People do not remember so great a flood.

April 23.

The water has risen one and a half inches at six this morning since last night. It is now, then, eight and a half inches above the iron truss, i. e. the horizontal part of it. There is absolutely no passing, in carriages or otherwise, over Hubbard's and the Red Bridge roads, and over none of the bridges for foot- travellers. Throughout this part of the country most people do not remember so great a flood, but, judging from some accounts, it was probably as high here thirty-five years ago. 

The willow catkins have made but little progress for a week. They have suffered from the cold rain and wind, and are partly blasted. 

It is a pleasant sight, among the pleasantest, at this season, to see the at first reddish anthers of the sterile catkins of our earliest willow bursting forth on their upper sides like rays of sunshine from amidst the downy fog, turning a more and more lively yellow as the pollen appears, – like a flash of sulphur. It is like the sun bursting out of a downy cloud or mists.

I hear this morning, in the pine woods above the railroad bridge, for the first time, that delicious cool-sounding wetter-wetter-wetter-wetter-wet’ from that small bird (pine warbler ?) in the tops of the pines. I associate it with the cool, moist, evergreen spring woods. 

The wood pewee [?} on an elm sings now peer-r-weet peer-r-weet, peer-wee’. It is not the simple peer-r-wet peer-r-wee' that I heard at first. Will it not change next to that more tender strain? 

Vegetation starts when the earth's axis is sufficiently inclined; i. e. it follows the sun. Insects and all the smaller animals (as well as many larger) follow vegetation. The fishes, the small fry, start probably for this reason; worms come out of the trees; buffaloes finally seek new pastures; water-bugs appear on the water, etc., etc. Next, the large fish and fish hawks, etc., follow the small fry; flycatchers follow the insects and worms. (The granivorous birds, who can depend on the supplies of dry seeds of last year, are to some extent independent of the seasons, and can remain through the winter or come early in the spring, and they furnish food for a few birds of prey at that season.) Indians follow the buffaloes; trout, suckers, etc., follow the water-bugs, etc.; reptiles follow vegetation, insects, and worms; birds of prey, the fly- catchers, etc. Man follows all, and all follow the sun.

The greater or less abundance of food determines migrations. If the buds are deceived and suffer from frost, then are the birds. The great necessary of life for the brute creation is food; next, perhaps, shelter, i.e. a suitable climate; thirdly, perhaps, security from foes.

The storm may be said to have fairly ended last night. I observed yesterday that it was drier in most fields, pastures, and even meadows that were not reached by the flood, immediately after this remarkable fall of water than at the beginning. The condition of the fields has been steadily improving for walkers. I think one reason is that there was some frost in the ground which the rain melted, so that the ground soaked up the water. But no doubt it goes to prove dryness of our sandy soil and absence of springs. 

At 6 P. M. the water has fallen an inch and a half.

Heard the pigeon woodpecker today, that long-continued unmusical note, somewhat like a robin's, heard afar, yet pleasant to hear because associated with a more advanced stage of the season. 

Saw the Fringilla hyemalis to-day, lingering still.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 23, 1852

The water has risen one and a half inches at six this morning since last night.  See April 22, 1852 ("This makes five stormy days. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday . . . The water at 6 P. M. is one and a half inches higher than in the morning , i.e. seven inches above the iron truss.") See also April 22, 1856 ("These rain-storms -- this is the third day of one -- characterize the season."); April 22, 1857 ("The river higher than before and rising."); April 22, 1859 ("This afternoon there is an east wind, and a rain-storm accordingly beginning, the eighth of the kind with this wind."); April 22, 1861 ("It was high water again about a week ago.")

People do not remember so great a flood, but, judging from some accounts, it was probably as high here thirty-five years ago. See August 25, 1856 ("I was suggesting yesterday, as I have often before, that the town should provide a stone monument to be placed in the river . . . to record each high or low stage of the water. Now, when we have a remarkable freshet, we cannot tell surely whether it is higher than the one thirty or sixty years ago or not. ")

The at first reddish anthers of the sterile catkins of our earliest willow bursting forth on their upper sides like rays of sunshine See April 12, 1852 ("Saw the first blossoms (bright-yellow stamens or pistils) on the willow catkins to-day . . . The yellow blossom appears first on one side of the ament and is the most of bright and sunny color the spring has shown, the most decidedly flower-like that I have seen. . . It is fit that this almost earliest spring flower should be yellow, the color of the sun."); April 16, 1852 ("That large early swamp (?) willow catkin (the sterile blossom) opens on one side like a tinge of golden sunlight, the yellow anthers bursting through the down that invests the scales.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring: Alder and Willow Catkins Expanding 

In the pine woods above the railroad bridge, for the first time, that delicious cool-sounding wetter-wetter-wetter-wetter-wet’ from that small bird. See April 11, 1856 ("And hear in the old place, the pitch pine grove on the bank by the river, the pleasant ringing note of the pine warbler. Its a-che, vitter vitter, vitter vitter, vitter vitter, vitter vitter, vet rings through the open pine grove very rapidly. I also heard it at the old place by the railroad, as I came along. It is remarkable that I have so often heard it first in these two localities"); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Pine Warbler

Will it not change next to that more tender strain?  See note to April 14, 1852 ("I do not hear those peculiar tender die-away notes from the pewee yet. Is it another pewee, or a later note?")

