Showing posts with label bobolink. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bobolink. Show all posts

Monday, August 16, 2021

A Book of the Seasons: August 16 (locust days, botanizing and birding mid-August the note of the wood pewee at sunset)

 



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



Two men in a boat.
  Upside down reflection, their
 shadow on water.
August 16, 1854

Am surprised to find 
cassia so obvious 
and so abundant. 

And the spearmint
so intoxicates me that
I am bewildered.

By the discovery of one new plant 
all bounds seem to be infinitely removed. 

A blue heron with 
its great undulating wings
 and leisurely flight.
 August 16, 1858


August 16, 2020

These are locust days. August 16, 1852

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

Loud is their song, drowning many others, but men appear not to distinguish it, though it pervades their ears as the dust their eyes. August 16, 1852

Hear it raining again early when I awake, as it did yesterday, still and steady, as if the season were troubled with a diabetes. August 16, 1858

River about ten and a half inches above summer level. August 16, 1860

Raise the river two feet above summer level and let it be running off, and you can hardly swim against it. August 16, 1856

It has fallen about fifteen inches from the height. August 16, 1856

The river is exceedingly fair this afternoon, and there are few handsomer reaches than that by the leaning oak, the deep place, where the willows make a perfect shore. August 16, 1852

By the leaning oak,
the deep place where the willows
make a perfect shore.

According to [Minott], the Holt is at the “diving ash,” where is some of the deepest water in the river. August 16, 1858
)


A three-ribbed goldenrod on railroad causeway, two to three feet high, abundantly out before Solidago nemoralis. August 16, 1858

Desmodium paniculatum in the wood-path northeast of Flint's Pond.August 16, 1853

Its flowers turn blue-green in drying. August 16, 1853

Apparently the Canada plum began to be ripe about the 10th. August 16, 1860

 Hyriophyllam ainbiguum, apparently var. larnosain, except that it is not nearly lindar-leafed but pectinate, well out how long? August 16, 1857

Thalictrum Comuti is now generally done. August 16, 1858

Galeopsis tetrahit, common hemp-nettle, in roadside by Keyes's. How long? Flower like hedge-nettle. August 16, 1852

Apios tuberosa, ground-nut, a day or two. August 16, 1852

I must look for the rudbeckia which Bradford says he found yesterday behind Joe Clark's. August 16, 1852

Agrinzonia Eupatoria, small-flowered (yellow) plant with hispid fruit, two or three feet high, Turnpike, at Tuttle's peat meadow.   August 16, 1851

The Polygonum orientale, probably some days, by Turnpike Bridge, a very rich rose-color large flowers, distinguished by its salver-shaped upper sheaths. August 16, 1853

It is a color as rich, I think, as that of the cardinal-flower. August 16, 1853

The hardhack commonly grows in low meadow-pastures which are uneven with grassy clods or hummocks, such as the almshouse pasture by Cardinal Ditch. August 16, 1858

I am surprised to find that where of late years there have been so many cardinal-flowers, there are now very few. August 16, 1858

So much does a plant fluctuate from season to season. August 16, 1858

Here I found nearly white ones once. August 16, 1858

White morning-glory up the Assabet. August 16, 1856

Almost all flowers and animals may be found white. August 16, 1858

Channing tells me that he saw a white bobolink in a large flock of them to-day. August 16, 1858

As in a large number of cardinal-flowers you may find a white one, so in a large flock of bobolinks, also, it seems, you may find a white one. August 16, 1858 

Hemp (Cannabis sativa), said by Gray to have been introduced; not named by Bigelow. Is it not a native? August 16, 1851

[Minott] used to love to hear the goldfinches sing on the hemp which grew near his gate. August 16, 1858 

I hear these birds on my way thither, between two and three o’clock:
  • goldfinches twitter over;
  • the song sparrow sings several times;
  •  hear a low warble from bluebirds, with apparently their young,
  • the link of many bobolinks (and see large flocks on the fences and weeds; they are largish-looking birds with yellow throats);
  • a large flock of red-wings goes tchucking over;
  • a lark twitters;
  • crows caw;
  • a robin peeps;
  • kingbirds twitter, as ever. August 16, 1858
 Started a woodcock in the woods. August 16, 1853

Also saw a large telltale, I think yellow-shanks, whose note I at first mistook for a jay's, giving the alarm to some partridges. August 16, 1853

In my boating of late I have several times scared up a couple of summer ducks of this year, bred in our meadows. August 16, 1858

They allowed me to come quite near, and helped to people the-river. August 16, 1858

I have not seen them for some days. August 16, 1858

August 16, 2017

Goodwin shot them, and Mrs., who never sailed on the river, ate them. August 16, 1858

Of course, she knows not what she did. August 16, 1858

What if I should eat her canary? Thus we share each other’s sins as well as burdens.

