apparently bottomless water their swimming impresses the beholder as a kind of flight or hovering, like a compact flock of birds passing be low one, just beneath his level on the right or left. What a singular experience must be theirs in their winter quarters, their long night, expecting when the sun will open their shutters! November 2, 1852
November 2, 2017
Are not the wood frogs the philosophers who walk (?) in these groves? Methinks I imbibe a cool, composed, frog-like philosophy when I behold them. November 2, 1857
What is Nature unless there is an eventful human life passing within her? November 2, 1853
Many joys and many sorrows are the lights and shadows in which she shows most beautiful. November 2, 1853
Consider the beauty of the earth, and not merely of a few impounded herbs? However, you will not see these splendors, whether you stand on the hilltop or in the hollow, unless you are prepared to see them. The gardener can see only the gardener’s garden, wherever he goes. The beauty of the earth answers exactly to your demand and appreciation. November 2, 1858
The sun sets. November 2, 1853
We come home in the autumn twilight, which lasts long and is remarkably light, the air being purer, — clear white light, which penetrates the woods, is seen through the woods, — the leaves being gone. November 2, 1853
The sun sets. November 2, 1853
We come home in the autumn twilight, which lasts long and is remarkably light, the air being purer, — clear white light, which penetrates the woods, is seen through the woods, — the leaves being gone. November 2, 1853
Coming home by boat the other evening, I smelled a traveller's pipe very strongly a third of a mile distant. He was crossing Wood ' s Bridge. November 2, 1853
When the sun is set, there is no sudden contrast, no deep darkening, but a clear, strong white light still prevails, and the west finally glows with a generally diffused and moderate saffron-golden (?). November 2, 1853
The evening star is now very bright; and is that Jupiter near it? November 2, 1853
When the sun is set, there is no sudden contrast, no deep darkening, but a clear, strong white light still prevails, and the west finally glows with a generally diffused and moderate saffron-golden (?). November 2, 1853
The evening star is now very bright; and is that Jupiter near it? November 2, 1853
November 2, 2019
*****
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Polypody
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Lycopodiums
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Reflections
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Shrub Oak
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Musquash
*****
November 2, 2023
May 4, 1857 ("Wyman told Minott that he used to see black snakes crossing Walden and would wait till they came ashore and then kill them.")
May 8, 1852 ("Venus is the evening star and the only star yet visible");
May 22, 1856 ("The Cornus florida does not bloom this year.")
May 25, 1855 ("Cornus florida, no bloom. Was there year before last? Does it not flower every other year?”)
June 5, 1857 ([Wild] as those strange fossil plants whose impressions I see on my coal. . .[W]hat ages between me and the tree whose shade I enjoy! It is as if it stood substantially in a remote geological period.")
May 22, 1856 ("The Cornus florida does not bloom this year.")
May 25, 1855 ("Cornus florida, no bloom. Was there year before last? Does it not flower every other year?”)
June 5, 1857 ([Wild] as those strange fossil plants whose impressions I see on my coal. . .[W]hat ages between me and the tree whose shade I enjoy! It is as if it stood substantially in a remote geological period.")
June 15, 1852 ("The evening star, multiplied by undulating water, is like bright sparks of fire continually ascending. ")
June 25, 1852 ("Moon half full. Fields dusky; the evening star and one other bright one near the moon. It is a cool but pretty still night. ")
June 26, 1852 ("the smooth reflecting surface of woodland lakes in which the ice is just melted . . .blue or black or even hazel, deep or shallow, clear or turbid; green next the shore,")
June 26, 1852 ("the smooth reflecting surface of woodland lakes in which the ice is just melted . . .blue or black or even hazel, deep or shallow, clear or turbid; green next the shore,")
June 28, 1852 ("Now it is starlight; perhaps that dark cloud in the west has concealed the evening star before.")
August 16, 1854 ("At the steam mill sand-bank is the distinct shadow of our shadows, — first on the water, then the double one on the bank bottom to bottom, one being upside down, — three in all, — one on water, two on land or bushes.")
August 21, 1851 ("Canada snap dragon by roadside (not conspicuous).")
August 27, 1852("Viewed from a hilltop, it is blue in the depths and green in the shallows, but from a boat it is seen to be a uniform dark green.”)
August 31, 1852 ("I observe, on the willows on the east shore, the shadow of my boat and self and oars, upside down...")
September 1, 1852 ("Paddling over it, I see large schools of perch only an inch long, yet easily distinguished by their transverse bars. This is a very warm and serene evening, and the surface of the pond is perfectly smooth except where the skaters dimple it, for at equal intervals they are scattered over its whole extent, and, looking west, they make a fine sparkle in the sun.")
