Thursday, March 10, 2022

A Book of the Seasons: March 10 (first really spring day, softened spring air over patches of snow, bluebirds)



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 10

There is a season
when daily we expect spring.
To-day it arrives.

 Misty and mizzling
weather almost April-like.
Expect to hear geese.

To-day they are here
and yesterday they were not.
First water bugs out.



I see the reticulated leaves of the rattlesnake-plantain in the woods, quite fresh and green. March 10, 1852

The earth is perhaps two thirds bare to-day. March 10, 1852

I am not aware of growth in any plant yet, unless it be the further peeping out of willow catkins. March 10, 1855

They have crept out further from under their scales, and, looking closely into them, I detect a little redness along the twigs even now. March 10, 1855

Methinks the first obvious evidence of spring is the pushing out of the swamp willow catkins, then the relaxing of the earlier alder catkins, then the pushing up of skunk-cabbage spathes (and pads at the bottom of water). March 10, 1853

This is the order I am inclined to, though perhaps any of these may take precedence of all the rest in any particular case. March 19, 1853

It must be that the willow twigs, both the yellow and green, are brighter-colored than before. I cannot be deceived. March 10, 1853

They shine as if the sap were already flowing under the bark; a certain lively and glossy hue they have. March 10, 1853

The early poplars are pushing forward their catkins, though they make not so much display as the willows. March 10, 1853

The alder's catkins — the earliest of them — are very plainly expanding, or, rather, the scales are loose and separated, and the whole catkin relaxed. March 10, 1853

By John Hosmer's ditch by the riverside I see the skunk-cabbage springing freshly, the points of the spathes just peeping out of the ground. March 10, 1853


Those reddening leaves, as the checkerberry, lambkill, etc., etc., which at the beginning of winter were greenish, are now a deeper red, when the snow goes off. March 10, 1855

The mosses are now very handsome, like young grass pushing up. March 10, 1852

What is the little chickweed-like plant already springing up on the top of the Cliffs? March 10, 1852

There are some other plants with bright-green leaves which have either started somewhat or have never suffered from the cold under the snow. March 10, 1852

Many plants are to some extent evergreen, like the buttercup now beginning to start. March 10, 1853

At Second Division Brook, the fragrance of the senecio, which is decidedly evergreen, which I have bruised, is very permanent and brings round the year again. It is a memorable sweet meadowy fragrance. March 10, 1853

The radical leaves of innumerable plants (as here a dock in and near the water) are evidently affected by the spring influences.March 10, 1853

A very few leaves of cowslips, and those wholly under water, show themselves yet. March 10, 1853

The leaves of the water saxifrage, for the most part frost-bitten, are common enough. March 10, 1853

Near the caltha was also green hog-spawn, and Channing says he saw pollywogs. Perhaps it is a particularly warm place. March 10, 1853

Thermometer at 7 A. M. 6° below zero.. . . Thermometer +9° at 3.30 P. M. (the same when I return at five). The snow hard and dry, squeaking under the feet; excellent sleighing. March 10, 1856

A biting northwest wind compels to cover the ears. It is one of the hardest days of the year to bear. Truly a memorable 10th of March March 10, 1856

Snowed in the night, a mere whitening. In the morning somewhat overcast still, cold and quite windy. The first clear snow to whiten the ground since February 9th. March 10, 1855

A strong, cold northerly wind all day, with occasional gleams of sunshine. March 10, 1855

Misty rain, rain, — the third day of more or less rain. March 10, 1854 

Misty and mizzling. Each alder catkin has a clear drop at the end, though the air is filled with mist merely, which from time to time is blown in my face and I put up my umbrella. March 10, 1854

At the end of winter there is a season in which are are daily expecting spring, and finally a day when it arrives. March 10, 1853

The weather is almost April-like. We always have much of this rainy, drizzling, misty weather in early spring, after which we expect to hear geese. March 10, 1854

This is the first really spring day . . . Something analogous to the thawing of the ice seems to have taken place in the air. March 10, 1853

I perceive the spring in the softened air. March 10, 1859

This is to me the most interesting and affecting phenomenon of the season as yet. March 10, 1859

Apparently in consequence of the very warm sun, this still and clear day, falling on the earth four fifths covered with snow and ice, there is an almost invisible vapor held in suspension, which is like a thin coat or enamel applied to every object, and especially it gives to the woods, of pine and oak intermingled, a softened and more living appearance. They evidently stand in a more genial atmosphere than before.  March 10, 1859

