Wednesday, July 23, 2025

A Book of the Seasons: Rhexia Virginica (meadow-beauty)

 


For the first time I perceive this spring
that the year is a circle.  
I would make a chart of our life,
know why just this circle of creatures completes the world.
Henry Thoreau, April 18, 1852


The Rhexia Virginica,

the meadow-beauty,
 high-colored, more beautiful 
than you remembered.

March 28. Here, where in August the bittern booms in the grass, and mowers march en echelon and whet their scythes and crunch the ripe wool-grass, raised now a' few feet, you scud before the wind in your tight bark and listen to the surge (or sough ?) of the great waves sporting around you, while you hold the steering-oar and your mast bends to the gale and you stow all your ballast to windward. The crisped sound of surging waves that rock you, that ceaseless roll and gambol, and ever and anon break into your boat. Deep lie the seeds of the rhexia now, absorbing wet from the flood, but in a few months this mile-wide lake will have gone to the other side of the globe; and the tender rhexia will lift its head on the drifted hummocks in dense patches, bright and scarlet as a flame, — such succession have we here, — where the wild goose and countless wild ducks have floated and dived above them.       So Nature condenses her matter. She is a thousand thick. So many crops the same surface bears. March 28, 1859


July 14. The Rhexia Virginica, the meadow-beauty, high-colored, more beautiful than you remembered. July 14, 1852

July 15. Rhexia near the Rhus copallina, apparently yesterday. July 15, 1854

July 18. The petals of the rhexia have a beautiful clear purple with a violet tinge. July 18, 1852

July 18. Rhexia, a day or two. July 18, 1853

July 20. The Rhexia Virginica is in bloom. July 20, 1851

July 23. The rhexia is seen afar on the islets, — its brilliant red like a rose. It is fitly called meadow-beauty. Is it not the handsomest and most striking and brilliant flower since roses and lilies began?  July 23, 1853

July 23. Rhexia in bloom, how long? July 23, 1859

July 29. Rhexia. Probably would be earlier if not mowed down. July 29, 1856 

August 1. I was surprised to see dense beds of rhexia in full bloom there, apparently on hummocks a rod in diameter left by the ice, or in long ridges mixed with ferns and some Lysimachia lanceolata, arrowhead, etc. They make a splendid show, these brilliant rose-colored patches, especially in the neighborhood of Copan. It is about the richest color to be seen now. Yet few ever see them in this perfection, unless the haymaker who levels them, or the birds that fly over the meadow. Far in the broad wet meadows, on the hummocks and ridges, these bright beds of rhexia turn their faces to the heavens, seen only by the bitterns and other meadow birds that fly over. We, dwelling and walking on the dry upland, do not suspect their existence. How obvious and gay to those creatures that fly over the meadow! Seen only by birds and mowers. These gay standards otherwise unfurled in vain.  August 1, 1856 

August 3.  I see blackened haycocks on the meadows. Think what the farmer gets with his hay, — what his river-meadow hay consists of, — how much of fern and osier and sweet-gale and Polygonum hydropiperoides and rhexia (I trust the cattle love the scent of it as well as I) and lysimachia, etc., etc., and rue, and sium and cicuta.   August 3, 1856

August 5I cannot sufficiently admire the rhexia, one of the highest-colored purple flowers, but difficult to bring home in its perfection, with its fugacious petals. August 5, 1852

August 13.  Rhexia, very common on those bare places on the river meadows from which the soil has been moved by the ice.  August 13, 1852

August 20.  The Rhexia Virginica is a showy flower at present. August 20, 1851

August 20.  The purple gerardia is very beautiful now in green grass, and the rhexia also, both difficult to get home.  August 20, 1852

August 21.  The prevailing conspicuous flowers at present are:
  •  The early goldenrods,
  •  tansy,
  •  the life-everlastings,
  •  flea bane (though not for its flower),
  •  yarrow (rather dry),
  •  hardhack and meadow-sweet (both getting dry, also mayweed),
  •  Eupatorium purpureum,
  •  scabish,
  •  clethra (really a fine, sweet-scented, and this year particularly fair and fresh, flower, some unexpanded buds at top tinged with red),
  •  Rhexia Virginica,
  •  thoroughwort,
  •  Polygala sanguinea,

