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
We are made to love
river and meadow, as wind
to ripple water.
Slight snow of last night. February 14, 1852
At nine last evening and at nine this morning, the thermometer stood at 20°. February 14, 1855
There is also another leaf or feather frost on the trees, weeds, and rails. . . .These ghosts of trees are very handsome and fairy-like. February 14, 1855
Yet the hawks and the ducks keep so aloof, and nature is so reserved! February 14, 1851
The shadow of the water flowing and pulsating behind this transparent icy crust or these stalactites in the sun imparts a semblance of life to the whole. February 14, 1852
Numerous caterpillars are now crawling about on the ice and snow, the thermometer in the shade north of house standing 42°. February 14, 1857
A downy woodpecker also, with the red spot on his hind head and his cassock open behind, showing his white robe, kept up an incessant loud tapping on another pitch pine. February 14, 1854
These birds are all feeding and flitting along together . . . I cannot but think that this sprightly association and readiness to burst into song has to do with the prospect of spring, — more light and warmth and thawing weather. February 14, 1854
October 4, 1859 (“It is only when we forget all our learning that we begin to know.. . .To conceive of [any natural object] with a total apprehension I must for the thousandth time approach it as something totally strange.. . . You must be aware that no thing is what you have taken it to be.")
November 18, 1855 ("About an inch of snow fell last night.")
November 21, 1850 ("I begin to see ... an object when I cease to understand it.")
January 5, 1858 ("I see one of those fuzzy winter caterpillars, black at the two ends and brown-red in middle, crawling on a rock by the Hunt's Bridge causeway.”);
January 8, 1860 (“After December all weather that is not wintry is springlike.”)
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 . . .”)
January 11, 1854 ("Now is the time to go out and see the ice organ-pipes.)
January 14, 1860 ("About an inch more snow fell this morning.")
Still colder this morning, -7° at 8.30 A. M. February 14, 1856
This winter was remarkable for the long continuance of severe cold weather after it had once set in. February 14, 1852
About one inch of snow falls. February 14, 1858
We learn by the January thaw that the winter is intermittent and are reminded of other seasons. The back of the winter is broken. February 14, 1851
We learn by the January thaw that the winter is intermittent and are reminded of other seasons. The back of the winter is broken. February 14, 1851
Higginson told me yesterday . . . of a person in West Newbury, who told him that he once saw the moon rising out of the sea from his house in that place, and on the moonlight in his room the distinct shadow of a vessel which was somewhere on the sea between him and the moon!! February 14, 1857
How adapted these forms and colors to our eyes, a meadow and its islands! What are these things? February 14, 1851
Yet the hawks and the ducks keep so aloof, and nature is so reserved! February 14, 1851
We are made to love the river and the meadow, as the wind to ripple the water. February 14, 1851
We shall see but little way if we require to understand what we see. February 14, 1851
At the Cliffs, the rocks are in some places covered with ice; icicles at once hang perpendicularly, like organ pipes, in front of the rock. February 14, 1852
The melting ice and snow now drips from their points with a slight clinking and lapsing sound. February 14, 1852
The shadow of the water flowing and pulsating behind this transparent icy crust or these stalactites in the sun imparts a semblance of life to the whole. February 14, 1852
Latterly we have had, i.e. within a week, crusted snow, made by thaw and rain. February 14, 1852
I can now walk on the crust in every direction at the Andromeda Swamp; can run and stamp without danger of breaking through. February 14, 1856
I walk in the bare maple swamps and detect the minute pensile nests of some vireo high over my head, in the fork of some unattainable twig, where I never suspected them in summer . . . And where is that young family now, while their cradle is filled with ice? February 14, 1856
As I walk over thin ice, settling it down, I see great bubbles under, three or four feet wide, go waddling or wobbling away like a seared lady impeded by her train. February 14, 1859
I have but little doubt that the musquash gets air from these bubbles, which are probably very conspicuous under the ice. February 14, 1859
The distant crowing of cocks and the divine harmony of the telegraph, — all spring-promising sounds. February 14, 1854
It is a fine, somewhat springlike day. February 14, 1857 .