All follow the sun. See September 13, 1852 ("How earnestly and rapidly each creature, each flower, is fulfilling its part while its day lasts! . . . As the planet in its orbit and around its axis, so do the seasons . . . The plant waits a whole year, and then blossoms the instant it is ready and the earth is ready for it, without the conception of delay.”);  March 18, 1856 (“Two little water-bugs . . . here they are, in the first open and smooth water, governed by the altitude of the sun.”); April 24, 1854 ("The summer approaches by almost insensibly increasing lieferungs of heat, each awakening some new bird or quadruped or reptile. Each creature awaits with confidence its proper degree of heat"); April 26, 1854 ("The buds start, then the insects, then the birds."); September 18, 1852 ("In the forenoons I move into a chamber on the east side of the house, and so follow the sun round.”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring: the new warmth of the sun and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, As the Seasons Revolve

Heard the pigeon woodpecker today. See  April 23, 1855 ("Saw two pigeon woodpeckers approach and, I think, put their bills together and utter that o-week, o-week.") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The Pigeon Woodpecker (flicker)

April 23. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, April 23

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, People do not remember so great a flood

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

A Book of the Seasons, Signs of the Spring: the note of the dark-eyed junco going northward

No mortal is alert enough 

to be present at the first dawn of the spring. 

Henry Thoreau, March 17, 1857

I see a Fringilla hyemalis 

the first bird, perchance, –unless one hawk– 

which is an evidence of spring.

March 14, 1858

They sing with us in 

the pleasantest days before

 they go northward.

March 23, 1852

February 23.   I have seen signs of the spring.  February 23, 1857

March 3. Going to Acton this morning, I saw some sparrows on the wall, which I think must have been the F. hyemalis (?). March 3, 1859

March 6.  Going by Messer's, I hear the well-known note and see a flock of F. hyemalis flitting in a lively manner about trees, weeds, walls, and ground, by the roadside, showing their two white tail-feathers. They are more fearless than the song sparrow. These attract notice by their numbers and incessant twittering in a social manner.  March 6, 1860

March 8. Saw the F. hyemalis March 4th. March 8, 1861

March 14.  I see a Fringilla hyemalis, the first bird, perchance, – unless one hawk, – which is an evidence of spring, though they lingered with us the past unusual winter, at least till the 19th of January. They are now getting back earlier than our permanent summer residents. It flits past with a rattling or grating chip, showing its two white tail-feathers. March 14, 1858 

March 15. Pleasant morning, unexpectedly. Hear on the alders by the river the lill lill lill lill of the first F. hyemalis, mingled with song sparrows and tree sparrows. March 15, 1854

March 18.  I hear the chill-lill or tchit-a-tchit of the slate-colored sparrow, and see it. March 18, 1857

March 19.  Hear the pleasant chill-lill of the F. hyemalis, the first time have heard this note. This, too, suggests pleasant associations. March 19, 1858

March 20.  And now, within a day or two, I have noticed the chubby slate-colored snowbird (Fringilla hyemalis?), and I drive the flocks before me on the railroad causeway as I walk. It has two white feathers in its tail. It is cold as winter to-day, the ground still covered with snow, and the stars twinkle as in winter night. March 20, 1852

March 20.  At my landing I hear the F. hyemalis, in company with a few tree sparrows. They take refuge from the cold wind, half a dozen in all, behind an arbor-vitae hedge, and there plume themselves with puffed-up feathers. March 20, 1855

March 20. The note of the F. hyemalis, or chill-lill, is a jingle, with also a shorter and drier crackling or shuffling chip as it flits by. March 20, 1858 

March 20. I see under the east side of the house amid the evergreens, where they were sheltered from the cold northwest wind, quite a parcel of sparrows, chiefly F. hyemalis, two or three tree sparrows, and one song sparrow, quietly feeding together. I watch them through a window within six or eight feet. They evidently love to be sheltered from the wind, and at least are not averse to each other's society . . . The F. hyemalis is the largest of the three. They   have remarkably distinct light-colored bills, and when they stretch, show very distinct clear-white lateral tail-feathers. This stretching seems to be contagious among them, like yawning with us. They have considerable brown on the quill-feathers. March 20, 1859