August 23. The patches of rhexia or meadow-beauty which have escaped the mowers in the low grounds, where rowen is now coming forward apace, look like a little bright purple on one side of Nature's pallet, giving place to some fresh green which Nature has ground. August 23, 1853

August 23. The rhexia in the field west of Clintonia Swamp makes a great show now, though a little past prime. August 23, 1858

August 25. There is a large field of rhexia there now almost completely out of bloom, but its scarlet leaves, reddening the ground at a distance, supply the place of flowers. August 25, 1854

August 26. The Poa hirsuta is left on the upper edge of the meadows ( as at J. Hosmer's ), as too thin and poor a grass , beneath the attention of the farmers. How fortunate that it grows in such places and not in the midst of the rank grasses which are cut. With its beautiful fine purple color, its beautiful purple blush, it reminds me and supplies the place of the rhexia now about done.  ( Leaving off, though I see some pretty handsome Sept. 4th.)  August 26, 1854

August 27. The rhexia greets me in bright patches on meadow banks. August 27, 1856

August 28. The rhexia in Ebby Hubbard's field is considerably past prime, and it is its reddish chalices which show most at a distance now. I should have looked ten days ago. Still it is handsome with its large yellow anthers against clear purple petals. It grows there in large patches with hardhack. August 28, 1859

September 14.  The chalices of the Rhexia Virginica, deer-grass or meadow beauty, are literally little reddish chalices now, though many still have petals, little cream pitchers. September 14, 1851

September 28. Acalypha is killed by frost, and rhexia.  September 28, 1858 

October 2.  The scarlet leaves and stem of the rhexia, some time out of flower, makes almost as bright a patch in the meadow now as the flowers did, with its bristly leaves. Its seed-vessels are perfect little cream-pitchers of graceful form. October 2, 1856 

December 14. We have now the scenery of winter, though the snow is but an inch or two deep. The dried chalices of the Rhexia Virginica stand above the snow, and the cups of the blue-curls and the long sharp red capsules of the small ( ? ) hypericum, etc., etc., johnswort; and a new era commences with the dried herbs. December 14, 1852

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 © 2009-2025

Friday, July 18, 2025

A Book of the Seasons: Locust Days, Dogdayish Days

 



I first heard the locust sing
so dry and piercing
by the side of the pine woods
in the heat of the day.
Henry Thoreau,  July 18, 1851

I do not like the name “dog-days.”
Can we not have a new name for this season?
It is the season of mould and mildew,
and foggy, muggy, often rainy weather.
August 15, 1858

June 14. Heard the first locust from amid the shrubs by the roadside. He comes with heat. June 14, 1853

June 14.   The dog-day cicada (canicularis), or harvest-fly. [Harris] says it begins to be heard invariably at the beginning of dog-days; he heard it for many years in succession with few exceptions on the 25th of July. June 14, 1854 

June 15. The drouth begins. The dry z-ing of the locust is heard . . . First locust. June 15, 1852

June 23Sultry  dogdayish weather, with moist mists or low clouds hanging about, the first of this kind we have had . . . a fresh, cool moisture and a suffocating heat are strangely mingled. June 23, 1853

June 23. This is a decidedly dogdayish day, foretold by the red moon of last evening. The sunlight, even this fore-noon, was peculiarly yellow, passing through misty clouds, and this afternoon the atmosphere is decidedly blue. I see it in the street within thirty rods, and perceive a distinct musty odor. First bluish, musty dog-day, and sultry. June 23, 1860

June 24. The dogdayish weather continues. June 24, 1860

June 26. Still hazy and dogdayish. June 26, 1860

June 29. Dogdayish and showery, with thunder. At 6 P. M. 91°, the hottest yet . . . [O]ur most violent thunder-shower followed the hottest hour of the month.  June 29, 1860

July 16. After the late rains and last night's fog, it is somewhat dog-dayish, and there is a damp, earthy, mildewy scent to the ground in wood-paths. July 16, 1854