I was struck to-day by the size and continuousness of the natural willow hedge on the east side of the railroad causeway, at the foot of the embankment, next to the fence. February 14, 1856
Numerous caterpillars are now crawling about on the ice and snow, the thermometer in the shade north of house standing 42°. February 14, 1857
The titmice keep up an incessant faint tinkling tchip; now and then one utters a lively day day day, and once or twice one commenced a gurgling strain quite novel, startling, and springlike . . . The chickadee has quite a variety of notes. The phebe one I did not hear to-day. February 14, 1854
There were two nuthatches at least, talking to each other. . . .It uttered almost constantly a faint but sharp quivet or creak, difficult to trace home, which appeared to be answered by a baser and louder gnah gnah from the other. February 14, 1854
There were two nuthatches at least, talking to each other. . . .It uttered almost constantly a faint but sharp quivet or creak, difficult to trace home, which appeared to be answered by a baser and louder gnah gnah from the other. February 14, 1854
A downy woodpecker also, with the red spot on his hind head and his cassock open behind, showing his white robe, kept up an incessant loud tapping on another pitch pine. February 14, 1854
I find that a great many pine-needles, both white and pitch, of ’54 still hold on, bristling around the twigs, especially if the tree has not grown much the last year. So those that strew the snow now are of both kinds. February 14, 1856
All at once an active little brown creeper makes its appearance, a small, rather slender bird, with a long tail and sparrow-colored back, and white beneath. February 14, 1854
It commences at the bottom of a tree and glides up very rapidly, then suddenly darts to the bottom of a new tree and repeats the same movement, not resting long in one place or on one tree. February 14, 1854
These birds are all feeding and flitting along together . . . I cannot but think that this sprightly association and readiness to burst into song has to do with the prospect of spring, — more light and warmth and thawing weather. February 14, 1854
*****
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Pitch Pine.
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau. Willows on the Causeway
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Propogation of the Willow.
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Chickadee in Winter
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Nuthatch
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Downy Woodpecker
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Brown Creeper
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Red-eyed Vireo
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, February Moonlight
October 4, 1859 (“It is only when we forget all our learning that we begin to know.. . .To conceive of [any natural object] with a total apprehension I must for the thousandth time approach it as something totally strange.. . . You must be aware that no thing is what you have taken it to be.")
November 18, 1855 ("About an inch of snow fell last night.")
November 21, 1850 ("I begin to see ... an object when I cease to understand it.")
January 5, 1858 ("I see one of those fuzzy winter caterpillars, black at the two ends and brown-red in middle, crawling on a rock by the Hunt's Bridge causeway.”);
January 8, 1860 (“After December all weather that is not wintry is springlike.”)
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 . . .”)
January 11, 1854 ("Now is the time to go out and see the ice organ-pipes.)
January 14, 1860 ("About an inch more snow fell this morning.")
January 20, 1856 ("A downy woodpecker without red on head the only bird seen in this walk. I stand within twelve feet")
February 1, 1857 ("Thermometer at 42°.")
February 5, 1860 ("2 p. m., 40°")
February 7, 1857 ("The thermometer was at 52° when I came out at 3 p.m.")
February 7, 1860 ("Thermometer 43°.")
February 2, 1854 ("I stole up within five or six feet of a pitch pine behind which a downy woodpecker was pecking. From time to time he hopped round to the side and observed me without fear. They are very confident birds, not easily scared, but incline to keep the other side of the bough to you, perhaps.")
February 5, 1860 ("2 p. m., 40°")
February 7, 1857 ("The thermometer was at 52° when I came out at 3 p.m.")
February 7, 1860 ("Thermometer 43°.")
February 2, 1854 ("I stole up within five or six feet of a pitch pine behind which a downy woodpecker was pecking. From time to time he hopped round to the side and observed me without fear. They are very confident birds, not easily scared, but incline to keep the other side of the bough to you, perhaps.")
February 8, 1852 ("This afternoon, the first crust to walk on.")
February 8, 1860 ("February may be called earine (springlike).")
February 8. 1860 ("Thermometer 43. 40° and upward may be called a warm day in the winter. We have had much of this weather for a month past, reminding us of spring.")
February 9, 1851 ("Now I travel across the fields on the frozen crust. and can walk across the river in most places. It is easier to get about the country than at any other season.")
February 9, 1856 ("I hear a phoebe note from a chickadee."
February 8, 1860 ("February may be called earine (springlike).")
February 8. 1860 ("Thermometer 43. 40° and upward may be called a warm day in the winter. We have had much of this weather for a month past, reminding us of spring.")
February 9, 1851 ("Now I travel across the fields on the frozen crust. and can walk across the river in most places. It is easier to get about the country than at any other season.")
February 9, 1856 ("I hear a phoebe note from a chickadee."
)February 9, 1858 ("Begins to snow at noon, and about one inch falls, whitening the ground.")
February 9, 1860 ("A hoar frost on the ground this morning . . . was quite a novel sight. I had noticed some vapor in the air late last evening.")