The lady who watches admiringly the matador shares his deed. August 16, 1858

They belonged to me, as much as to any one, when they were alive, but it was considered of more importance that Mrs. should taste the flavor of them dead than that I should enjoy the beauty of them alive. August 16, 1858


Talked with Minott, who sits in his wood-shed, having, as I notice, several seats there for visitors, —one a block on the sawhorse, another a patchwork mat on a wheelbarrow, etc., etc. August 16, 1858

His half-grown chickens, which roost overhead, perch on his shoulder or knee. August 16, 1858

He tells me some of his hunting stories again. August 16, 1858

He always lays a good deal of stress on the kind of gun he used, as if he had bought a new one every year, when probably he never had more than two or three in his life. August 16, 1858

In this case it was a “half-stocked” one, a little “cocking-piece,” and whenever he finished his game he used the word “gavel,” I think in this way, “gave him gavel,” i. e. made him bite the dust, or settled him. August 16, 1858

Speaking of foxes, he said: “As soon as the nights get to be cool, if you step outdoors at nine or ten o’clock when all is still, you’ll hear them bark out on the flat behind the houses, half a mile off, or sometimes whistle through their noses. August 16, 1858. 
 

I find the dog's-bane (Apocynum androsoemifolium) bark not the nearly so strong as that of the A. cannabinum. August 16, 1856

Amaranthus hypochondriacus, how long? August 16, 1856

Myriophyllum ambiguum, apparently var. limosum, except that it is not nearly linear-leafed but pectinate, well out how long? August 16, 1857

Diplopappus linariifolius, apparently several days. August 16, 1856

Ambrosia pollen now begins to yellow my clothes. August 16, 1856

Chenopodium hybridum, a tall rank weed, five feet at least, dark-green, with a heavy (poisonous?) odor compared to that of stramonium; great maple(?)- shaped leaves. August 16, 1856

How deadly this peculiar heavy odor! August 16, 1856

Cynoglossum officinale, a long time, mostly gone to seed, at Bull's Path and north roadside below Leppleman's. August 16, 1856

Its great radical leaves made me think of smooth mullein. August 16, 1856

The flower has a very peculiar, rather sickening odor; Sophia thought like a warm apple pie just from the oven (I did not perceive this). August 16, 1856

A pretty flower, however. August 16, 1856

I thoughtlessly put a handful of the nutlets into my pocket with my handkerchief. August 16, 1856

But it took me a long time to pick them out my handkerchief when I got home, and I pulled out many threads in the process. August 16, 1856

At roadside opposite Leighton's, just this side his barn, Monarda fistulosa, wild bergamot, nearly done, with terminal whorls and fragrance mixed of balm and summer savory. August 16, 1856

The petioles are not ciliated like those on Strawberry Hill road. August 16, 1856

Am surprised to find the cassia so obvious and abundant. August 16, 1856

Can see it yellowing the field twenty-five rods off, from top of hill. August 16, 1856

It is perhaps the prevailing shrub over several acres of moist rocky meadow pasture on the brook; grows in bunches, three to five feet high (from the ground this year), in the neighborhood of alders, hardhack, elecampane, etc. August 16, 1856

The lower flowers are turning white and going to seed, — pods already three inches long, — a few upper not yet opened. August 16, 1856

It resounds with the hum of bumblebees. August 16, 1856

It is branched above, some of the half-naked (of leaves) racemes twenty inches long by five or six wide. August 16, 1856

Leaves alternate, of six or eight pairs of leafets and often an odd one at base, locust-like. August 16, 1856

Looked as if they had shut up in the night. August 16, 1856

Mrs. Pratt says they do. August 16, 1856

E. Hoar says she has known it here since she was a child. August 16, 1856

Some elecampane with the cassia is six feet high, and blades of lower leaves twenty inches by seven or nine. August 16, 1856

The cynoglossum by roadside opposite, and, by side of tan-yard, the apparently true Mentha viridis, or spearmint, growing very rankly in a dense bed, some four feet high, spikes rather dense, one to one and a half inches long, stem often reddish, leaves nearly sessile. Say August 1st at least. August 16, 1856

What a variety of old garden herbs — mints, etc. — are naturalized along an old settled road, like this to Boston which the British travelled! And then there is the site, apparently, of an old garden by the tan-yard, where the spearmint grows so rankly. August 16, 1856