July 17. Last night and this morning another thick dogdayish fog. I find my chamber full this morning. July 17, 1854

July 17. A very warm afternoon. Thermometer at 97° at the Hosmer Desert. I hear the early locust. July 17, 1856

July 18. I first heard the locust sing, so dry and piercing, by the side of the pine woods in the heat of the day. July 18, 1851

July 18. A hot midsummer day with a sultry mistiness in the air and shadows on land and water beginning to have a peculiar distinctness and solidity. The river, smooth and still, with a deepened shade of the elms on it, like midnight suddenly revealed, its bed-curtains shoved aside, has a sultry languid look. The atmosphere now imparts a bluish or glaucous tinge to the distant trees. A certain debauched look. This a crisis in the season. After this the foliage of some trees is almost black at a distance. July 18, 1854

July 19To-day I met with the first orange flower of autumn . . . [T]his is the fruit of a dog-day sun. The year has but just produced it. July 19, 1851

July 19.  The more smothering, furnace-like heats are beginning, and the locust days. July 19, 1854

July 22. First locust heard.  July 22, 1860

July 26. Dog-days, - sultry, sticky weather, - now when the corn is topped out. Clouds without rain. Rains when it will. Old spring and summer signs fail . . . I mark again, about this time when the first asters open, the sound of crickets or locusts that makes you fruitfully meditative, helps condense your thoughts, like the mel dews in the afternoon. This the afternoon of the year.  July 26, 1853

July 26. I hear borne on the wind from far, mingling with the sound of the wind, the z-ing locust, scarcely like a distinct sound. July 26, 1854 

July 26. The peculiarity of the stream is in a certain languid or stagnant smoothness of the water, and of the bordering woods in a dog-day density of shade reflected darkly in the water . . . Almost constantly I hear borne on the wind from far, mingling with the sound of the wind, the z-ing locust, scarcely like a distinct sound. July 26, 1854

July 26. Dogdayish.  July 26, 1859

July 27. The drought ceases with the dog-days. July 27, 1853

July 27. Now observe the darker shades, and especially the apple trees, square and round, in the northwest landscape. Dogdayish.  July 27, 1859

July 30. The atmosphere thick, mildewy, cloudy. It is difficult to dry anything. The sun is obscured, yet we expect no rain. July 30, 1856
July 31. Our dog-days seem to be turned to a rainy season. July 31, 1855 
July 31. For a morning or two I have noticed dense crowds of little tender whitish parasol toadstools . . .first fruit of this dog-day weather. . . .This dog-day afternoon [a]s I make my way amid rank weeds still wet with the dew, the air filled with a decaying musty scent and the z-ing of small locusts, I hear the distant sound of a flail, and thoughts of autumn occupy my mind, and the memory of past years. July 31, 1856

July 31. I t is emphatically one of the dog-days. A dense fog, not clearing off till we are far on our way, and the clouds (which did not let in any sun all day) were the dog-day fog and mist, which threatened no rain. A muggy but comfortable day. July 31, 1859

July 31. Decidedly dog-days, and a strong musty scent, not to be wondered at after the copious rains and the heat of yesterday. July 31, 1860

August 1. Since July 30th, inclusive, we have had perfect dog-days without interruption. The earth has suddenly invested with a thick musty mist. The sky has become a mere fungus. A thick blue musty veil of mist is drawn before the sun. The sun has not been visible, except for a moment or two once or twice a day, all this time, nor the stars by night. Moisture reigns. August 1, 1856

August 2. That fine z-ing of locusts in the grass which I have heard for three or four days is, methinks, an August sound and is very inspiriting. August 2, 1859

Midsummer standstill.
That fine z-ing of locusts
is an August sound.
 August 2, 1859

August 13. The last was a melting night, and a carnival for mosquitoes. Could I not write meditations under a bridge at midsummer? The last three or four days less dogdayish. We paused under each bridge yesterday, - we who had been sweltering on the quiet waves , — for the sake of a little shade and coolness, holding on by the piers with our hands  August 13, 1853

