They peep at intervals.

May 2.

6 A. M. — Is not the chipping sparrow the commonest heard in the village streets in the mornings now, sitting on an elm or apple tree?

Was it the black and white warbler that I saw this morning? It did not stop to creep round the trunks; was very shy.

Or was it the myrtle-bird? 

Might it have been the log-cock woodpecker that I saw yesterday morning?

Reptiles must not be omitted, especially frogs; their croaking is the most earthy sound now, a rustling of the scurf of the earth, not to be overlooked in the awakening of the year. It is such an earth-sound.

The flowers of Cheney's elm are not only much earlier and larger than others, but the peduncles are in separate bundles proceeding from a common short peduncle. There appears to be such a difference, the tree is made of a different form and appearance.\ I can easily break off a twig from its branches, which hang very low. Vide the rough -- barked elm in the swamp, --if it is not the corky elm.

The balm-of-Gilead begins to show its male (?) catkins.

The commonplaces of one age or nation make the poetry of another.

I think that my seringo-bird has not the marks of the Savannah sparrow. Looks like a chip-bird; or did I see a spot on its breast?

That white maple, methinks, has a smoother bark tħan the red ones.

P. M. - To Conantum.

The handsome blood-red lacquered marks on the edge and under the edge of the painted tortoise's shell, like the marks on a waiter, concentric, few colors like it in nature. This tortoise, too, like the guttata, painted on these parts of its shell and on legs and tail in this style, but throat bright yellow stripes, sternum dull yellowish or buff.
It hisses like the spotted.

Tortoises everywhere coupling.

Is the male the large and flatter, with depressed sternum? It so seems? There is some regularity in the guttata's spots, — generally a straight row on back. Some of the spots are orange sometimes on the head.

Brought home two little frogs which I have described in the Report (q. v.) but cannot make out. Are they young?

The andromeda is ready to bloom.

The yellow lily is budded.

The little frogs peep more or less during the day, but chiefly at evening twilight, rarely in the morning. They peep at intervals. One begins, then all join in over the whole pond, and they suddenly stop all together.

If you would obtain insight, avoid anatomy.

I am pretty sure that is the myrtle-bird I see and hear on the Corner road, picking the blossoms of the maple, with the yellow crown and black throat or cheeks. It sings pe-te-te-te-ter twe ', emphasizing the last and repeating the second, third, and fourth fast.

The little frogs I kept three days in the house peeped at evening twilight, though they had been silent all day; never failed; swelled up their little bagpipes, transparent, and as big as a small cherry or a large pea.

Saw a bird on the willows, very shy, which may be the indigo-bird, but I am not sure.

The Equisetum arvense is now in bloom (the male flowers) all over the railroad embankment, coloring it yellowish (?).


H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 2, 1852

When the leaves are rustling and glistening in the cooler breeze and clear air,

August 25. 

Copious rain at last, in the night and during the day.

A. M. — Mountain-ash berries partly turned. Again see, I think, purple finch eating them. 

I see, after the rain, when the leaves are rustling and glistening in the cooler breeze and clear air, quite a flock of (apparently) Fringilla socialis in the garden.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, August 25, 1859

Copious rain at last, in the night and during the day. See August 25. 1852 ("One of those serious and normal storms ~ not a shower which you can see through, not a transient cloud that drops rain ~ something regular, a fall rain, coincident with a different mood or season of the mind. ")

Quite a flock of (apparently) Fringilla socialis in the garden. See April 27, 1852 (“Heard also a chipping sparrow (F. socialis)”)  See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Chipping Sparrow

When the leaves are rustling and glistening in the cooler breeze and clear air. See August 15, 1853 ("now it is cooler and beautifully clear at last after all these rains, and. . .I see a distinct, dark shade under the edge of the woods, the effect of the luxuriant foliage seen through the clear air."); August 19, 1853 ("After more rain, with wind in the night, it is now clearing up cool. There is a broad, clear crescent of blue in the west, slowly increasing, and an agreeable autumnal coolness"); August 20, 1853 ("This day, too, has that autumnal character. I am struck by the clearness and stillness of the air, "); August 30, 1854 ("The clearness of the air makes it delicious to gaze in any direction.")

It may be many generations before the partridges learn to give the cars a sufficiently wide berth.

April 12. 

A. M. —Surveying part of William P. Brown's wood-lot in Acton, west of factory. 

Hear the huckleberry-bird and, I think, the Fringilla socialis. 

The handsomest pails at the factory are of oak, white and some “gray” (perhaps scarlet), but these are chiefly for stables. 