September 1, 1852 ("Viewed from the hilltop, [Walden] reflects the color of the sky. Beyond the deep reflecting surface, near the shore, it is a vivid green.")
September 7, 1854 ("It is just after sundown. The moon not yet risen, one star, Jupiter, visible")August 16, 1854 ("At the steam mill sand-bank is the distinct shadow of our shadows, — first on the water, then the double one on the bank bottom to bottom, one being upside down, — three in all, — one on water, two on land or bushes.")
August 21, 1851 ("Canada snap dragon by roadside (not conspicuous).")
August 27, 1852("Viewed from a hilltop, it is blue in the depths and green in the shallows, but from a boat it is seen to be a uniform dark green.”)
August 31, 1852 ("I observe, on the willows on the east shore, the shadow of my boat and self and oars, upside down...")
September 1, 1852 ("Paddling over it, I see large schools of perch only an inch long, yet easily distinguished by their transverse bars. This is a very warm and serene evening, and the surface of the pond is perfectly smooth except where the skaters dimple it, for at equal intervals they are scattered over its whole extent, and, looking west, they make a fine sparkle in the sun.")
September 1, 1852 ("Viewed from the hilltop, [Walden] reflects the color of the sky. Beyond the deep reflecting surface, near the shore, it is a vivid green.")
September 18, 1858 ("The cooler air is so clear that we see Venus plainly some time before sundown.")
October 20, 1852 ("Canada snapdragon, tansy, white goldenrod, blue-stemmed goldenrod. Aster undulatus, autumnal dandelion, tall buttercup, yarrow, mayweed")
October 2, 1856 (“The prinos berries are in their prime.”):
October 3, 1860 ("I have seen and heard sparrows in flocks, more as if flitting by, within a week, or since the frosts began.)
October 7, 1857 ("Unless you look for reflections, you commonly will not find them.")
October 9, 1858 ("The mountains are darker and distincter, and Walden, seen from this hill, darker blue. It is quite Novemberish.")
October 11, 1856 ("Bay-wing sparrows numerous.")
October 11, 1856 ("In the path, as I go up the hill beyond the springs, on the edge of Stow's sprout-land, I find a little snake which somebody has killed with his heel.")
October 12, 1859 ("I see scattered flocks of bay-wings amid the weeds and on the fences.")
October 7, 1857 ("Unless you look for reflections, you commonly will not find them.")
October 9, 1858 ("The mountains are darker and distincter, and Walden, seen from this hill, darker blue. It is quite Novemberish.")
October 11, 1856 ("Bay-wing sparrows numerous.")
October 11, 1856 ("In the path, as I go up the hill beyond the springs, on the edge of Stow's sprout-land, I find a little snake which somebody has killed with his heel.")
October 12, 1859 ("I see scattered flocks of bay-wings amid the weeds and on the fences.")
October 14, 1857 (“ The reflection exhibits such an aspect of the hill, apparently, as you would get if your eye were placed at that part of the surface of the pond where the reflection seems to be ")
October 14, 1859 ("The shrub oak acorns are now all fallen, — only one or two left on,")
October 14, 1859 ("The shrub oak acorns are now all fallen, — only one or two left on,")
October 16, 1858 ("They appear in the reflection as they would if viewed from that point on the surface from which they are reflected.")
October 16, 1855 ("I look at a grass-bird on a wall in the dry Great Fields. There is a dirty-white or cream-colored line above the eye and another from the angle of the mouth beneath it and a white ring close about the eye. The breast is streaked with this creamy white and dark brown in streams, as on the cover of a book")
October 18, 1853 ("Returning late, we see a double shadow of ourselves and boat, one, the true, quite black, the other directly above it and very faint, on the willows and high bank.")
October 19, 1856 ("The A. undulatus is, perhaps, the only [aster]of which you can find a respectable specimen. I see one so fresh that there is a bumblebee on it.")October 18, 1853 ("Returning late, we see a double shadow of ourselves and boat, one, the true, quite black, the other directly above it and very faint, on the willows and high bank.")
October 20, 1852 ("Canada snapdragon, tansy, white goldenrod, blue-stemmed goldenrod. Aster undulatus, autumnal dandelion, tall buttercup, yarrow, mayweed")
October 20, 1860 ("I examine Ebby Hubbard's old oak and pine wood. The trees may be a hundred years old.")
October 23, 1853 ("And many birds flit before me along the railroad, with faint notes, too large for linarias . . . Probably the white-in-tail [i. e. vesper sparrow, or grass finch.]")
October 23, 1853 ("The prinos is bare, leaving red berries.")
