A Book of the Seasons: March 1 (the spring note of the chickadee, the warmth of the sun, the glory of everything)

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

March 1

On the first spring day 

we first hear the pheobe note 

of the chickadee.

March 1, 1856

March 1, 2019

This morning the air is still, and, though clear enough, a yellowish light is widely diffused throughout the east, now just after sunrise. The sunlight looks and feels warm, and a fine vapor fills the lower atmosphere. March 1, 1854

Here is our first spring morning according to the almanac. . . .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, 1854

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 1, 1856

Blue jays have blown the trumpet of winter as usual, but they, as all birds, are most lively in springlike days. The chickadees have been the prevailing bird. March 1, 1854

The last day for skating. It is a very pleasant and warm day, the finest yet, with considerable coolness in the air however, — winter still. The air is beautifully clear, and I trace at a distance the roofs and outlines of farmhouses amid the woods. March 1, 1855

We go listening for bluebirds, but only hear crows and chickadees. March 1, 1855

I do well to walk in the forenoon, the fresh and inspiring half of this bright day. March 1, 1855

I see a pitch pine seed with its wing, far out on Walden. March 1, 1856

The catkins of the willow by the causeway and of the aspens appear to have pushed out a little further than a month ago. I see the down of half a dozen on that willow by the causeway; on the aspens pretty generally. March 1, 1856

The dusty banks of snow by the railroad reflect a wonderfully dazzling white due to the higher sun. March 1, 1855

The spring sun shining on the sloping icy shores makes numerous dazzling ice-blinks, still brighter and prolonged with rectilinear sides in the reflection. March 1, 1855

For some days past the surface of the earth, covered with water, or with ice where the snow is washed off, has shone in the sun as it does only at the approach of spring, methinks. March 1, 1854

It is remarkable that though I have not been able to find any open place in the river almost all winter . . . — this winter so remarkable for ice and snow— . . .that this hardy bird should have found this small opening, which I had forgotten, while the ice everywhere else was from one to two feet thick, and the snow sixteen inches on a level. If there is a crack amid the rocks of some waterfall, this bright diver is sure to know it. Ask the sheldrake whether the rivers are completely sealed up. March 1, 1856

We have just had a winter with absolutely no sleighing, which I do not find that any one distinctly remembers the like of. March 1, 1858

It was wonderfully warm and pleasant up to the 10th of February, and since then the greatest degree of cold I have heard of was -4°. March 1, 1858

The ground has been partially covered or whitened only since the 20th. It has been an excellent winter for walking in the swamps, or walking anywhere. March 1, 1858

For some days past the surface of the earth, covered with water, or with ice where the snow is washed off, has shone in the sun as it does only at the approach of spring, methinks. March 1, 1854

To-day is a still, dripping spring rain, but more fell in the night. It makes the walking worse for the time, but if it does not freeze again, will greatly help to settle the ways. March 1, 1860

I have thoughts, as I walk, on some subject that is running in my head, but all their pertinence seems gone before I can get home to set them down. The most valuable thoughts which I entertain are anything but what I thought. Nature abhors a vacuum, and if I can only walk with sufficient carelessness I am sure to be filled. March 1, 1860

*****

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, March 

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Chickadee in Winter

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau. The Blue Jay

*****

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.

  April 7, 1853 

February 29   <<<<<  March 1  >>>>>  March 2

 

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,   March 1

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