The woods are all alive with pine warblers now. Their note is the music to which I survey. 

Now the early willows are in their prime, methinks. 

At angle H of the lot, on a hillside, I find the mayflower, but not in bloom. It appears to be common thereabouts. 

Returning on the railroad, the noon train down passed us opposite the old maid Hosmer's house. In the woods just this side, we came upon a partridge standing on the track, between the rails over which the cars had just passed. She had evidently been run down, but, though a few small feathers were scattered along for a dozen rods beyond her, and she looked a little ruffled, she was apparently more disturbed in mind than body.

I took her up and carried her one side to a safer place. At first she made no resistance, but at length fluttered out of my hands and ran two or three feet. I had to take her up again and carry and drive her further off, and left her standing with head erect as at first, as if beside herself. She was not lame, and I suspect no wing was broken. 

I did not suspect that this swift wild bird was ever run down by the cars. We have an account in the newspapers of every cow and calf that is run over, but not of the various wild creatures who meet with that accident. It may be many generations before the partridges learn to give the cars a sufficiently wide berth.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 12, 1858

Hear the huckleberry-bird and, I think, the Fringilla socialis. See 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, apparently answered from a distance. It is clear and sonorous heard afar; but I found it quite impossible to tell from which side it came; 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. Heard also a chipping sparrow (F. socialis) ”);  April 9, 1856 ("Wandering over that high huckleberry pasture, I hear the sweet jingle of the Fringilla juncorum."); ; April 15, 1856 ("I hear the note of the Fringilla juncorum (huckleberry-bird) from the plains beyond. "); April 18, 1857 ("Hear the huckleberry-bird, also the seringo.");June 24, 1857 ("Heard a fine, clear note from a bird on a white birch near me, — whit whit, whit whit, whit whit, (very fast) ter phe phe phe, — sounding perfectly novel. Looking round, I saw it was the huckleberry-bird");  

Now the early willows are in their prime, methinks. See April 12, 1852 ("See the first blossoms (bright-yellow stamens or pistils) on the willow catkins to-day . . .First the speckled alder, then the maple without keys, then this earliest, perhaps swamp, willow with its bright-yellow blossoms on one side of the ament. It is fit that this almost earliest spring flower should be yellow, the color of the sun."); April 15, 1852 ("I think that the largest early-catkined willow in large bushes in sand by water now blossoming -- the fertile catkins with paler blossoms, the sterile covered with pollen, a pleasant lively bright yellow -- is the brightest flower I have seen thus far.."); April 18, 1852 ("The most interesting fact, perhaps, at present is these few tender yellow blossoms, these half-expanded sterile aments of the willow, seen through the rain and cold, — signs of the advancing year, pledges of the sun's return.")

The woods are all alive with pine warblers now. Their note is the music to which I survey.  See April 12, 1859 ("Pine warblers heard in the woods by C. to-day. This, except the pigeon woodpecker and pigeon and hawks, as far as they are migratory, is the first that I should call woodland (or dry woodland) birds that arrives.");See also  A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Pine Warbler and April 2, 1853 ("Hear and see what I call the pine warbler, --vetter vetter vetter vetter vet, -- the cool woodland sound. The first this year of the higher-colored birds, after the bluebird and the blackbird's wing. It so affects me as something more tender."); April 9, 1853 ("On a pitch pine on side of J. Hosmer's river hill, a pine warbler, by ventriloquism sounding farther off than it was"); April 9, 1856 ("I hear from the old locality, the edge of the great pines and oaks in the swamp by the railroad, the note of the pine warbler. It sounds far off and faint, but, coming out and sitting on the iron rail, I am surprised to see it within three or four rods . . . When heard a little within the wood, as he hops to that side of the oak, they sound particularly cool and inspiring, like a part of the evergreen forest itself, the trickling of the sap."); 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, m'tter 'vitter, vitter m'tter, m'tter m'tter, '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"); April 15. 1855 ("In the meanwhile, as we steal through the woods, we hear the pleasing note of the pine warbler, bringing back warmer weather,");April 15, 1860 ("At Conantum pitch pines hear the first pine warbler."); April 16, 1856 ("I see a pine warbler, much less yellow than the last, searching about the needles of the pitch and white pine. Its note is somewhat shorter, -- a very rapid and continuous trill or jingle which I remind myself of by wetter wetter wetter wetter wet’, emphasizing the last syllable.");April 16, 1857 ("Meanwhile I hear the note of the pine warbler. ")

We came upon a partridge standing on the track. She had evidently been run down,I took her up and carried her one side to a safer place. See e.g. April 22, 1857 (“Near Tall's Island, rescue a little pale or yellowish brown snake that . . . was apparently chilled by the cold.”); December 31, 1857 ("found . . .a bull frog. . . It was evidently nearly chilled to death and could not jump, though there was then no freezing. I looked round a good while and finally found a hole to put it into,")

The woods all alive

with pine warblers notes – music

to which I survey.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The woods are all alive with pine warblers

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

Polly Houghton comes along

April 8.  