October 23, 1853 ("And many birds flit before me along the railroad, with faint notes, too large for linarias . . . Probably the white-in-tail [i. e. vesper sparrow, or grass finch.]")
October 23, 1853 ("The prinos is bare, leaving red berries.")
October 23, 1853 ("The Aster undulatus is still quite abundant and fresh on this high, sunny bank")
October 23, 1857 ("The ferns which I can see on the bank, apparently all evergreens, are polypody at rock, marginal shield fern, terminal shield fern, and (I think it is) Aspidium spinulosum,. . .The above-named evergreen ferns are so much the more conspicuous on that pale-brown ground. They stand out all at once and are seen to be evergreen; their character appears.”)
November 1, 1860 ("A perfect Indian-summer day, and wonderfully warm. 72+ at 1 P. M. . . . Gossamer on the withered grass is shimmering in the fields, and flocks of it are sailing in the air.")
October 24, 1858 (“ October is the red sunset sky, November the later twilight.")
October 25, 1858 ("The Aster undulatus is now a dark purple (its leaves), with brighter purple or crimson under sides.")
October 25, 1858 (“Also I notice, when the sun is low, the light reflected from the parallel twigs of birches recently bare, etc., like the gleam from gossamer lines. This is another Novemberish phenomenon. Call these November Lights. Hers is a cool, silvery light. ”);
October 26, 1855 ("I see a houstonia in bloom.")
October 27, 1858 (“the cool, white twilights of that season which is itself the twilight of the year.”)
October 26, 1855 ("I see a houstonia in bloom.")
October 27, 1858 (“the cool, white twilights of that season which is itself the twilight of the year.”)
October 29, 1857 ("The river is very high for the season and all over the meadow in front of the house, and still rising. Many are out (as yesterday) shooting musquash")
October 30, 1853 ("The muskrat-houses are mostly covered with water now.")
October 30, 1853 ("Now, now is the time to look at the buds.”)
October 31, 1853 ("When we ripple the surface, the undulating light is reflected from the waves upon the bank and bushes and withered grass.")
November 1, 1853 ("I notice the shad-bush conspicuously leafing out. Those long, narrow, pointed buds, prepared for next spring, have anticipated their time."November 1, 1860 ("A perfect Indian-summer day, and wonderfully warm. 72+ at 1 P. M. . . . Gossamer on the withered grass is shimmering in the fields, and flocks of it are sailing in the air.")
November 3, 1857 ("It is a phenomenon peculiar to this season, when the twigs are bare and the air is clear.")
November 3, 1853 ("I saw a very fresh A. undulatus this afternoon.")
November 3, 1858 ("Aster undulatus is still freshly in bloom")
November 4, 1858 ("The actual objects which one person will see from a particular hilltop are just as different from those which another will see as the persons are different. The scarlet oak must, in a sense, be in your eye when you go forth. We cannot see any thing until we are possessed with the idea of it, and then we can hardly see anything else")
November 3, 1858 ("Aster undulatus is still freshly in bloom")
November 4, 1858 ("The actual objects which one person will see from a particular hilltop are just as different from those which another will see as the persons are different. The scarlet oak must, in a sense, be in your eye when you go forth. We cannot see any thing until we are possessed with the idea of it, and then we can hardly see anything else")
November 4, 1854 ("The shad-bush buds have expanded into small leaflets already.”)
November 4, 1855 ("Many new muskrat-houses have been erected this wet weather.");
November 4, 1855 ("Many new muskrat-houses have been erected this wet weather.");
November 5, 1855 (“I see the shepherd’s-purse, hedge-mustard, and red clover, — November flowers. ”)
November 5, 1857 ("The terminal shield fern is the handsomest and glossiest green.”)
November 5, 1860 ("Blood's oak lot. . . .This wood is a hundred to a hundred and sixty years old.")
November 5, 1857 ("At this season polypody is in the air. ")
November 6, 1863 ( Noticing Buds)
November 6, 1853 (“The remarkable roundish, plump red buds of the high blueberry.”)
November 6, 1853 ("The plump, roundish, club-shaped, well-protected buds of the alders, and rich purplish or mulberry catkins, three, four, or five together.")
November 6, 1853 (“The remarkable roundish, plump red buds of the high blueberry.”)
November 6, 1853 ("The plump, roundish, club-shaped, well-protected buds of the alders, and rich purplish or mulberry catkins, three, four, or five together.")
November 7, 1855 ("Opened a muskrat-house nearly two feet high, but there was no hollow to it. Apparently they do not form that part yet.")
November 7, 1858 ("Aster undulatus and several goldenrods, at least, may be found yet.")