I am intoxicated with the fragrance. August 16, 1856

All the roadside is the site of an old garden where fragrant herbs have become naturalized, — hounds-tongue, bergamot, spearmint, elecampane, etc. August 16, 1856

I see even the tiger lily, with its bulbs, growing by the roadside far from houses (near Leighton's graveyard). August 16, 1856

Though I find only one new plant (the cassia), yet old acquaintances grow so rankly, and the spearmint intoxicates me so, that I am bewildered, as it were by a variety of new things. August 16, 1856

An infinite novelty. August 16, 1856

I think I have found many new plants, and am surprised when I can reckon but one. August 16, 1856

A little distance from my ordinary walk and a little variety in the growth or luxuriance will produce this illusion. August 16, 1856

By the discovery of one new plant all bounds seem to be infinitely removed. August 16, 1856

I find more and other plants than I counted on. August 16, 1856

Amphicarpaea some time; pods seven eighths of an inch long. August 16, 1856

Mimvlus ringens four feet high, and chelone six feet high! August 16, 1856

Am frequently surprised to find how imperfectly water-plants are known. August 16, 1856

Even good shore botanists are out of their element on the water. August 16, 1856

I would suggest to young botanists to get not only a botany-box but a boat, and know the water-plants not so much from the shore as from the water side. August 16, 1856

Know the water-plants 
not so much from the shore as 
from the water side. 
August 16, 1856

Minott says that the meadow-grass will be good for nothing after the late overflow, when it goes down.

The water has steamed the grass. August 16, 1856

I see the rue all turned yellow by it prematurely. August 16, 1856


Down river in boat with George Bradford. August 16, 1852. 

With Russell to Fair Haven by boat. August 16, 1854

At the steam mill sand-bank is the distinct shadow of our shadows, — first on the water, then the double one on the bank bottom to bottom, one being upside down, — three in all, — one on water, two on land or bushes. August 16, 1854

At steam-mill sand-bank
the shadow of our shadows –
one is upside down.


Bathing at Merrick's old place, am surprised to find how swift the current. August 16, 1856

Goodwin has come again to fish, with three poles, hoping to catch some more of those large eels. August 16, 1858

A blue heron, with its great undulating wings, prominent cutwater, and leisurely flight, goes over southwest, cutting off the bend of the river west of our house. August 16, 1858. 

Goodwin says he saw one two or three days ago, and also that he saw some black ducks. August 16, 1858

A muskrat is swimming up the stream, betrayed by two long diverging ripples, or ripple-lines, two or three rods long each, and inclosing about seventy-five degrees, methinks. August 16, 1858.  

The rat generally dives just before reaching the shore and is not seen again, probably entering some burrow in the bank. August 16, 1858

Am surprised to see that the snapping turtle which I found floating dead June 16th, and placed to rot in the cleft of a rock, has been all cleaned, so that there is no smell of carrion. August 16, 1858

The scales have nearly all fallen off, and the sternum fallen apart, and the bony frame of the back is loose and dropping to pieces, as if it were many years old. August 16, 1858

It is a wonderful piece of dovetailing, the ends of the ribs (which are narrow and rib-like) set into sockets in the middle of the marginal bones, whose joints are in each case between the ribs. August 16, 1858

There are many large fish-bones within the shell. August 16, 1858

Was it killed by the fish it swallowed? The bones not being dispersed, I suppose it was cleaned by insects. August 16, 1858

Very bad weather of late for pressing plants. August 16, 1856

My plants in press are in a sad condition; mildew has invaded them during the late damp weather, even those that were nearly dry. August 16, 1856

Give me the dry heat of July. August 16, 1856

Even growing leaves out of doors are spotted with fungi now, much more than mine in press. August 16, 1856

Yesterday also in the Marlborough woods, perceived everywhere that offensive mustiness of decaying fungi. August 16, 1853

How earthy old people become, — mouldy as the grave! Their wisdom smacks of the earth.

There is no foretaste of immortality in it. August 16, 1853

They remind me of earthworms and mole crickets. August 16, 1853

I notice that when a frog, a Rana halecina, jumps, it drops water at the same instant, as a turtle often when touched as she is preparing to lay. August 16, 1858

I see many frogs jump from the side of the railroad causeway toward the ditch at its base, and each drops some water. August 16, 1858

They apparently have this supply of water with them in warm and dry weather, at least when they leave the water, and, returning to it, leave it behind as of no further use. August 16, 1858

At sunset paddled to Hill. August 16, 1858

At sunset, the glow being confined to the north, it tinges the rails on the causeway lake-color, but behind they are a dead dark blue. August 16, 1852

At sunset I hear a low short warble from a golden robin, and the notes of the wood pewee. August 16, 1858.