March 21.  Why are the early birds found most along the water? These song sparrows are now first heard commonly. The blackbirds , too , create some melody. And the bluebirds, how sweet their warble in the soft air, heard over the water! The robin is heard further off, and seen flying rapidly, hurriedly through the orchard. And now the elms suddenly ring with the chill - lill - lill and canary-like notes of the Fringilla hyemalis, which fill the air more than those of any bird yet , — a little strange they sound be cause they do not tarry to breed with us , — a ringing sound. March 21, 1853

March 22.  I hear the lively jingle of the hyemalis and the sweet notes of the tree sparrow. . .. Both species in considerable numbers, singing together as they flit along, make a very lively concert. They sing as loud and full as ever now. March 22, 1859

March 23.  I heard, this forenoon, a pleasant jingling note from the slate-colored snowbird on the oaks in the sun on Minott's hillside. Apparently they sing with us in the pleasantest days before they go northward.  March 23, 1852

March 23.  The birds which are merely migrating or tarrying here for a season are especially gregarious now. March 23, 1853 

March 23.  The birds in yard active now, — hyemalis, tree sparrow, and song sparrow. The hyemalis jingle easily distinguished. March 23, 1854

March 24. Great flocks of hyemalis drifting about with their jingling note.March 24, 1854

March 24. The F. hyemalis has been seen two or three days. March 24, 1856 

See also Signs of the Spring:

• A Sunny Nook in Spring
• A Change in the Air
• Alder and Willow Catkins Expanding
• Braided Ripples of Melting Snow Shine in the Ruts
• Bright Blue Water
• Buzzing Flies
• Ducks Afar, Sailing on the Meadow
• First silvery sheen from needles of the white pine waving in the wind
• Frogs, and Turtles Stirring
• Geese Overhead
• Greening Grasses and Sedges
• I begin to think that my wood will last
• Insects and Worms Come Forth and are Active
• Listening for the Bluebird
• March is famous for its Winds
• Mosses Bright Green
• My Greatcoat on my Arm
• Perla-like Insects Appear
• Red Maple Sap Flows
• Ripples made by Fishes
• Skunks Active
• The Anxious Peep of the Early Robin
• The crowing of cocks, the cawing of crows
• The Days have grown Sensibly Longer
• The Eaves Begin to Run
• The Gobbling of Turkeys
• The Grackle Arrives
• The Hawks of March
• The New Warmth of the Sun
• The Note of the Dark-eyed Junco Going Northward
• The Red-Wing Arrives
• The Skunk Cabbage Blooms
• The Softened Air of these Warm February Days
• The Song Sparrow Sings
• The Spring Note of the Chickadee
• The Spring Note of the Nuthatch
• The Striped Squirrel Comes Out
• The Water Bug (Gyrinus)
• The Woodchuck Ventures Out
• Walking without Gloves
• Woodpeckers Tapping

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,

Signs of the Spring, the note of the dark-eyed junco going northward

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

The reflection enchants us, just as an echo does. The rhyme makes even what was odd.

November 23.

6 A. M. – To Swamp Bridge Brook mouth.

The cocks are the only birds I hear, but they are a host. They crow as freshly and bravely as ever, while poets go down the stream, degenerate into science and prose.

I have not seen a flock of small birds, either tree sparrows or F. hyemalis or white-in-tails, etc., for about a fortnight. There is now no sound of early birds on the leafless trees and bushes -- willows and alders -- along this watercourse. The few that are left probably roost in the evergreen woods.

Yet I hear, or seem to hear, the faintest possible lisp or creak from some sparrow, as if from a crack in the mist-clad earth, or some ox-yoke or distant wain. I suspect that the song sparrow lingers as late, here and there alone, as any migrating bird.

By 8 o'clock the misty clouds disperse, and it turns out a pleasant, calm, and springlike morning.

The water, going down, but still spread far over the meadows, is seen from the window perfectly smooth and full of reflections.  

What lifts and lightens and makes heaven of the earth is the fact that you see the reflections of the humblest weeds against the sky, but you cannot put your head low enough to see the substance so.  The reflection enchants us, just as an echo does.

If I would preserve my relation to nature, I must make my life more moral, more pure and innocent. The problem is as precise and simple as a mathematical one. I must not live loosely, but more and more continently.

What an engineer this water is! It comes with its unerring level, and reveals all the inequalities of the meadow. The farmer may see now what route to take to get the driest and firmest ground for his hay - carts, how to cut his ditches, and where to drop more sand. It is an obvious piece of geometry in nature.

Every peculiar curve in the limbs of the trees is doubly conspicuous seen both above and beneath, yet the rhyme makes even what was odd, regular what was irregular.

For a week or more there has been no freezing day or night.

