The year is but a succession of days,
and I see that I could assign some office to each day
which, summed up, would be the history of the year.
Henry Thoreau, August 24, 1852
The thin floating ice
turned on its edge by the wind
sparkling in the sun.
Man comes out of his
winter quarters this month as
lean as a woodchuck.
With silent footsteps
the spring advances in spite
of ice cold and snow.
Crossing the threshold
between winter and summer—
shoes instead of boots.
March 30, 2018
(The threshold between winter and summer)
Spring is already upon us. I see the tortoises, or rather I hear them drop from the bank into the brooks at my approach. The catkins of the alders have blossomed. The pads are springing at the bottom of the water. The pewee is heard, and the lark. March 30, 1851
Saw a pewee from the railroad causeway . . . Though the frost is nearly out of the ground, the winter has not broken up in me. It is a backward season with me. Perhaps we grow older and older till we no longer sympathize with the revolution of the seasons, and our winters never break up. To-day, as frequently for some time past, we have a raw east wind, which is rare in winter. I see as yet very little, perhaps no, new growth in the plants in open fields, but only the green radical leaves which have been kept fresh under the snow; but if I should explore carefully about their roots, I should find some expanding buds and even new-rising shoots . . . From the Cliffs I see that Fair Haven Pond is open over the channel of the river, — which is in fact thus only revealed, of the same width as elsewhere, running from the end of Baker' s Wood to the point of the Island. The slight current there has worn away the ice. I never knew before exactly where the channel was. It is pretty central . . .On the warm slope of the Cliffs the radical (?) leaves of the St. John's-wort (somewhat spurge-like), small on slender sprigs, have been evergreen under the snow. In this warm locality there is some recent growth nearest the ground. The leaves of the Saxifraga vernalis on the most mossy rocks are quite fresh. March 30, 1852
I see again that same kind of clouds that I saw the 10th of last April, low in the sky; higher and over head those great downy clouds, equal to the intervals of celestial blue, with glowing edges and with wet bases. The sky is mapped with them . . . The motions of a hawk correcting the flaws in the wind by raising his shoulder from time to time, are much like those of a leaf yielding to them. For the little hawks are hunting now. You have not to sit long on the Cliffs before you see one . . . Ah, those youthful days! are they never to return? when the walker does not too curiously observe particulars, but sees, hears, scents, tastes, and feels only himself, -- the phenomena that show themselves in him, -- his expanding body, his intellect and heart. . . . the unbounded universe was his. March 30, 1853
Very severe cold and high winds cold enough to skim the river over in broad places at night, and commencing with the greatest and most destructive gale for many a year, has never ceased to blow since till this morning. The ground these last cold (thirteen) days has been about bare of snow, but frozen. At the Island I see and hear this morning the cackle of a pigeon woodpecker at the hollow poplar; had heard him tapping distinctly from my boat's place. Great flocks of tree sparrows and some F. hyemalis on the ground and trees on the Island Neck, making the air and bushes ring with their jingling. The river early is partly filled with thin, floating, hardly cemented ice, occasionally turned on its edge by the wind and sparkling in the sun. March 30, 1854
It is a little warmer than of late, though still the shallows are skimmed over. The pickerel begin to dart from the shallowest parts not frozen. I hear many phe-be notes from the chickadees, as if they appreciated this slightly warmer and sunny morning. A fine day. As I look through the window, I actually see a warmer atmosphere with its fine shimmer against the russet hills and the dry leaves, though the warmth has not got into the house and it is no more bright nor less windy than yesterday, or many days past. I find that the difference to the eye is a slight haze, though it is but very little warmer than yesterday. To-day and yesterday have been bright, windy days. — west wind, cool, yet, compared with the previous colder ones, pleasantly, gratefully cool to me on my cheek. There is a very perceptible greenness on our south bank now, but I cannot detect the slightest greenness on the south side of Lee’s Hill as I sail by it. It is a perfectly dead russet. The river is but about a foot above the lowest summer level. I have seen a few F. hyemalis about the house in the morning the last few days. You see a few blackbirds, robins, bluebirds, tree sparrows, larks, etc., but the song sparrow chiefly is heard these days. He must have a great deal of life in him to draw upon, who can pick up a subsistence in November and March. Man comes out of his winter quarters this month as lean as a woodchuck. Not till late could the skunk find a place where the ground was thawed on the surface. Except for science, do not travel in such a climate as this in November and March. I tried if a fish would take the bait to-day; but in vain; I did not get a nibble. Where are they? I read that a great many bass were taken in the Merrimack last week. Do not the suckers move at the same time? March 30, 1855