Looking through this transparent vapor, all surfaces, not osiers and open waters alone, look more vivid. 
March 10, 1859

The hardness of winter is relaxed.  March 10, 1859

Such is the difference between an object seen through a warm, moist, and soft air and a cold, dry, hard one. 
March 10, 1859

Such is the genialness of nature that the trees appear to have put out feelers by which our senses apprehend them more tenderly. March 10, 1859

I do not know that the woods are ever more beautiful, or affect me more. March 10, 1859 

The sun is brightly reflected from all surfaces, and the north side of the street begins to be a little more passable to foot-travelers. You do not think it necessary to button up your coat. March 10, 1853

Rivers, too, like the walker, unbutton their icy coats, and we see the dark bosoms of their channels in the midst of the ice. March 10, 1859

Again, in pools of melted snow, or where the river has risen, I look into clear, placid water, and see the russet grassy bottom in the sun. March 10, 1859  

This clear, placid, silvery water is evidently a phenomenon of spring. Winter could not show us this. March 10, 1859

I am pretty sure that I hear the chuckle of a ground squirrel among the warm and bare rocks of the Cliffs. March 10, 1852 

See a sparrow, perhaps a song sparrow, flitting amid the young oaks where the ground is covered with snow. I think that this is an indication that the ground is quite bare a little further south. Probably the spring birds never fly far over a snow-clad country. March 10, 1852

A wood-chopper tells me he heard a robin thus morning. March 10, 1852

Hear the phoebe note of the chickadee to-day for the first time . . . they too have become spring birds; they have changed their note. Even they feel the influence of spring. March 10, 1852

I see many middling-sized black spiders on the edge of the snow, very active. March 10, 1853

See in one place a small swarm of insects flying or gyrating, dancing like large tipulidae. The dance within the compass of a foot always above a piece of snow of the same size in the midst of bare ground. March 10, 1859

I go looking deeper for tortoises, when suddenly my eye rests on these black circling apple seeds in some smoother bay. March 10, 1855

Two frogs (may have been Rana fontinalis; did not see them) jumped into Hosmer's grassy ditch. March 10, 1859

I find a yellow- spotted tortoise (Emys guttata) in the brook. March 10, 1853

You are always surprised by the sight of the first spring bird or insect; they seem premature, and there is no such evidence of spring as themselves, so that they literally fetch the year about. March 10, 1855

It is thus when I hear the first robin or bluebird or, looking along the brooks, see the first water-bugs out circling. 
March 10, 1855

 But you think, They have come, and Nature cannot recede. . . . to-day they are here and yesterday they were not. March 10, 1855

What was that sound that came on the softened air? It was the warble of the first bluebird from that scraggy apple orchard yonder. When this is heard, then has spring arrived. March 10, 1853

And already, when near the road, I hear the warble of my first Concord bluebird, borne to me from the hill through the still morning air, and, looking up, I see him plainly, though so far away, a dark speck in the top of a walnut. March 10, 1859

I see flocks of a dozen bluebirds together. The warble of this bird is innocent and celestial, like its color. March 10, 1852

The bluebird on the apple tree, warbling so innocently to inquire if any of its mates are within call, — the angel of the spring! March 10, 1859

The combination of this delicious air, which you do not want to be warmer or softer, with the presence of ice and snow, you sitting on the bare russet portions, the south hillsides, of the earth March 10, 1859

This is the charm of these days. It is the summer beginning to show itself like an old friend in the midst of winter. March 10, 1859

Summer clenches hands with summer under the snow. March 10, 1852

These earliest spring days are peculiarly pleasant. We shall have no more of them for a year. March 10, 1859

Still in some parts of the woods it is good sledding. March 10, 1853

I am apt to forget that we may have raw and blustering days a month hence. March 10, 1859

The past has been a winter of such unmitigated severity that I have not chanced to notice a snow-flea, which are so common in thawing days. March 10, 1856

The pinched crows are feeding in the road to-day in front of the house and alighting on the elms, and blue jays also, as in the middle of the hardest winter, for such is this weather. March 10, 1856

I go over the fields now in any direction, sinking but an inch or two to the old solid snow of the winter. In the road you are on a level with the fences, and often considerably higher,. . . I may say that I have not had to climb a fence this winter, but have stepped over them on the snow. March 10, 1856

A bluebird would look as much out of place now as the 10th of January. March 10, 1856

10 P. M.—Thermometer at zero. March 10, 1856


*****
A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, March in Haiku
A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Signs of Spring:



A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau March 10
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 ©  2009-2023


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