The springs and swamps are getting filled.

The Indian summer itself, said to be more remarkable in this country than elsewhere, no less than the reblossoming of certain flowers, the peep of the hylodes, and sometimes the faint warble of some birds, is the reminiscence, or rather the return, of spring, the year renewing its youth.

At 5 P. M. I saw, flying southwest high overhead, a flock of geese, and heard the faint honking of one or two. They were in the usual harrow form, twelve in the shorter line and twenty four in the longer, the latter abutting on the former at the fourth bird from the front. I judged hastily that the interval between the geese was about double their alar extent, and, as the last is, according to Wilson, five feet and two inches, the former may safely be called eight feet.  I hear they were fired at with a rifle from Bunker Hill the other day. This is the sixth flock I have seen or heard of since the morning of the 17th, i.e. within a week.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, November 23, 1853

I suspect that the song sparrow lingers as late, here and there alone, as any migrating bird. See  October 26, 1855 ("The song sparrow still sings on a button-bush."): October 27, 1853 ("These, methinks, are song sparrows flitting about, with the three spots on breast"): December 9, 1858 ("At New Bedford. See a song sparrow"): January 15, 1857 (" As I passed the south shed at the depot, observed what . . . must be a song sparrow, it having the usual marks on its breast and no bright-chestnut crown. The snow is nine or ten inches deep, and it appeared to have taken refuge in this shed, where was much bare ground exposed by removing the wood."): January 22, 1857 ("Minott tells me that Sam Barrett told him once when he went to mill that a song sparrow took up its quarters in his grist-mill and stayed there all winter"): January 28, 1857 ("Am again surprised to see a song sparrow sitting for hours on our wood-pile in the yard, in the midst of snow in the yard.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Song Sparrow (Fringilla melodia)

You see the reflections of the humblest weeds against the sky, but you cannot put your head low enough to see the substance so. The reflection enchants us, just as an echo does. See  September 2, 1852 ("We see things in the reflection which we do not see in the substance. In the reflected woods of Pine Hill there is a vista through which I see the sky, but I am indebted to the water for this advantage, for from this point the actual wood affords no such vista. "); November 30, 1853 (Though frequently we could not see the real bush in the twilight against the dark bank, in the water it appeared against the sky. We were thus often enabled to steer clear of the overhanging bushes");  December 8, 1853 (“I saw from the peak the entire reflection of large white pines very distinctly against a clear white sky, though the actual tree was completely lost in night against the dark distant hillside.”); December 9, 1856 ("I perceive that more or other things are seen in the reflection than in the substance."); October 14, 1857 ("The reflection is never a true copy or repetition of its substance, but a new composition, and this may be the source of its novelty and attractiveness, and of this nature, too, may be the charm of an echo."); November 2, 1857 ("The water tells me how it looks to it seen from below.”); November 27, 1857 ("I think that Ruskin is wrong about reflections . . .He says . . . 'Whatever you can see from the place in which you stand, of the solid objects so reversed under the water, you will see in the reflection’”).

Every peculiar curve in the limbs of the trees is doubly conspicuous seen both above and beneath, yet the rhyme makes even what was odd, regular what was irregular. See April 11, 1852 (". At this season the reflections of deciduous trees are more remarkable than when they are in leaf, because, the branches being seen, they make with their reflections a more wonderful rhyme.. . .a kind of geometrical figure.")

What an engineer this water is! It comes with its unerring level . . . an obvious piece of geometry in nature. See November 11, 1855 ("At the Hemlocks I see a narrow reddish line of hemlock leaves and, half an inch below, a white line of saw dust, eight inches above the present surface, on the upright side of a rock, both mathematically level.");. April 1, 1860 ("The river being so low, we see lines of sawdust perfectly level and parallel to one another on the side of the steep dark bank at the Hemlocks. . . .reminding you of a coarse chalk line made by snapping a string, not more than half an inch wide much of it, but more true than that would be.")

I saw, flying southwest high overhead, a flock of geese, and heard the faint honking of one or two. They were in the usual harrow form, . . . This is the sixth flock I have seen or heard of since the morning of the 17th, i.e . within a week. See November 18, 1854 ("Sixty geese go over the Great Fields, in one waving line, broken from time to time by their crowding on each other and vainly endeavoring to form into a harrow, honking all the while.”);. November 20, 1853 ("Methinks the geese are wont to go south just before a storm, and, in the spring, to go north just after one, say at the end of a long April storm");. November 22, 1853 ("Geese went over yesterday, and to-day also");. November 24, 1855 ("Geese went over on the 13th and 14th, on the 17th the first snow fell, and the 19th it began to be cold and blustering"); November 30, 1857 ("The air is full of geese. I saw five flocks within an hour, about 10 A. M., containing from thirty to fifty each, and afterward two more flocks, making in all from two hundred and fifty to three hundred at least") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Geese in Autumn

Weeds against the sky –

the reflection enchants us

just as an echo.