August 16, 2014

 A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau:


*****

April 29, 1854 ("Off the Cliffs, I meet a blue heron flying slowly down stream. He flaps slowly and heavily, his long, level, straight and sharp bill projecting forward, then his keel-like neck doubled up, and finally his legs thrust out straight behind.");
May 31, 1853 ("The fact that a rare and beautiful flower which we never saw. . . may be found in our immediate neighborhood, is very suggestive. . . The boundaries of the actual are no more fixed and rigid than the elasticity of our imaginations")
July 11, 1857 ("Apocynum cannabinum, with its small white flowers and narrow sepals")
July 28, 1859 ("The sweet and plaintive note of the pewee is now prominent, since most other birds are more hushed. I hear young families of them answering each other from a considerable distance, especially about the river.");
July 29, 1859 ("The water milfoil (the ambiguum var. nutans), otherwise not seen, shows itself. This is observed only at lowest water.")
July 30, 1856 (“Rudbeckia laciniata, perhaps a week.”)
August 1, 1857 ("Small Apocynum cannabinum on the rocks .")
August 5, 1856 ("At the Assabet stone bridge, apparently freshly in flower, . . . apparently the Apocynum cannabinum var. hypericifolium (?).”)
August 6, 1858 (“The note of the wood pewee is now more prominent, while birds generally are silent.
 August 8, 1852 ("No man ever makes a discovery, even an observation of the least importance, but he is advertised of the fact by a joy that surprises him")
August 9, 1856 ("Again I am surprised to see the Apocynum cannabinum close to the rock at the Island.")
August 9, 1856 ("The notes of the wood pewee and warbling vireo are more prominent of late, and of the goldfinch twittering over.”)
August 10, 1854 ("The tinkling notes of goldfinches and bobolinks which we hear nowadays are of one character and peculiar to the season. ")
August 11, 1856 ("Mr. Bradford . . .gives me a sprig of Cassia Marilandica,wild senna, found by Minot Pratt just below Leighton's by the road side.")
August12, 1858 (". It is surprising how young birds, especially sparrows of all kinds, abound now, and bobolinks and wood pewees and kingbirds")
August 12, 1858 ("The note of the wood pewee is a prominent and common one now. You see old and young together.")
August 12, 1853 ("See the blue herons opposite Fair Haven Hill, as if they had bred here")
August 12, 1854 (" I see goldfinches nowadays on the lanceolate thistles, apparently after the seeds")
 August 13, 1854 (" I see where the pasture thistles have apparently been picked to pieces (for their seeds? by the goldfinch?), and the seedless down strews the ground"")
August 14, 1858 (" The Canada thistle down is now begun to fly, and I see the goldfinch upon it. ")
 August 14, 1858 ("The goldfinch, a prevailing note, with variations into a fine song. . . . The more characteristic notes would appear to be the wood pewee’s and the goldfinch’s, ")
August 14, 1858 ("The wood pewee, with its young, peculiarly common and prominent. . . These might be called the pewee-days.")
August 14,1859 ("If you would know the depth of the water on these few shoalest places of Musketaquid, ask the blue heron that wades and fishes there")
August 14, 1853 ("there are countless great fungi of various forms and colors, the produce of the warm rains and muggy weather . . . and for most of my walk the air is tainted with a musty, carrion like odor, in some places very offensive")
August 14, 1853 (" I hear no wood thrushes for a week. The pea-wai still, and sometimes the golden robin.") 
August 14,1859("A blue heron standing in very shallow water amid the weeds of the bar and pluming itself.")
August 15, 1854 ("On the top of the Hill I see the goldfinch eating the seeds of the Canada thistle. I rarely approach a bed of them or other thistles nowadays but I hear the cool twitter of the goldfinch about it")
August 15, 1854 ("I rarely approach a bed . . . thistles nowadays but I hear the cool twitter of the goldfinch about it.")
August 15, 1852 ("See a blue heron on the meadow.")
August 15, 1852 ("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 ("I see a dense, compact flock of bobolinks going off in the air over a field. They cover the rails and alders, and go rustling off with a brassy, tinkling note as I approach, revealing their yellow breasts and bellies.")
August 15, 1852 ("I see large flocks of bobolinks on the Union Turnpike
August 15, 1854 (" I see a dense, compact flock of bobolinks going off in the air over a field. They cover the rails and alders, and go rustling off with a brassy, tinkling note as I approach, revealing their yellow breasts and bellies. This is an autumnal sight, that small flock of grown birds in the afternoon sky.")
August 15, 1860 ("See a blue heron.")

