No bare ground since December 25th, minnows in Nut Meadow Brook.

March 18.

March 18, 2016

P. M. — Up river. 

It is still quite tight at Hubbard’s Bath Bend and at Clamshell, though I hesitate a little to cross at these places. There are dark spots in the soft, white ice, which will be soon worn through. 

What a solid winter we have had! No thaw of any consequence; no bare ground since December 25th; but an unmelting mass of snow and ice, hostile to all greenness. Have not seen a green radical leaf even, as usual, all being covered up. 

Nut Meadow Brook is open for a dozen rods from its mouth, and for a rod into the river. Higher up, it is still concealed by a snowy bridge two feet thick. 

I see the ripples made by some fishes, which were in the small opening at its mouth, making haste to hide themselves in the ice-covered river. This square rod and one or two others like it in the town are the only places where I could see this phenomenon now. Thus early they appear, ready to be the prey of the fish hawk. 

Within the brook I see quite a school of little minnows, an inch long, amid or over the bare dead stems of polygonums, and one or two little water-bugs (apple seeds). The last also in the broad ditch on the Corner road, in Wheeler’s meadow. 

Notwithstanding the backwardness of the season, all the town still under deep snow and ice, here they are, in the first open and smooth water, governed by the altitude of the sun. 

I see many small furrows, freshly made, in the sand at the bottom of the brook, from half an inch to three quarters wide, which I suspect are made by some small shellfish already moving, perhaps Paludina! 

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 18, 1856

. . . a school of little minnows. . . See February 1, 1856 (“Nut Meadow Brook open for some distance in the meadow. I am affected by the sight of some green polygonum leaves there. Some kind of minnow darts off.”)

Notwithstanding the backwardness of the season . . . governed by the altitude of the sun.  . . . See March 15, 1853 ("Notwithstanding this day is so cold that I keep my ears covered, the sidewalks melt in the sun, such is its altitude.”)

Thoughts driven inward –The long slope toward winter.

July 15.

July 14, 2014

Rained still in forenoon; now cloudy. Fields comparatively deserted to-day and yesterday. Hay stands cocked in them on all sides. Some, being shorn, are clear for the walker. It is but a short time that he has to dodge the haymakers. 

This cooler, still, cloudy weather after the rain is very autumnal and restorative to our spirits. 

The robin sings still, but the goldfinch twitters over oftener, and I hear the link link of the bobolink, and the crickets creak more as in the fall. All these sounds dispose our minds to serenity.  

We seem to be passing, or to have passed, a dividing line between spring and autumn, and begin to descend the long slope toward winter. 

On the shady side of the hill I go along Hubbard's walls toward the bathing-place, stepping high to keep my feet as dry as may be. 

All is stillness in the fields. My thoughts are driven inward, even as clouds and trees are reflected in the still, smooth water. 

There is an inwardness even in the mosquitoes' hum, while I am picking blueberries in the dank wood.

The stems and leaves of various asters and golden-rods, which ere long will reign along the way, begin to be conspicuous.  

There are many butterflies, yellow and red, about the Asclepias incarnata now. 

Many birds begin to fly in small flocks like grown-up broods. 

Green grapes and cranberries also remind me of the advancing season.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, July 15, 1854

I hear the link link of the bobolink. See July 15, 1856 ("Bobolinks are heard — their link, link — above and amid the tall rue which now whitens the meadows”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Bobolink

We seem to be passing a dividing line between spring and autumn, and begin to descend the long slope toward winter. See   July 19, 1851 ("Yesterday it was spring, and to-morrow it will be autumn. Where is the summer then?");  July 28, 1854 (“Methinks the season culminated about the middle of this month, — that the year was of indefinite promise before, but that, after the first intense heats, we postponed the fulfillment of many of our hopes for this year, and, having as it were attained the ridge of the summer, commenced to descend the long slope toward winter, the afternoon and down-hill of the year.”) 

July 15. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau July 15

Thoughts driven inward –

clouds and trees reflected in

the still, smooth water.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Thoughts driven inward

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 © 2009-2021

tinyurl.com/hdt540714

To Hubbard's Bath and Grove.

October 7.

Now and for a week the chip-birds in flocks; the withered grass and weeds, etc., alive with them.

Rice says that when a boy, playing with darts with his brother Israel, one of them sent up his dart when a flock of crows was going over. One of the crows followed it down to the earth, picked it up, and flew off with it a quarter of a mile before it dropped it.

I see one small but spreading white oak full of acorns just falling and ready to fall. When I strike a limb, great numbers fall to the ground. They are a very dark hazel looking black amid the still green leaves, - a singular contrast.

Some that have fallen have already split and sprouted, an eighth of an inch. This when, on some trees, far the greater part have not yet fallen.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, October 7, 1860

Now and for a week the chip-birds in flocks; the withered grass and weeds, etc., alive with them.See October 5, 1858 ("I still see large flocks, apparently of chip birds, on the weeds and ground in the yard.”)

Some that have fallen have already split and sprouted. . . See October 17, 1857 ("How soon they have sprouted! “); November 27, 1852 (“I find acorns which have sent a shoot down into the earth this fall.”)

Now and for a week

the chip-birds in flocks on the

withered grass and weeds.