August 13. Now the mountains are concealed by the dog-day haze. August 13, 1854 

August 13. This month thus far has been quite rainy. It has rained more or less at least half the days. You have had to consider each afternoon whether you must not take an umbrella. It has about half the time either been dogdayish or mizzling or decided rain. August 13, 1858

August 14. This misty and musty dog-day weather has lasted now nearly a month.  Locust days, — sultry and sweltering. I hear them even till sunset. The usually invisible but far-heard locust.   August 14, 1853

August 15.That clear ring like an alder locust (is it a cricket ?) for some time past is a sound which belongs to the season.August 15, 1852

August 16. These are locust days. I hear them on the elms in the street, but cannot tell where they are. August 16, 1852

August 18. The locust is heard.  Fruits are ripening. Ripe apples here and there scent the air. August 18, 1852

August 19. The dog-day mists are gone; the washed earth shines; the cooler air braces man. No summer day is so beautiful as the fairest spring and fall days. August 19, 1853

August 19. The dog-day weather is suddenly gone and here is a cool, clear, and elastic air. You may say it is the first day of autumn. August 19, 1858

August 20. There is so thick a bluish haze these dog-days that single trees half a mile off, seen against it as a light colored background, stand out distinctly a dark mass, — almost black, — as seen against the more distinct blue woods.  August 20, 1854

August 21. Saw one of those light-green locusts about three quarters of an inch long on a currant leaf in the garden. It kept up a steady shrilling (unlike the interrupted creak of the cricket). August 21, 1853

August 24. [W]e have no rain, and I see the blue haze between me and the shore six rods off. . . . Looking across the pond, the haze at the water's edge under the opposite woods looks like a low fog. To-night, as for at least four or five nights past, and to some extent, I think, a great many times within a month, the sun goes down shorn of his beams, half an hour before sunset, round and red, high above the horizon. There are no variegated sunsets in this dog-day weather. August 24, 1854

August 24. This and yesterday very foggy, dogdayish days. Yesterday the fog lasted till nine or ten, and to-day, in the afternoon, it amounts to a considerable drizzling rain.  August 24, 1860

August 26. The shrilling of the alder locust is the solder that welds these autumn days together. Methinks the burden of their song is the countless harvests of the year, - berries, grain, and other fruits. August 26, 1860
All bushes resound.
I wade up to my ears in the
alder locust song.

September 1.  The character of the past month, as I remember, has been, at first  very thick and sultry, dogdayish, the height of summer, and throughout very rain, followed by crops of toadstools, and latterly, after the dog-days and most copious of the rains, autumnal. September 1, 1853

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 ©  2009-2025

Monday, July 7, 2025

A Book of the Seasons: Savory-leaved aster (Aster Linariifolius/Diplopappus)


South of the lighthouse
the savory-leaved aster
on a steep hillside.
That common rigid
narrow-leaved faint-purplish
aster in dry woods.

July 7.  Just south of the lighthouse near the bank on a steep hillside, the savory-leaved aster (Diplopappus linariifolius) and mouse-ear (Gnaphalium plantaginifolium) form a dense sward, being short and thick; the aster not yet out. July 7, 1855

July 26. Diplopappus linariifolius. Aster dumosus. July 26, 1854

July 28Aster linariifolius.  July 28, 1853

July 29. That common rigid narrow-leaved faint-purplish aster in dry woods by shrub oak path, Aster linariifolius of Bigelow, but it is not savory leaved. I do not find it in Gray. July 29, 1852

August 3. Savory-leaved aster.  August 3, 1858 

August 4. The yellow Bethlehem-star still, and the yellow gerardia, and a bluish "savory-leaved aster."  August 4, 1851 

August 16. Diplopappus linariifolius, apparently several days. August 16, 1856 

August 22The savory-leaved aster (Diplopappus linariifolius) out; how long?  August 22, 1859

August 30. As I went along from the Minott house to the Bidens Brook, I was quite bewildered by the beauty and variety of the asters, now in their prime there – A. lævis (large and handsome with various leaves), patens, linariifolius, etc. Why so many asters and goldenrods now? The sun has shone on the earth, and the goldenrod is his fruit. The stars, too, have shone on it, and the asters are their fruit. August 30, 1853