August 17, 1851("I see a goldfinch go twittering through the still, louring day, and am reminded of the peeping flocks which will soon herald the thoughtful season.")
August 18, 1852 ("Rudbeckia laciniata, sunflower-like tall cone-flower, behind Joe Clark's.")
August 18, 1854 ("The bobolinks alight on the wool-grass.")
August 18, 1858 (“Almost every bush along this brook is now alive with these birds.”)
August 18, 1856 ("I hear the steady (not intermittent) shrilling of apparently the alder cricket, clear, loud, and autumnal, a season sound. Hear it, but see it not. It reminds me of past autumns and the lapse of time, suggests a pleasing, thoughtful melancholy, like the sound of the flail. Such preparation, such an outfit has our life, and so little brought to pass! ")
August 18, 1860 ("The note of the wood pewee sounds prominent of late.")
August 18, 1858 (“One appeared to answer the other, and sometimes they both sung together, — even as if the old were teaching her young. It was not the usual spring note of this bird, but a simple, clear pe-e-eet, rising steadily with one impulse to the end.”)
August 18, 1854 ("The bobolinks alight on the wool-grass. Do they eat its seeds? ")
August 18, 1858 (" Miss Caroline Pratt saw the white bobolink yesterday where Channng saw it the day before, in the midst of a large flock. I go by the place this afternoon and see very large flocks of them, certainly several hundreds in all, and one has a little white on his back, but I do not see the white one. ")
 August 19, 1853 ("Flocks of bobolinks go tinkling along about the low willows, and swallows twitter, and a kingbird hovers almost stationary in the air, a foot above the water. "")
August 19, 1858 ("The blue heron has within a week reappeared in our meadows. ")
August 20, 1854 ("Saw a wood pewee . . .It often utters a continuous pe-e-e.")
August 20, 1854 ("5.15 a. m. — To Hill. I hear a gold robin, also faint song of common robin. Wood pewee (fresh); red-wing blackbird with fragmentary trill; bobolinks (the males apparently darker and by themselves); kingbirds; nuthatch heard; yellow-throated vireo, heard and saw, on hickories (have I lately mistaken this for red-eye ?); goldfinch; slate- colored hawk (with white rump and black wing-tips)")
August 22, 1853 ("Surprised to hear a very faint bobolink in the air; the link, link, once or twice later.")
August 21, 1853 ("Methinks I have not heard a robin sing morning or evening of late, but the peawai still ")
August 22, 1858 ("See one or two blue herons every day now")
August 22, 1853 ("Hear a peawai whose note is more like singing — as if it were still incubating — than any other.")
August 25, 1852 ("I hear no birds sing these days, only . . . the mew of a catbird, the link link of a bobolink, or the twitter of a goldfinch, all faint and rare.")
August 24, 1858 ("Edward Hoar brings Cassia Chamoecrista from Greenport, L. I., which must have been out a good while. ")
August 26, 1857 ("B[adford]. has found Cassia Chamoacrista by the side of the back road between Lincoln and Waltham, about two miles this side of Waltham.")
August 31, 1852 ("I observe, on the willows on the east shore, the shadow of my boat and self and oars, upside down...”)
September 10, 1854 ("Last year, for the last three weeks of August, the woods were filled with the strong musty scent of decaying fungi, but this year I have seen very few fungi and have not noticed that odor at all .")
September 12 1852 ("the Polygonum orientale, prince's-feather, in E. Hosmer's grounds.")
September 14, 1854 ("A flock of thirteen tell tales, great yellow-legs, start up with their shrill whistle from the midst of the great Sudbury meadow, and away they sail in a flock.").
October 18, 1853 ("Returning late, we see a double shadow of ourselves and boat, one, the true, quite black, the other directly above it and very faint, on the willows and high bank.")
November 1, 1854 ("Just before a clear sundown, close to the shore on the east side I see a second fainter shadow of the boat, sail, myself, and paddle, etc., directly above and upon the first on the bank . . . I discovered that it was the reflected sun which cast a higher shadow like the true one. As I moved to the west side, the upper shadow rose, grew larger and less perceptible; and at last when I was so near the west shore that I could not see the reflected sun, it disappeared; but then there appeared one upside down in its place!")
December 11, 1855 ("It is only necessary to behold thus the least fact or phenomenon, however familiar, from a point a hair’s breadth aside from our habitual path or routine, to be overcome, enchanted by its beauty and significance.”)
January 23, 1858 ("It is a peculiar sound, quite unlike any other woodland sound that I know . . . What a smothered, ragged, feeble, and unmusical sound is the bark of the fox!.")
                                                                                                               

 

August 16, 2021


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.