November 9, 1850 ("I found many fresh violets (Viola pedata) to-day (November 9th) in the woods.”).;
November 9, 1850 (" The chickadees, if I stand long enough, hop nearer and nearer inquisitively, from pine bough to pine bough, till within four or five feet, occasionally lisping a note.")
November 9, 1851 ("I am a little surprised on beholding this reflection, which I did not perceive for some minutes after looking into the pond ")
The chickadee
Hops near to me.
November 8, 1857
November 9, 1850 ("I found many fresh violets (Viola pedata) to-day (November 9th) in the woods.”).;
November 9, 1850 (" The chickadees, if I stand long enough, hop nearer and nearer inquisitively, from pine bough to pine bough, till within four or five feet, occasionally lisping a note.")
November 9, 1851 ("I am a little surprised on beholding this reflection, which I did not perceive for some minutes after looking into the pond ")
November 9, 1858 (“We had a true November sunset . . . a cold, yellow sunlight suddenly illumined the withered grass of the fields around, near and far, eastward. Such a phenomenon as, when it occurs later, I call the afterglow of the year.”)
November 10, 1858 ("Look for these late flowers —November flowers — on hills, above frost.")
November 10, 1858 ("A cool and silvery light is the prevailing one; all the light of November may be called an afterglow.")
November 10, 1860 ("Inches Wood . . .as fine an oak wood as there is in New England,")
November 11, 1855 ("The bricks of which the muskrat builds his house are little masses or wads of the dead weedy rubbish on the muddy bottom, which it probably takes up with its mouth. It consists of various kinds of weeds, now agglutinated together by the slime and dried confervae threads, utricularia, hornwort, etc., — a streaming, tuft-like wad. The building of these cabins appears to be coincident with the commencement of their clam diet, for now their vegetable food, excepting roots, is cut off.")
November 10, 1858 ("Look for these late flowers —November flowers — on hills, above frost.")
November 10, 1858 ("A cool and silvery light is the prevailing one; all the light of November may be called an afterglow.")
November 10, 1860 ("Inches Wood . . .as fine an oak wood as there is in New England,")
November 11, 1855 ("The bricks of which the muskrat builds his house are little masses or wads of the dead weedy rubbish on the muddy bottom, which it probably takes up with its mouth. It consists of various kinds of weeds, now agglutinated together by the slime and dried confervae threads, utricularia, hornwort, etc., — a streaming, tuft-like wad. The building of these cabins appears to be coincident with the commencement of their clam diet, for now their vegetable food, excepting roots, is cut off.")
November 14, 1852 ("Still yarrow, tall buttercup, and tansy.")
November 14, 1853 ("the clear, white, leafless twilight of November”)
November 16, 1852 ("Muskrat-houses completed. Interesting objects looking down a river-reach at this season, and our river should not be represented without one or two of these cones. They are quite conspicuous half a mile distant, and are of too much importance to be omitted in the river landscape.")
November 16, 1853 ("I now take notice of the green polypody on the rock and various other ferns")
November 16, 1858 ("The lycopodium dendroideum, complanatum, and lucidulum, and the terminal shield fern are also very interesting.")
November 17, 1858 ("The polypody on the rock is much shrivelled by the late cold")
November 16, 1858 ("The lycopodium dendroideum, complanatum, and lucidulum, and the terminal shield fern are also very interesting.")
November 17, 1858 ("The polypody on the rock is much shrivelled by the late cold")
November 17, 1858 (“We are interested at this season by the manifold ways in which the light is reflected to us. . . . A myriad of surfaces are now prepared to reflect the light. This is one of the hundred silvery lights of November. The setting sun, too, is reflected from windows more brightly than at any other season. “November Lights" would be a theme for me.”)
November 19, 1853 ('This is a very pleasant and warm Indian-summer afternoon. Methinks we have not had one like it since October. This, too, is a gossamer day, though it is not particularly calm.")November 20, 1858 ("The glory of November is in its silvery, sparkling lights”)
November 23, 1852 ("Among the flowers which may be put down as lasting thus far, as I remember, in the order of their hardiness: yarrow, tansy (these very fresh and common), cerastium, autumnal dandelion, dandelion, and perhaps tall buttercup, etc., the last four scarce. The following seen within a fortnight: a late three-ribbed goldenrod of some kind, blue-stemmed goldenrod (these two perhaps within a week), Potentilla argentea, Aster undulatus, Ranunculus repens, Bidens connata, shepherd's-purse, etc.,")
November 23, 1857 (“You distinguish it by its gray spreading mass; its light-gray bark, rather roughened; its thickish shoots, often crimson; and its plump, roundish red buds.”)