September 1. D. linariifolius, hardly noticed. September 1, 1856

September 2. Diplopappus linariifolius, quite common . . . D. linariifolius, pale bluish-purple (Some, outdoors, have a lilac or violet tint.) . . . The D. linariifolius is interesting, with its commonly single flower, with very broad rays turned backward, or handsomer still when it has fifteen or twenty heads crowded together. September 2, 1853

September 7. At Brattleboro, Vt . . .The Solidago Canadensis, and the smooth three-ribbed one, and nemoralis, etc., the helianthus (apparently decapetalus), and Aster or Diplopappus linariifolius, Vitis cordifolius (?) (now beginning to be ripe) are quite common along the bank. September 7, 1856

September 10. Diplopappus linariifolius and Aster undulatus apparently now in prime. September 10, 1854

September 18.  – By boat to Conantum, barberrying. Diplopappus linariifolius in prime. September 18, 1856

September 24. D. linariifolius, in prime, abundant.  September 24, 1856

September 29. Diplopappus linariifolius, Aster undulatus, and a few small ones September 29,1853 

September 30. We then took the path to Clematis Brook on the north of Mt. Misery, where we found a few of the Diplopappus linariifolius (savory-leaved aster) and one or two small white (bushy ?) asters, also A. undulatus September 30, 1852

October 8. D. linariifolius, apparently nearly done  October 8, 1856

October 10.  Pulling up some Diplopappus linariifolius, now done, I find many bright-purple shoots, a half to three quarters of an inch long, freshly put forth underground and ready to turn upward and form new plants in the spring. October 10, 1858 

October 12. With man all is uncertainty. He does not confidently look forward to another spring. But examine the root of the  savory-leaved aster, and you will find the new shoots, fair purple shoots, which are to curve upward and bear the next year’s flowers, already grown half an inch or more in earth. Nature is confident. October 12, 1858

October 16.  Many Diplopappus linariifolius are gone to seed, and yellowish globes. Such are the stages in the year's decline. The flowers are at the mercy of the frosts.   October 16, 1859

October 20. Many plants which in the summer show a few red or scarlet leaves at length are all yellow only . . . Diplopappus linariifolius in shade yellow, in sun purple last of October  October 20, 1858

October 22.  I see the small narrow leaves of the Aster dumosus and also the yet finer ones of the Diplopappus linariifolius in wood-paths, turned a clear light-yellow.  October 22, 1858

October 23. One Diplopappus linariifolius in bloom, its leaves all yellow or red. This and A. undulatus the asters seen to-day.  October 23, 1853

October 25. Aster longifolius in low ground (a few). This and the Diplopappus linariifolius, and, above all,  A. undulatus, the only flowers of the kind seen this week. (Afterwards A. puniceus, Tradescanti, and one lævis!)  October 25, 1853

November 7The Diplopappus linariifolius, which was yellow in the shade, in open and sunny places is purple.  November 7, 1858

December 26.  After snow, rain, and hail yesterday and last night, we have this morning quite a glaze, there being at last an inch or two of crusted snow on the ground, the most we have had . . .Weeds in the fields and the wood-paths are the most interesting. Here are asters, savory-leaved, whose flat imbricated calyxes, three quarters of an inch over, are surmounted and inclosed in a perfectly transparent icebutton, like a glass knob, through which you see the reflections of the brown calyx. December 26, 1855 

Aster linariifolius and  Diplopappus linariifolius — Savory-leaved aster, Flax-leaved stiff-aster , Stiff-leafed Aster, Sandpaper Aster or Sandpaper Starwort (now classified as  Lonactis linariifolia

See also

 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 ©  2009-2025


Popular Posts Last 30 Days.

The week ahead in Henry’s journal

The week ahead in Henry’s journal
A journal, a book that shall contain a record of all your joy.
"A stone fruit. Each one yields me a thought." ~ H. D. Thoreau, March 28, 1859


I sit on this rock
wrestling with the melody
that possesses me.