Surveying Kettell farm. 

Could I have heard Fringilla socialis along the street this morning? Or may it have been the hyemalis?

Polly Houghton comes along and says, half believing it, of my compass, “This is what regulates the moon and stars.”

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 8, 1858


Could I have heard Fringilla socialis along the street this morning? See April 9, 1853 ("The chipping sparrow, with its ashy-white breast and white streak over eye and undivided chestnut crown, holds up its head and pours forth its che che che che che che."); April 12, 1858 ("Hear the huckleberry-bird and, I think, the Fringilla socialis.”); April 27, 1852 (“Heard also a chipping sparrow (F. socialis)”); April 27, 1857 ("I hear the prolonged che che che che che, etc., of the chip-bird.").  See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Chipping Sparrow (Fringilla socialis ).

“This is what regulates the moon and stars.” See April 30, 1856 (“The Italian with his hand-organ stops to stare at my compass, just as the boys are curious about his machine.”)

Sounds of Early Spring. A warm and hazy but breezy day.

April 9.

P. M. – To Second Division. 

The chipping sparrow, with its ashy-white breast and white streak over eye and undivided chestnut crown, holds up its head and pours forth its che che che che che che. 

On a pitch pine on side of J. Hosmer's river hill, a pine warbler, by ventriloquism sounding farther off than it was, which was seven or eight feet, hopping and flitting from twig to twig, apparently picking the small flies at and about the base of the needles at the extremities of the twigs. Saw two afterward on the walls by roadside. 

A warm and hazy but breezy day. The sound of the laborers' striking the iron rails of the railroad with their sledges, is as in the sultry days of summer, — resounds, as it were, from the hazy sky as a roof, — a more confined and, in that sense, domestic sound echoing along between the earth and the low heavens. The same strokes would produce a very different sound in the winter. 

Men fishing for trout.

Small light-brown lizards, about five inches long, with somewhat darker tails, and some a light line along back, are very active, wiggling off, in J. P. Brown ' s ditch, with pollywogs. 

Beyond the desert, hear the hooting owl, which, as formerly, I at first mistook for the hounding of a dog, — a squealing eee followed by hoo hoo hoo deliberately, and particularly sonorous and ringing. This at 2 P. M. Now mated. Pay their addresses by day, says Brooks. 

Winkle lichens, some with greenish bases, on a small prostrate white oak, near base. Also large white ear like ones higher up. 

A middling-sized orange-copper butterfly on the mill road, at the clearing, with deeply scalloped wings. You see the buff-edged and this, etc., in warm, sunny southern exposures on the edge of woods or sides of rocky hills and cliffs, above dry leaves and twigs, where the wood has been lately cut and there are many dry leaves and twigs about. 

An ant-hill covered with a firm sward except at top. 

The cowslips are well out, – the first conspicuous herbaceous flower, for the cabbage is concealed in its spathe. 

The Populus tremuliformis, just beyond, resound with the hum of honey-bees, flies, etc. These male trees are frequently at a great distance from the females. Do not the bees and flies alone carry the pollen to the latter? I did not know at first whence the humming of bees proceeded. 

At this comparatively still season, before the crickets begin, the hum of bees is a very noticeable sound, and the least hum or buzz that fills the void is detected. Here appear to be more bees than on the willows. On the last, where I can see them better, are not only bees with pellets of pollen, but more flies, small bees, and a lady-bug. What do flies get here on male flowers, if not nectar? Bees also in the female willows, of course without pellets. It must be nectar alone there. 

That willow by H.'s Bridge is very brittle at base of stem, but hard to break above. The more I study willows, the more I am confused. 

The epigæa will not be out for some days. 

Elm blossoms now in prime. Their tops heavier against the sky, a rich brown; their outlines further seen. 

Most alders done. Some small upright ones still fresh. 

Evening. — 

Hear the snipe a short time at early starlight. 