 August 15.<<<<<      August 16   >>>>>  August 17 

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, August 16
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


tinyurl.com/HDT16AUGUST 





Sunday, June 28, 2020

A record of a sunset. Midnight by moonlight.


June 28

OEnothera biennis, evening-primrose, with its conspicuous flowers but rather unsightly stem and leaves. 

The Rubus odorata, purple flowering raspberry, in gardens. 

Potatoes for some time. 

Evening. 7 p.m. — Moon more than half. 

There are meteorologists, but who keeps a record of the fairer sunsets? 

While men are recording the direction of the wind, they neglect to record the beauty of the sunset or the rainbow. 

The sun not yet set

The bobolink sings descending to the meadow as I go along the railroad to the pond. 

The seringo-bird and the common song sparrow, — and the swallows twitter. 

The plaintive strain of the lark, coming up from the meadow, is perfectly adapted to the hour. 

When I get nearer the wood, the veery is heard, and the oven-bird, or whet-saw, sounds hollowly from within the recesses of the wood. 

The clouds in the west are edged with fiery red. A few robins faintly sing. 

The huckleberry-bird in more open fields in the woods. The thrasher?

The sun is down. 

The night-hawks are squeaking in the somewhat dusky air and occasionally making the ripping sound; the chewinks sound; the bullfrogs begin, and the toads; also tree-toads more numerously. 

Walden imparts to the body of the bather a remarkably chalky-white appearance, whiter than natural, tinged with blue, which, combined with its magnifying and distorting influence, produces a monstrous and ogre like effect, proving, nevertheless, the purity of the water. 

The river water, on the other hand, imparts to the bather a yellowish tinge.

There is a very low mist on the water close to the shore, a few inches high. 

The moon is brassy or golden now, and the air more dusky; yet I hear the pea-wai and the wood thrush, and now a whip-poor-will before I have seen a star. 

The walker in the woods at this hour takes note of the different veins of air through which he passes, — the fresher and cooler in the hollows, laden with the condensed fragrance of plants, as it were distilled in dews; and yet the warmer veins in a cool evening like this do not fail to be agreeable, though in them the air is comparatively lifeless or exhausted of its vitality. It circulates about from pillar to post, from wood-side to side-hill, like a dog that has lost its master, now the sun is gone. 

Now it is starlight; perhaps that dark cloud in the west has concealed the evening star before.

Yet I hear a chewink, veery, and wood thrush. 

Nighthawks and whip-poor-wills, of course. 

A whip-poor-will whose nest, perchance, I am near, on the side of the Cliff, hovers in the dusky air about ten feet from me, now on this side, then on that, on quivering wings, inspecting me, showing the white on its wings. It holds itself stationary for a minute. 

It is the first warm night for a week, and I hear the toads by the river very numerous. 

First there was sundown, then starlight. 

Starlight! That would be a good way to mark the hour, if we were precise. 

That is an epoch, when the last traces of daylight have disappeared and the night (nox) has fairly set in. 

Is not the moon a mediator? 

She is a light-giver that does not dazzle me. 

I have camped out all night on the tops of four mountains, — Wachusett, Saddle-back, Ktaadn, and Monadnock, — and I usually took a ramble over the summit at midnight by moonlight. 

I remember the moaning of the wind on the rocks, and that you seemed much nearer to the moon than on the plains. The light is then in harmony with the scenery. Of what use the sunlight to the mountain-summits? From the cliffs you looked off into vast depths of illumined air.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 28, 1852

The Rubus odorata, purple flowering raspberry, in gardens. See September 6, 1856 ("I see the flowering raspberry still in bloom. This plant is quite common here [Brattleboro]. The fruit, now ripe, is red and quite agreeable, but not abundant."); September 8, 1856 ("Gathered flowering raspberries in all my walks and found them a pleasant berry, large, but never abundant.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Raspberry

When I get nearer the wood, the veery is heard, and the oven-bird, or whet-saw, sounds hollowly from within the recesses of the wood. ...  Now it is starlight [y]et I hear a chewink, veery, and wood thrush. 
Compare July 28, 1854 ("Veery and wood thrush not very lately, nor oven-bird"); See also May 13, 1856 (“At the swamp, hear the yorrick of Wilson’s thrush; the tweezer-bird or Sylvia Americana. Also the oven-bird sings.”); May 19, 1860 (“By the path-side near there, what I should call a veery's nest with four light-blue eggs, but I have not heard the veery note this year, only the yorrick.“); June 11, 1852 ("The oven-bird and the thrasher sing. "); June 15, 1854 ("Thrasher and catbird sing still; summer yellowbird and Maryland yellow-throat sing still; and oven-bird and veery"); June 16, 1856 (“Heard . . . not only Wilson’s thrush, but evergreen forest note and tanager.”); June 21, 1852 (“I hear the veery and the huckleberry-bird and the catbird.”); July 10, 1854 ("The singing birds at present are . . . Red-eye, tanager, wood thrush, chewink, veery, oven-bird, — all even at midday.") July 27, 1852 (" Have I heard the veery lately?"): July 30, 1852 ("How long since I heard a veery? Do they go, or become silent, when the goldfinches herald the autumn? ") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Veery

