A little snow in the night.

April 26.

April 26 2018

A little snow in the night, which is seen against the fences this morning. 

See a chewink (male) in the Kettell place woods.

H. D.Thoreau, Journal, April 26, 1858


A little snow in the night. See April 26, 1860 ("A man came from Lincoln last night with an inch of snow on the wheels of his carriage.")

See a chewink (male) in the Kettell place woods. See April 26, 1855 ("See and hear chewinks, — all their strains; the same date with last year, by accident."); April 26, 1854 ("Hear the first chewink hopping and chewinking among the shrub oaks.”) See also  April 28, 1856 (“See, but not yet hear, the familiar chewink amid the dry leaves amid the underwood on the meadow’s edge.”) and  also  A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Chewink (Rufous-sided Towhee)

The thermometer is at 65° at noon.

February 25. 

I hear of lilac buds expanding, but have not looked at them. 

I go through the woods behind the Kettle place. The leaves rustle and look all dry on the ground in the woods, as if quite ready to burn. The flies buzz out of doors. Though I left my outside coat at home, this single thick one is too much.

I go across the Great Fields to Peter's, but can see no ducks on the meadows. I suspect they have not come yet, in spite of the openness. 

The fragrant everlasting has retained its fragrance all winter. 

That mildew, or gossamer-like scum, of the 18th is still visible here and there. It is like very thin and frail isinglass. 

Goodwin says he saw a robin this morning. 

The thermometer is at 65° at noon.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, February 25, 1857

I hear of lilac buds expanding, but have not looked at them. See February 18, 1857("Sophia says that Mrs. Brooks's spiraeas have started considerably!"): February 26, 1857 ("I saw Mrs. Brooks's spiraeas to-day grown half an inch (!!), whose starting I heard of on the 18th.")

The leaves rustle and look all dry on the ground in the woods, as if quite ready to burn. The flies buzz out of doors. See February 18, 1857 ("Hear a fly buzz amid some willows. “); March 4, 1855 ("The rustle of the dry leaves. . .reminds me of fires in the woods. They are almost ready to burn. I see a fly on the rock."); March 8, 1853 ("Heard the first flies buzz in the sun on the south side of the house.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring: Buzzing flies

Though I left my outside coat at home, this single thick one is too much.  See February 24, 1857 ("I walk without a greatcoat") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring; My Greatcoat on my Arm

I go across the Great Fields to Peter's, but can see no ducks on the meadows. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring, Ducks Afar, Sailing on the Meadow

That mildew, or gossamer-like scum, of the 18th is still visible. . . .like very thin and frail isinglass. See  February 18, 1857 (". . . as if the fairies had dropped their veils or handkerchiefs after a midnight revel, rejoicing at the melting of the snow. What can it be? Is it animal or vegetable? I suspect it is allied to mould; or is it a scum? . . .a thin and tender membrane that envelops the infant earth in earliest spring.”)

Goodwin says he saw a robin this morning. See February 25, 1859 ("Joe Smith says that he saw blackbirds this morning. I hear that robins were seen a week or more ago. So the birds are quite early this year."); . February 27, 1861 ("Mother hears a robin to-day"); February 28, 1860 ("C. saw a dozen robins to-day on the ground on Ebby Hubbard's hill by the Yellow Birch Swamp.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Robins in Spring

The thermometer is at 65° at noon. Compare February 25, 1855 ("Thermometer at 7° at 7.30 A.M.”); February 16, 1857 (“A wonderfully warm day (the third one); about 2 p.m., thermometer in shade 58.”); February 17. 1857 ('Thermometer at 1 p.m., 60°.“);  February 18, 1857 ("Thermometer at 1 p.m., 65.”); February 16, 1856 (“Wild says it is the warmest day at 12 M. since the 22d of December, when the thermometer stood at 50°. To-day it is at 44.”); April 9, 1856 (“The thermometer at 5 P. M. is 66°+, and it has probably been 70° or more; and the last two days have been nearly as warm.”); June 22, 1860 (“[T]he thermometer 60° only at 12.30 P.M. and 65 at 5 P.M. But it is remarkably cold in the wind, and you require a thick coat. 65° now, with wind, is uncomfortably cold.”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, February Belongs to Spring

February 25. See A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,   February 25  

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The thermometer is at 65° at noon.

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

tinyurl.com/hdt-570225

Bricking up a new well

April 18.

Cold, and still a strong wind. 46 at 2 P. M. 

The Salix discolor peels well; also the aspen (early) has begun to peel. 

As i go by the site of Staples' new barn on the Kettle place, I see that they have just dug a well and are bricking it up. 

Melvin, with a bundle of apple scions in his hand, is sitting close by looking over into the well from time to time. Humphrey Buttrick is at the bottom, bricking up the well.

Melvin says he has heard snipe some days, but thinks them scarce. Clark, who had been mining lately in California and who dug the well, is passing down bricks to Buttrick. Clark has heard a partridge drum.

Melvin says he fears that, the water being so low, the snipes would be overtaken by it and their nests broken up when it rose. He says Josh Haynes told him that he found woodcock's nest, and afterward he sailed over the nest in a boat, an yet, when the water went down, the bird went on and hatched the eggs.

I see that they have dug twenty four feet through  sand and have some four feet of water in the well.

Melvin has seen a dandelion in bloom.  

I find that the side-hill just below the Dutch house is more loose and sandy than half a dozen years ago, and I attribute it to the hens wallowing in the earth and dusting themselves, and also pecking the grass and preventing its growing.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 18, 1860