I hear this evening for the first time, from the partially flooded meadow across the river, I standing on this side at early starlight, a general faint, prolonged stuttering or stertorous croak, — probably same with that heard April 7th, — that kind of growling, like wild beasts or a coffee-mill, which you can produce in your throat. It seems too dry and wooden, not sonorous or pleasing enough, for the toad. 

I hear occasionally the bullfrog's. note, croakingly and hoarsely but faintly imitated, in the midst of it, — which makes me think it may be they, though I have not seen any frogs so large yet, but that one by the railroad which I suspect may have been a fontinalis. 

What sound do the tortoises make beside hissing? 

There were the mutilated Rana palustris seen in the winter, the hylodes, the small or middling-sized croakers in pools (a shorter, less stuttering note than this to-night), and next the note of the 7th, and to night the last, the first I have heard from the river. I occasionally see a little frog jump into a brook. 

The whole meadow resounds, probably from one end of the river to the other, this evening, with this faint, stertorous breathing. It is the waking up of the meadows. 

Louder than all is heard the shrill peep of the hylodes and the hovering note of the snipe, circling invisible above them all. 

Vide again in Howitt, pp. 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 37, 49, 54, 95. 

Is it the red-eye or white-eye whose pensile nest is so common?

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 9, 1853

A pine warbler, by ventriloquism sounding farther off than it was. See April 9, 1856 (" I hear . . . the note of the pine warbler. It sounds far off and faint, but, coming out and sitting on the iron rail, I am surprised to see it within three or four rods, on the upper part of a white oak, where it is busily catching insects, . . . When heard a little within the wood, as he hops to that side of the oak, they sound particularly cool and inspiring, like a part of the evergreen forest itself, the trickling of the sap. Its bright yellow or golden throat and breast, etc., are conspicuous at this season, — a greenish yellow above, with two white bars on its bluish-brown wings."). See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Pine Warbler.

The sound of the laborers' striking the iron rails of the railroad with their sledges. . .echoing along between the earth and the low heavens. See February 24, 1852 ("I now hear at a distance the sound of the laborer's sledge on the rails. The very sound of men's work reminds, advertises, me of the coming of spring.”);February 16, 1855 ("Sounds sweet and musical through this air . . . striking on the rails at a distance.”)

The cowslips are well out, – the first conspicuous herbaceous flower. See April 8, 1856 ("There, in that slow, muddy brook near the head of Well Meadow, within a few rods of its source, . . . find two cowslips in full bloom, shedding pollen; and they may have opened two or three days ago; for I saw many conspicuous buds here on the 2d which now I do not see. . . .What an arctic voyage was this in which I find cowslips, the pond and river still frozen over for the most part as far down as Cardinal Shore! "); April 13, 1855 ("Many cowslip buds show a little yellow, but they will not open there [Second Division]for two or three days. The road is paved with solid ice there."); April 29, 1852 ("At the Second Division Brook the cowslip is in blossom. "). See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of Spring: the Cowslip

Hear the snipe a short time at early starlight. . . the hovering note of the snipe, circling invisible above them all. See  April 9, 1855 ("Some twenty minutes after sundown I hear the first booming of a snipe."). April 9, 1858 ("I hear the booming of snipe this evening, . . . Persons walking up or down our village street in still evenings at this season hear this singular winnowing sound in the sky over the meadows and know not what it is. This “booming” of the snipe is our regular village serenade. I heard it this evening for the first time, as I sat in the house, through the window. Yet common and annual and remarkable as it is, not one in a hundred of the villagers hears it, and hardly so many know what it is. "). See also A Book of Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Snipe

I hear this evening for the first time, from the partially flooded meadow across the river, I standing on this side at early starlight, a general faint, prolonged stuttering or stertorous croak, — probably same with that heard April 7th, — that kind of growling, like wild beasts or a coffee-mill, which you can produce in your throat . . .the first I have heard from the river. . . . The whole meadow resounds, probably from one end of the river to the other, this evening, with this faint, stertorous breathing. It is the waking up of the meadows. See April 3, 1858 ("We hear the stertorous tut tut tut of frogs from the meadow, with an occasional faint bullfrog-like er er er intermingled. . . . Both these sounds, then, are made by one frog [Rana halecina], . . . This, I think, is the first frog sound I have heard from the river meadows or anywhere, except the croaking leaf-pool frogs and the hylodes"); April 5, 1855 ("Hear from one half-flooded meadow that low, general, hard, stuttering tut tut tut of frogs,—the awakening of the meadow.”); April 3, 1858 ("This might be called the Day of the Snoring Frogs, or the Awakening of the Meadows.”);