Now it is starlight; perhaps that dark cloud in the west has concealed the evening star before . . . Starlight! That would be a good way to mark the hour, if we were precise. See  August 8, 1851 ("Starlight! that would be a good way to mark the hour, if we were precise.”); May 8, 1852 (“Starlight marks conveniently a stage in the evening, i. e. when the first star can be seen. ”); June 30, 1852 (“It is starlight about half an hour after sunset to-night; i. e. the first stars appear”); July 20, 1852 ("It is starlight. You see the first star in the southwest, and know not how much earlier you might have seen it had you looked.")

I have camped out all night on the tops of four mountains . . . and I usually took a ramble over the summit at midnight by moonlight. See March 31, 1853 ("It is affecting to sec a distant mountain-top . . . whereon you camped for a night in your youth, which you have never revisited, still as blue and ethereal to your eyes as is your memory of it.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Mountains in the Horizon and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, June Moonlight

June 28. See A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, June 28

Starlight!  Mark the hour
when daylight disappears and 
the night (nox) sets in. 

Now it is starlight. 
Did that dark cloud conceal the 
evening star before? 

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 ©  2009-2026

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-520628

Friday, June 19, 2020

Heard my night-warbler on a solitary white pine in the Heywood Clearing by the Peak.




June 19, 2020


P. M. – To Flint ’ s Pond.

I see large patches of blue - eyed grass in the meadow across the river from my window.

The pine woods at Thrush Alley emit that hot dry scent, reminding me even of days when I used to go a-blackberrying.

The air is full of the hum of invisible insects, and I hear a locust. Perhaps this sound indicates the time to put on a thin coat.

But the wood thrush sings as usual far in the wood.

A blue jay and a tanager come dashing into the pine under which I stand. The first flies directly away, screaming with suspicion or disgust, but the latter, more innocent, remains.

The cuckoo is heard, too, in the depths of the wood.

Heard my night-warbler on a solitary white pine in the Heywood Clearing by the Peak. Discovered it at last, looking like a small piece of black bark curving partly over the limb. No fork to its tail. It appeared black beneath; was very shy, not bigger than a yellowbird, and very slender.

In the middle of the path to Wharf Rock at Flint's Pond, the nest of a Wilson's thrush, five or six inches high, between the green stems of three or four golden rods, made of dried grass or fibres of bark, with dry oak leaves attached loosely, making the whole nine or ten inches wide, to deceive the eye. Two blue eggs. Like an accidental heap. Who taught it to do thus?

Lobelia Dortmanna, a day or two at most.

No grass balls yet.

That fine-rooted green plant on bottom sends up stems with black heads three or four inches. Do they become white?

Every one who has waded about the shores of a pond must have been surprised to find how much warmer the water was close to the shore, where only three or four inches deep, than a little further out.

I think I saw a young crow now fully grown.

Returned by Smith’s Hill and the Saw Mill Brook.

Got quite a parcel of strawberries on the hill.

The hellebore leaves by the brook are already half turned yellow. Plucked one blue early blueberry.

The strain of the bobolink now begins to sound a little rare. It never again fills the air as the first week after its arrival.

At this season we apprehend no long storm, only showers with or without thunder.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 19, 1853

Heard my night-warbler. Discovered it at last. See June 19, 1858 ("I do not hear the night-warbler so often as a few weeks ago. Birds generally do not sing so tumultuously.")  See also  May 17, 1858 ("Just after hearing my night-warbler I see two birds on a tree. ...[One perhaps golden-crowned thrush. ]”); May 19, 1858 (“Heard the night-warbler begin his strain just like an oven-bird! I have noticed that when it drops down into the woods it darts suddenly one side to a perch when low."); May 28, 1854 ("The night-warbler, after his strain, drops down almost perpendicularly into a tree-top and is lost.”). and  See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The Oven-bird . Note Thoreau;s night-warbler  is likely the oven-bird making its flight call. According to Emerson the night warbler is "a bird he had never identified, had been in search of twelve years, which always, when he saw it, was in the act of diving down into a tree or bush.” 