Nature will get her seeds along in due season.

March 8. 

I just heard peculiar faint sounds made by the air escaping from a stick which I had just put into my stove. It sounded to my ear exactly like the peeping of the hylodes in a distant pool, a cool and breezy spring evening, - as if it were designed to remind me of that season. 

Saw the F. hyemalis March 4th.

***

In short, Nature uses all sorts of conveyances, from the rudest drag to a balloon, but she will get her seeds along in due season.

Is it not possible that Loudon is right as it respects the primitive distribution of the birch? 

Are not the dense patches always such as have sprung up in open land (commonly old fields cleared by man), as is the case with the pitch pine? It disappears at length from a dense oak or pine wood.

Perhaps originally it formed dense woods only where a space had been cleared for it by a burning, as now at the eastward. Perhaps only the oaks and white pines could (originally) possess the soil here against all comers, maple succeeding because it does not mind a wet foot. 

Suppose one were to take such a boxful of birch seed as I have described into the meeting-house belfry in the fall, and let some of it drop in every wind, but always more in proportion as the wind was stronger, and yet so husband it that there should be some left for every gale even till far into spring; so that this seed might be blown toward every point of the compass and to various distances in each direction. Would not this represent a single birch tree on a hill? Of which trees (though only a part on hills) we have perhaps a million.

And yet some feel compelled to suppose that the birch trees which spring up after a burning are spontaneously generated -- for want of seed!

It is true [it] does not come up in great quantities at the distance I have spoken of, but, if only one comes up there this year, you may have a million seeds matured there a few years hence. It is true that the greater part of these seeds fall near the trees which bore them, and comparatively few germinate; yet, when the surface is in a favorable condition, they may spring up in very unexpected places.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 8, 1861

Saw the F. hyemalis. See October 5, 1857 ( F. hyemalis . . . only transiently visit us in spring and fall."); February 16, 1854 ("I have not seen F . hyemalis since last fall"); March 6, 1860 ("I hear the well-known note and see a flock of F. hyemalis flitting in a lively manner about trees, weeds, walls, and ground, by the roadside, showing their two white tail-feathers. . . . These attract notice by their numbers and incessant twittering in a social manner. "); March 7, 1853 ("The only birds I see to-day are the lesser redpolls. I have not seen a fox-colored sparrow or a Fringilla hyemalis"); March 14, 1858 (" I see a Fringilla hyemalis, the first bird, perchance, — unless one hawk, – which is an evidence of spring,. . .They are now getting back earlier than our permanent summer residents. It flits past with a rattling or grating chip, showing its two white tail-feathers") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Dark-eyed Junco

Nature will get her seeds along in due season. See March 2, 1856 ("The birches appear not to have lost a quarter of their seeds yet. As I went home up the river, I saw some of the seeds forty rods off, and perhaps, in a more favorable direction, I might have found them much further. It suggested how unwearied Nature is, spreading her seeds. Even the spring does not find her unprovided with birch, aye, and alder and pine seed. A great proportion of the seed that was carried to a distance lodged in the hollow over the river, and when the river breaks up will be carried far away, to distant shores and meadows.."); October 16, 1860 (Looking from a hilltop, I observe that pines, white birches, red maples, alders, etc., often grow in more or less regular rounded or oval or conical patches, while oaks, chestnuts, hickories, etc., simply form woods of greater or less extent, whether by themselves or mixed, and do not naturally spring up in an oval form. This is a consequence of the different manner in which trees which have winged seeds and those which have not are planted")  See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, , Birches in Season

Fair and springlike, Pleasant in sun.

March 6. 

3 P. M. 44º. Fair and springlike, i.e. rather still for March, with some raw wind. Pleasant in sun. 

Going by Messer's, I hear the well-known note and see a flock of F. hyemalis flitting in a lively manner about trees, weeds, walls, and ground, by the roadside, showing their two white tail-feathers. They are more fearless than the song sparrow. These attract notice by their numbers and incessant twittering in a social manner. 

The linarias have been the most numerous birds the past winter. 

Mr. Stacy tells me that the flies buzzed about him as he was splitting wood in his yard to-day. 

I can scarcely see a heel of a snow-drift from my window. 

Jonas Melvin says he saw hundreds of “speckled” turtles out on the banks to-day in a voyage to Billerica for musquash. Also saw gulls. 

Sheldrakes and black ducks are the only ones he has seen this year.

They are fishing on Flint’s Pond to-day, but find it hard to get on and off. 

C. hears the nuthatch. 

Jonas Melvin says that he shot a sheldrake in the river late last December.