November 25, 1858 ("See a few high blueberry buds which have fairly started, expanded into small red leaves, apparently within a few weeks.")
November 23, 1852 ("Among the flowers which may be put down as lasting thus far, as I remember, in the order of their hardiness: yarrow, tansy (these very fresh and common), cerastium, autumnal dandelion, dandelion, and perhaps tall buttercup, etc., the last four scarce. The following seen within a fortnight: a late three-ribbed goldenrod of some kind, blue-stemmed goldenrod (these two perhaps within a week), Potentilla argentea, Aster undulatus, Ranunculus repens, Bidens connata, shepherd's-purse, etc.,")
November 23, 1857 (“You distinguish it by its gray spreading mass; its light-gray bark, rather roughened; its thickish shoots, often crimson; and its plump, roundish red buds.”)
November 25, 1858 ("See a few high blueberry buds which have fairly started, expanded into small red leaves, apparently within a few weeks.")
November 25, 1858 ("The prinos berries on their light-brown twigs are quite abundant and handsome.")
November 26, 1859 ("The chickadee is the bird of the wood the most unfailing.. . . At this season it is almost their sole inhabitant.")
November 30, 1853 ("Though frequently we could not see the real bush in the twilight against the dark bank, in the water it appeared against the sky")
November 26, 1859 ("The chickadee is the bird of the wood the most unfailing.. . . At this season it is almost their sole inhabitant.")
November 30, 1853 ("Though frequently we could not see the real bush in the twilight against the dark bank, in the water it appeared against the sky")
December 1, 1852 (“At this season I observe the form of the buds which are prepared for spring the large bright yellowish and reddish buds of the swamp-pink, the already downy ones of the Populus tremuloides and the willows, the red ones of the blueberry, the long, sharp ones of the amelanchier, the spear-shaped ones of the viburnum; also the catkins of the alders and birches.")
December 3, 1853 ("I see that muskrats have not only erected cabins, but, since the river rose, have in some places dug galleries a rod into the bank.")
December 7, 1853 ("The terminal shield fern is quite fresh and green,")
December 3, 1853 ("I see that muskrats have not only erected cabins, but, since the river rose, have in some places dug galleries a rod into the bank.")
December 7, 1853 ("The terminal shield fern is quite fresh and green,")
December 8, 1853 (“I saw from the peak the entire reflection of large white pines very distinctly against a clear white sky, though the actual tree was completely lost in night against the dark distant hillside.”)
December 27, 1851 ("Venus - I suppose it is - is now the evening star, and very bright she is immediately after sunset in the early twilight")December 27, 1853 ("It is a true winter sunset, almost cloudless, clear, cold indigo-y along the horizon. The evening star is seen shining brightly, before the twilight has begun")
January 12, 1855 ("Well may the tender buds attract us at this season, no less than partridges, for they are the hope of the year, the spring rolled up. The summer is all packed in them.,")
January 12, 1855 ("Well may the tender buds attract us at this season, no less than partridges, for they are the hope of the year, the spring rolled up. The summer is all packed in them.,")
January 24, 1852 (Walden and White Ponds are a vitreous greenish blue, like patches of the winter sky seen in the west before sundown)
Walden, The Pond in Winter ("Sometimes, also, when the ice was covered with shallow puddles, I saw a double shadow of myself, one standing on the head of the other, one on the ice, the other on the trees or hillside.”)
Walden ("Walden is blue at one time and green at another, even from the same point of view. Lying between the earth and the heavens, it partakes of the color of both. Viewed from a hill top it reflects the color of the sky, but near at hand it is of a yellowish tint next the shore where you can see the sand, then a; light green, which gradually deepens to a uniform dark green in the body of the pond. In some lights, viewed even from a hilltop, it is of a vivid green next the shore.”)
Walden , The Pond in Winter ("Like the water, the Walden ice, seen near at hand, has a green tint, but at a distance is beautifully blue,")
Autumnal Tints ("All this you surely will see, and much more, if you are prepared to see it,")
Walden ("Walden is blue at one time and green at another, even from the same point of view. Lying between the earth and the heavens, it partakes of the color of both. Viewed from a hill top it reflects the color of the sky, but near at hand it is of a yellowish tint next the shore where you can see the sand, then a; light green, which gradually deepens to a uniform dark green in the body of the pond. In some lights, viewed even from a hilltop, it is of a vivid green next the shore.”)
Walden , The Pond in Winter ("Like the water, the Walden ice, seen near at hand, has a green tint, but at a distance is beautifully blue,")
Autumnal Tints ("All this you surely will see, and much more, if you are prepared to see it,")
November 2, 2014
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.
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, November 2
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
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