February 12, 1856 (" Heard the eaves drop all night. The thermometer at 8.30 A. M., 42°. . . .How different the sunlight over thawing snow . . . I experience a springlike melting in my thoughts. ")
February 12, 1855 (“All trees covered this morning with a hoar frost, very handsome looking toward the sun, —the ghosts of trees.”)
February 13, 1859 ("A dry, powdery snow about one inch deep, from which, as I walk toward the sun, this perfectly clear, bright afternoon, at 3.30 o’clock, the colors of the rainbow are reflected from a myriad fine facets.")
February 24, 1852 ("I am reminded of spring by the quality of the air.")
February 24, 1854 ("Nuthatches are faintly answering each other, — tit for tat, — on different keys, — a faint creak. Now and then one utters a loud distinct gnah")
February 24, 1857 ("A fine spring morning. . . It seems to be one of those early springs of which we have heard but have never experienced")
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. ")
February 24, 1860 ("Thermometer 42. A very spring-like day, so much sparkling light in the air")
February 28, 1860 ("It is equally important often to ignore or forget all that men presume that they know, and take an original and unprejudiced view of Nature, letting her make what impression she will on you, as the first men, and all children and natural men still do.")
March 1, 1854 ("The sunlight looks and feels warm, and a fine vapor fills the lower atmosphere. I hear the phoebe or spring note of the chickadee, and the scream of the jay is perfectly repeated by the echo from a neighboring wood.")
February 9, 1860 ("A hoar frost on the ground this morning . . . was quite a novel sight. I had noticed some vapor in the air late last evening.")
February 12, 1856 (" Heard the eaves drop all night. The thermometer at 8.30 A. M., 42°. . . .How different the sunlight over thawing snow . . . I experience a springlike melting in my thoughts. ")
February 12, 1855 (“All trees covered this morning with a hoar frost, very handsome looking toward the sun, —the ghosts of trees.”)
February 13, 1859 ("A dry, powdery snow about one inch deep, from which, as I walk toward the sun, this perfectly clear, bright afternoon, at 3.30 o’clock, the colors of the rainbow are reflected from a myriad fine facets.")
February 24, 1852 ("I am reminded of spring by the quality of the air.")
February 24, 1854 ("Nuthatches are faintly answering each other, — tit for tat, — on different keys, — a faint creak. Now and then one utters a loud distinct gnah")
February 24, 1857 ("A fine spring morning. . . It seems to be one of those early springs of which we have heard but have never experienced")
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. ")
February 24, 1860 ("Thermometer 42. A very spring-like day, so much sparkling light in the air")
February 28, 1860 ("It is equally important often to ignore or forget all that men presume that they know, and take an original and unprejudiced view of Nature, letting her make what impression she will on you, as the first men, and all children and natural men still do.")
March 1, 1854 ("The sunlight looks and feels warm, and a fine vapor fills the lower atmosphere. I hear the phoebe or spring note of the chickadee, and the scream of the jay is perfectly repeated by the echo from a neighboring wood.")
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 3, 1857 ("[W]hen the rill reaches the perpendicular face of the cliff, its constant drip at night builds great organ-pipes of a ringed structure, which run together, buttressing the rock.")
March 5, 1854 ("See a small blackish caterpillar on the snow. Where do they come from? ")
March 5, 1859 ("Going down-town this forenoon, I heard a white-bellied nuthatch on an elm within twenty feet, uttering peculiar notes and more like a song than I remember to have heard from it. There was a chickadee close by, to which it may have been addressed. It was something like to-what what what what what, rapidly repeated, and not the usual gnah gnah; and this instant it occurs to me that this may be that earliest spring note which I hear, and have referred to a woodpecker")
March 8, 1855 ("I see of late more than before of the fuzzy caterpillars, both black and reddish-brown.”)
March 3, 1857 ("[W]hen the rill reaches the perpendicular face of the cliff, its constant drip at night builds great organ-pipes of a ringed structure, which run together, buttressing the rock.")
March 5, 1854 ("See a small blackish caterpillar on the snow. Where do they come from? ")
March 5, 1859 ("Going down-town this forenoon, I heard a white-bellied nuthatch on an elm within twenty feet, uttering peculiar notes and more like a song than I remember to have heard from it. There was a chickadee close by, to which it may have been addressed. It was something like to-what what what what what, rapidly repeated, and not the usual gnah gnah; and this instant it occurs to me that this may be that earliest spring note which I hear, and have referred to a woodpecker")
March 8, 1855 ("I see of late more than before of the fuzzy caterpillars, both black and reddish-brown.”)
February 14, 2022
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.
February 13 <<<<<<<< February 14 >>>>>>>> February 15
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, February 14
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 © 2009-2024
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