Still cold and blustering. . . ..These cold days have made the ice of Walden dry and pretty hard again at top. It is just twenty-four inches thick in the middle, about eleven inches of snow ice. It has lost but a trifle on the surface. . . .I go to Fair Haven via the Andromeda Swamps. The snow is a foot and more in depth there still. There is a little bare ground in and next to the swampy woods at the head of Well Meadow,. . .How silent are the footsteps of Spring! . . . all surrounded and hemmed in by snow, which has covered the ground since Christmas and stretches as far as you can see on every side; and there are as intense blue shadows on the snow as I ever saw. The spring advances in spite of snow and ice, and cold even.. . . I can just see a little greening on our bare and dry south bank. In warm recesses and clefts in meadows and rocks in the midst of ice and snow, nay, even under the snow, vegetation commences and steadily advances.. . . But the pond and river are very solid yet. I walk over the pond and down on the middle of the river to the bridge, without seeing an opening. See probably a hen-hawk (?) (black tips to wings), sailing low over the low cliff next the river, looking probably for birds. [May have been a marsh hawk or harrier.] The south hillsides no sooner begin to be bare, and the striped squirrels and birds resort there, than the hawks come from southward to prey on them. I think that even the hen-hawk is here in winter only as the robin is. March 30, 1856
Another fine afternoon, warmer than before . . . The frogs are now heard leaping into the ditches on your approach, bullfrog under my boat. Approaching carefully the little pool south of Hubbard's Grove, I see the dimples where the croakers which were on the surface have dived, and I see two or three still spread out on the surface, in the sun. They are very wary, and instantly dive to the bottom on your approach and bury themselves in the weeds or mud. The water is quite smooth, and it is very warm here, just under the edge of the wood, but I do not hear any croaking. Later, in a pool behind Lee's Cliff, I hear them, – the waking up of the leafy pools. . . . They seem to be an early frog, peculiar to pools and small ponds in the woods and fields. . . Landing at Bittern Cliff, I went round through the woods to get sight of ducks on the pond. Creeping down through the woods, I reached the rocks, and saw fifteen or twenty sheldrakes scattered about. . . . I saw seven or eight all dive together as with one consent, remaining under half a minute or more. On another side you see a party which seem to be playing and pluming themselves. They will run and dive and come up and dive again every three or four feet, occasionally one pursuing an other; will flutter in the water, making it fly, or erect themselves at full length on the surface like a penguin, and flap their wings. This party make an incessant noise. Again you will see some steadily tacking this way or that in the middle of the pond, and often they rest there asleep with their heads in their backs. They readily cross the pond, swimming from this side to that. While I am watching the ducks, a mosquito is endeavoring to sting me. At dusk I hear two flocks of geese go over. March 30, 1858
Hear a red squirrel chirrup at me by the hemlocks (running up a hemlock), all for my benefit; not that he is excited by fear, I think, but so full is he of animal spirits that he makes a great ado about the least event . . .You might say that he successfully accomplished the difficult feat of singing and whistling at the same time . . .The green-bodied flies out on sheds, and probably nearly as long as the other; the same size as the house-fly. I see numerous large skaters on a ditch. . . .A very small brown grasshopper hops into the water . . .Little pollywogs two inches long are lively there. See on Walden two sheldrakes, male and female, as is common. So they have for some time paired. . . .A man cannot walk down to the shore or stand out on a hill overlooking the pond without disturbing them. They will have an eye upon him. The locomotive-whistle makes every wild duck start that is floating within the limits of the town. I see that these ducks are not here for protection alone, for at last they both dive, and remain beneath about forty pulse-beats, — and again, and again. I think they are looking for fishes. Perhaps, therefore, these divers are more likely to alight in Walden than the black ducks are. Hear the hovering note of a snipe. March 30, 1859
A very warm and pleasant day (at 2 P.M., 63° and rising). The afternoon so warm -- wind southwest -- you take off coat. The streets are quite dusty for the first time. The earth is more dry and genial, and you seem to be crossing the threshold between winter and summer. As I walk the street I realize that a new season has arrived. It is time to begin to leave your greatcoat at home, to put on shoes instead of boots and feel lightfooted. March 30, 1860
Walden must have skimmed nearly, if not entirely, over again once since the 11th or 12th, or after it had been some time completely clear. It seems, then, that in some years it may thaw and freeze again. March 30, 1861
*****
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Ice Out
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Wood Frog (Rana sylvatica)
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Red Squirrel
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Skunk
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, St. Johns-wort (Hypericum)
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Saxifrage in Spring (Saxifraga vernalis)
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Alders
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Eastern Phoebe
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Pigeon Woodpecker
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Dark-eyed Junco
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Song Sparrow
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Lark in Early Spring
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Snipe
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Marsh Hawk
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Sheldrake (Merganser, Goosander)
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of Spring, Geese Overhead
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
"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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