In the middle of the path to Wharf Rock at Flint's Pond, the nest of a Wilson's thrush. See June 19, 1858 (“Boys have found this forenoon at Flint’s Pond one or more veery-nests on the ground. ”) and note to June 23, 1858 ("That rather low wood along the path which runs parallel with the shore of Flint's Pond, behind the rock, is evidently a favorite place for veery-nests. I have seen three there.")

I think I saw a young crow now fully grown. See.July 7, 1860 ("I see a flock of some twenty-five crows. Probably the young are just grown."); July 10, 1854 ("Crows are more noisy, probably anxious about young.")

The strain of the bobolink now begins to sound a little rare. See June 9, 1855 ("I think I have hardly heard a bobolink for a week or ten days.");June 15, 1852 ("The note of the bobolink begins to sound somewhat rare.") and note to July 7, 1859 ("The note of the bobolink has begun to sound rare?") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Bobolink

Thursday, May 21, 2020

The hickories are budded and show the red anthers.

May 21

May 11, 2020
(Avesong)

P. M. — Up Assabet to cress, with Sophia. 

Land on Island.

One of the most beautiful things to me now is the reddish-ash, and, higher, the silvery, canopies of half a dozen young white oak leaves over their catkins, — thousands of little tents pitched in the air for the May training of the flowers, so many little parasols to their tenderer flowers. 

Young white oaks and shrub oaks have a reddish look quite similar to their withered leaves in the winter. 

It is still windy weather, and while I hear the bobolink strain dying away in the distance through the maples, I can [ sic ] the falling apple blossoms which I do not see, as if they were his falling notes. 

Yet the water is quite still and smooth by the Hemlocks, and as the weather is warm, it is a soothing sight to see it covered with dust there over the Deep Eddy. 

Landed beyond the grape-vine bower and cleared out the spring of leaves and sticks and mud, and deepened it, making an outlet, and it soon ran clear and cold. 

The cress, which proves to be the rock cress, or herb of St. Barbara, is now luxuriant and in bloom in many places along the river, looking like mustard. 

Found the Ranunculus abortivus, apparently some time in blossom, in the woods opposite to the cress. Put it after the repens

There are, apparently, two kinds of thorns close together on Nawshawtuct,-one now and for some days in blossom, both bushes and the largest tree, – which are evidently varieties of the Cratægus coccinea, or scarlet-fruited thorn. The tree one is about eleven feet high by ten feet, and would be taken for an apple tree; is crowded full with white bloom very compact and handsome; the most showy of any native tree in these parts when in bloom. Its thorns are stout. 

But there is another kind, thin, wisp-shaped trees, not yet in bloom, with very long, slender, straight needle-shaped thorns and two or three stipules to each peduncle. As it has the usual petioles, is not the cockspur, but may be a variety of the first-named. 

The grass begins to be conspicuously reddened with sorrel. 

The white maple keys are nearly two inches long by a half-inch wide, in pairs, with waved inner edges like green moths ready to bear off their seeds. 

The red maple keys are not half so large now, and are a dull red, of a similar form. 

The hickories are budded and show the red anthers.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 21, 1853

Canopies of half a dozen young white oak leaves over their catkins. See May 17, 1853 ("The blossoms of the red oak hang down under its young leaves as under a canopy.")

The Deep Eddy. See March 29, 1853 ("A pleasant short voyage is that to the Leaning Hemlocks on the Assabet, just round the Island under Nawshawtuct Hill. The river here has in the course of ages gullied into the hill, at a curve, making a high and steep bank, on which a few hemlocks grow and overhang the deep, eddying basin.")

The grass begins to be conspicuously reddened with sorrel. See May 21, 1852 ("Sorrel in bloom, beginning. I am eager to taste a handful.") See also May 22, 1854 ("The sorrel beginning to redden the fields with ruddy health, — all these things make earth now a paradise. How many times I have been surprised thus, on turning about on this very spot, at the fairness of the earth!")

The hickories are budded and show the red anthers
. See May 14, 1855 ("Some hickories, just opening their leaves, make quite a show with the red inner sides of the bud-scales turned back."); May 17, 1853 ("How red are the scales of some hickory buds, now turned back!"); May 24, 1860 (“I notice the first shadows of hickories, - not dense and dark shade, but open-latticed, a network of sun and shadow on the north sides of the trees.”); May 26, 1857 ("The very sudden expansion of the great hickory buds, umbrella-wise."); May 29, 1857 (“Those great hickory buds, how much they contained! You see now the large reddish scales turned back at the base of the new twigs. Suddenly the buds burst, and those large pinnate leaves stretched forth in various directions.”)




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