A still and mild moonlight night and people walking about the streets.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 6, 1860


I hear the well-known note and see a flock of F. hyemalis flitting in a lively manner showing their two white tail-feathers  See February 16, 1854 ("I have not seen F . hyemalis since last fall"); March 7, 1853 ("The only birds I see to-day are the lesser redpolls. I have not seen a fox-colored sparrow or a Fringilla hyemalis"); March 14, 1858 (" I see a Fringilla hyemalis, the first bird, perchance, — unless one hawk, – which is an evidence of spring,. . .They are now getting back earlier than our permanent summer residents. It flits past with a rattling or grating chip, showing its two white tail-feathers"). See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring: the note of the dark-eyed junco going northward

The linarias have been the most numerous birds the past winter.. See January 8, 1860 (" When I heard their note, I looked to find them on a birch, and lo, it was a black birch! [Were they not linarias? Vide Jan. 24, 27, 29.] "); February 12, 1860 ("On the east side of the pond, under the steep bank, I see a single lesser redpoll picking the seeds out of the alder catkins, and uttering a faint mewing note from time to time on account of me, only ten feet off. It has a crimson or purple front and breast."); February 20, 1860 ("on the only piece of bare ground I see hereabouts, a large flock of lesser redpolls feeding."); February 28, 1860 ("I suppose they are linarias which I still see flying about") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Lesser Redpoll

The flies buzzed about.  See March 17, 1858 ("Even the shade is agreeable to-day. You hear the buzzing of a fly from time to time, and see the black speck zigzag by.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring: Buzzing Flies

Sheldrakes and black ducks are the only ones he has seen this year. See February 27, 1860 ("This is the first bird of the spring that I have seen or heard of."); March 5, 1857 ("I scare up six male sheldrakes, with their black heads, in the Assabet,—the first ducks I have seen”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Sheldrake (Merganser, Goosander) and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring: Ducks Afar, Sailing on the Meadow

C. hears the nuthatch. See March 5, 1859 ("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 . . .  It is the spring note of the nuthatch.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring: The Spring Note of the Nuthatch

Hear the te-e-e of a white-throat sparrow..

May 3. 

Surveying the Bedford road. 

Hear the te-e-e of a white-throat sparrow. 

I hear of phoebes', robins', and bluebirds' nests and eggs. 

I have not heard any snipes boom for about a week, nor seen a tree sparrow certainly since April 30 (? ?), nor F. hyemalis for several days.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 3, 1859

Surveying the Bedford road. See July 1, 1858 (“I am surveying the Bedford road these days, and have no time for my Journal.”)

Hear the te-e-e of a white-throat sparrow. See May 4, 1855 (“Myrtle-birds numerous, and sing their tea lee, tea lee in morning. White-throated sparrows here”).  See also  A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the White-throated Sparrow

I hear of phoebes', robins', and bluebirds' nests and eggs.  See May 3, 1858 (“Hear of robins' nests with four eggs. ”)

I have not heard any snipes boom for about a week. See April 30, 1858 (“I hear no snipe.”); compare May 4, 1855 (“Snipes feeding in numbers on the 29th April.”). See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Snipe

Nor nor seen a tree sparrow certainly since April 30 nor F. hyemalis for several days. See May 4, 1855 (“Have not noticed robins in flocks for two or three days. See no gulls, nor F. hyemalis nor tree sparrows now. ”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Dark-eyed Junco;  A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Tree Sparrow

A large hickory apparently just blown down, the one I saw the screech owl go into two or three years ago.

April 23. 

Rain, rain. 

Hear seringo, by chance the first, and while it rains. 

The tree sparrows abundant and singing in the yard, but I have not noticed a hyemalis of late. 

The field sparrow sings in our yard in the rain. 

The sidewalk is all strewn with fishworms this forenoon, up and down the street, and many will evidently die in the cold rain. Apparently the rain tempted them to remain on the surface, and then the cold and wet benumbs and drowns them. Some of them are slowly crawling across the paths. What an abundant supply of food for the birds lately arrived!

From Gilbert White, and the notes by others to his last edition, I should infer that these were worms which, having been tempted out in unusual numbers by the rain, lost their way back to their holes. They say that they never take their tails out of their holes. 

In about five quarts of scarlet oak acorns gathered the other day there [were] only some three gills that had life in them, or say one in seven. I do not know how many the squirrels had got, but as it was quite near a house, a tree by itself, I think not a great many. The rest were apparently destroyed by worms; so that I should say the worms destroyed before spring three fourths of them. As the grub is already in the acorn, it may be just as well (except for the squirrels) to sow them now as in the fall, whatever you can get. 

Clears up at 3 p. m., and a very strong south wind blows. 

I go on the water. I frequently observe that the waves do not always run high in proportion to the strength of the wind. The wind seems sometimes to flat them down, perhaps when it blows very hard in gusts, which interrupt a long roll. 

What is that small willow on the north side of S. Brown's stump, which apparently began to open two days ago? 

A large hickory by the wall on the north side (or northeast side) of the hill apparently just blown down, the one I saw the screech owl go into two or three years ago. I think it may have fallen in this very high wind which arose within an hour; at any rate it has fallen since the grass began to spring, for the owl-hole contains a squirrel's nest made of half-green grass some what withered, which could only have been found quite recently, and also the limbs have been driven so deep into the ground that I cannot pull them out, which shows that the ground was thawed when it fell; also the squirrel's nest, which is perfectly sheltered, now the tree is fallen, was quite wet through with rain, that of the morning, as I think. 

This nest, which I suppose was that of a red squirrel, was at the bottom of a large hole some eighteen inches deep and twenty-five feet from the ground, where a large limb had been broken off formerly. An opening on the side had been stopped with twigs as big as a pipe-stem and larger, some of them the hickory twigs quite green and freshly gnawed off with their buds, forming a rude basketwork which kept up and in the grass and rotten wood, four or five handfuls of which, mixed with the rotten wood of the inside, composed the nest. This was the half old and withered and half green grass gathered a few days since about the base of the tree.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 23, 1859

Hear seringo, by chance the first, and while it rains See April 22, 1856 ("The seringo also sits on a post, with a very distinct yellow line over the eye, and the rhythm of its strain is ker chick | ker che | ker-char—r-r-r-r | chick,")  See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Savannah Sparrow (Fringilla savanna)

But I have not noticed a hyemalis of late. Compare April 23, 1854 ("A rain is sure to bring the tree sparrow and hyemalis to the gardens"). See April 17, 1854 ("There are but few F. hyemalis about now; they appear to have gone north mostly on the advent of warmer weather."); April 17, 1855 (" I  do not remember an F. hyemalis for two days"); and  notes to March 14, 1858 and October 5, 1857 ( F. hyemalis . . . only transiently visit us in spring and fall.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Dark-eyed Junco

The field sparrow sings in our yard in the rain. See April 23, 1854 (" A rain is sure to bring the tree sparrow and hyemalis to the gardens."). See also April 27, 1852 ("Heard the field or rush sparrow this morning (Fringilla juncorum), George Minott's "huckleberry-bird." It sits on a birch and sings at short intervals,. . .; sounding like phe, phe, phe, pher-pher-tw-tw-tw-t-t-t-t, — the first three slow and loud, the next two syllables quicker, and the last part quicker and quicker, becoming a clear, sonorous trill or rattle, like a spoon in a saucer"). and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Field Sparrow; A Book of the Seasons by Henry Thoreau, Birds in the Rain

.

The sidewalk is all strewn with fishworms this forenoon. See May 4, 1857 (" I see in the footpath across the Common, where water flows or has flown, a great many worms, apparently drowned.")

A large hickory by the wall on the north side (or northeast side) of the hill , the one I saw the screech owl go into two or three years ago. See May 25, 1855 ("Scared a screech owl out of an apple tree on hill; flew swiftly off . . . then flew into a hole high in a hickory near by")

The nest of a red squirrel forming a rude basketwork. See April 1, 1858 ("I see a squirrel's nest twenty-three or twenty-four feet high in a large maple, and, climbing to it, —for it was so peculiar, having a basketwork of twigs about it.")  See also Henry Thoreau, A Book of the Seasons, The Red Squirrel.

A fish hawk sails down the river.

April 6. 

April 6,2012

Another remarkably windy day; cold northwest wind and a little snow spitting from time to time, yet so little that even the traveller might not perceive it. 

For nineteen days, from the 19th of March to the 6th of April, both inclusive, we have had remarkably windy weather. For ten days of the nineteen the wind has been remarkably strong and violent, so that each of those days the wind was the subject of general remark. The first one of these ten days was the warmest, the wind being southwest, but the others, especially of late, were very cold, the wind being northwest, and for the most part icy cold. There have also been five days that would be called windy and only four which were moderate. The last seven, including to-day, have all been windy, five of them remarkably so; wind from northwest.

The sparrows love to flit along any thick hedge, like that of Mrs. Gourgas's. Tree sparrows, F. hyemalis, and fox-colored sparrows in company. 

A fish hawk sails down the river, from time to time almost stationary one hundred feet above the water, notwithstanding the very strong wind. 

I see where moles have rooted in a meadow and cast up those little piles of the black earth.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 6, 1859

For nineteen days, from the 19th of March to the 6th of April, both inclusive, we have had remarkably windy weather. See March 21, 1859 ("From the evening of March 18th to this, the evening of the 21st, we have had uninterrupted strong wind, — till the evening of the 19th very strong south west wind, then and since northwest, — three days of strong wind.”);  April 4, 1852 (" I feel the northwest air cooled by the snow on my cheek.”); April 15, 1854 ("Snow and snowing; four inches deep.”); April 12, 1855 ("the mountains are again thickly clad with snow, and, the wind being northwest, this coldness is accounted for.”); April 15, 1860 ("Strong northwest wind and cold.. . .We are continually expecting warmer weather than we have”)

Tree sparrows, F. hyemalis, and fox-colored sparrows in company. See March 23, 1853 (“The birds which are merely migrating or tarrying here for a season are especially gregarious now, — the redpoll, Fringilla hyemalis, fox-colored sparrow, etc.”); April 8, 1855 ("Also song sparrows and tree sparrows and F. hyemalis are heard in the yard. The fox-colored sparrow is also there”); April 17, 1855 ("A sudden warm day, like yesterday and this, takes off some birds and adds others. It is a crisis in their career. The fox-colored sparrows seem to be gone, and I suspect that most of the tree sparrows and F. hyemalis, at least, went yesterday.”). See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Tree Sparrow;  A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Fox-colored Sparrow;  A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Dark-eyed Junco.

A fish hawk sails down the river. See April 7, 1859 ("The fish hawk which you see soaring and sailing so leisurely about over the land . . . may have a fish in his talons all the while and only be waiting till you are gone for an opportunity to eat it on his accustomed perch");  April 14, 1852 ("The streams break up ; the ice goes to the sea. Then sails the fish hawk overhead, looking for his prey.”); April 25, 1858 (“He sails along some eighty feet above the water’s edge, looking for fish, and alights again quite near. ”)  See also A Book of Seasons, by Henry Thoreau The Osprey (Fish Hawk)

The first drops of rain begin to be heard on the dry leaves around me.

March 22. 

P. M. — The wind changes to easterly and is more raw, i. e. cool and moist, and the air thickens as if it would rain. 

Returning from Poplar Hill through the west end of Sleepy Hollow, it is very still, the air thick, just ready to rain, and I hear there, on the apple trees and small oaks, the tree sparrows and hyemalis singing very pleasantly. 

I hear the lively jingle of the hyemalis and the sweet notes of the tree sparrow, canary-like, — svar svar, svit vit vit vit vit, the last part with increasing rapidity. Both species in considerable numbers, singing together as they flit along, make a very lively concert. They sing as loud and full as ever now. There has been no sweeter warble than this of the tree sparrow as yet. 

It is a peculiarly still hour now, when the first drops of rain begin to be heard on the dry leaves around me, and, looking up, I see very high in the air two large birds, which, at that height, with their narrow wings, flying southeast, looked, i. e. were shaped, like night-hawks. I think they were gulls. 

The great scarlet oak has now lost almost every leaf, while the white oak near it still retains them. 

C. says he saw fox-colored sparrows this afternoon.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 22, 1859

I hear the lively jingle of the hyemalis and the sweet notes of the tree sparrow,. . . There has been no sweeter warble than this of the tree sparrow as yet. See March 15, 1854 ("Hear on the alders by the river the lill lill lill lill of the first F. hyemalis, mingled with song sparrows and tree sparrows."); March 20, 1855 ("At my landing I hear the F. hyemalis, in company with a few tree sparrows."); March 20, 1858 ("The tree sparrow is perhaps the sweetest and most melodious warbler at present and for some days."); April 8, 1855 ("Also song sparrows and tree sparrows and F. hyemalis are heard in the yard. The fox-colored sparrow is also there. The tree sparrows have been very musical for several mornings, somewhat canary-like"); April 23, 1854 ("A rain is sure to bring the tree sparrow and hyemalis to the gardens"). See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Dark-eyed Junco; A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Tree Sparrow; A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring, the note of the dark-eyed junco going northward

The air thickens as if it would rain . . It is a peculiarly still hour now, when the first drops of rain begin to be heard on the dry leaves around me. See July 16, 1852 ("This is a still thoughtful day, the air full of vapors which shade the earth, preparing rain for the morrow.")

The great scarlet oak has now lost almost every leaf, while the white oak near it still retains them. See October 26, 1858 ("The largest scarlet oak that I remember hereabouts stands by the penthorum pool in the Sleepy Hollow cemetery, and is now in its prime."); December 11, 1858 ("The large scarlet oak in the cemetery has leaves on the lower limbs near the trunk just like the large white oaks now.");  January 19, 1859 {"Our largest scarlet oak (by the Hollow), some three feet diameter at three feet from ground, has more leaves than the large white oak close by.")

The first drops of rain 

begin to be heard on the 

dry leaves around me.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The first drops of rain 

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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