Black and white creepers utter oven-bird-like notes.

April 27.

5 A. M. — S. tristis Path around Cliffs. 

Cold and windy, but fair. 

The earliest willow by railroad begins to leaf and is out of bloom. 

April 27, 1854

Few birds are heard this cold and windy morning. Hear a partridge drum before 6 A. M., also a golden-crested wren. 

Salix tristis, probably to-day, the female more forward than the male. 

Hear a singular sort of screech, somewhat like a hawk, under the Cliff, and soon some pigeons fly out of a pine near me. 

The black and white creepers running over the trunks or main limbs of red maples and uttering their fainter oven-bird-like notes. 

The principal singer on this walk, both in wood and field away from town, is the field sparrow. I hear the sweet warble of a tree sparrow in the yard. 

Cultivated cherry is beginning to leaf. 

The balm-of Gilead catkins are well loosened and about three inches long, but I have seen only fertile ones. Say male the 25th, 26th, or 27th.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 27, 1855


Hear a partridge drum before 6 A. M.  See April 27, 1854 ("I hear the beat of a partridge and the spring hoot of an owl, now at 7 a.m.”) See also See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Partridge

Also a golden-crested wren. [probably the ruby-crowned kinglet] See May 7, 1854 ("A ruby-crested wren. . .Saw its ruby crest and heard its harsh note. (This was the same I have called golden-crowned . . . except that I saw its ruby crest.. ..Have I seen the two?)”) May 6, 1855 ("Hear at a distance a ruby(?)-crowned wren, . . . I think this the only Regulus I have ever seen.”); and note to December 25, 1859 ("I hear a sharp fine screep from some bird,. . . I can see a brilliant crown. . . . It is evidently the golden-crested wren, which I have not made out before.”)  See also A Book of the Seasons,   by Henry Thoreau: the ruby-crowned or crested wren. (Thoreau did not truly identify the golden-crested wren until  Christmas  1859. See note to December 25, 1859 

The black and white creepers running over the trunks or main limbs of red maples and uttering their fainter oven-bird—like notes. See April 27, 1854 ("I hear the black and white creeper's note , — seeser seeser seeser se.. . .Hear a faint sort of oven-bird's (?) note."); see also May 3, 1852. ("That oven-birdish note which I heard here on May 1st I now find to have been uttered by the black and white warbler or creeper. He has a habit of looking under the branches.")  See also A Book of the Seasons,   by Henry Thoreau, The Black and White Creeper

The principal singer on this walk, both in wood and field away from town, is the field sparrow. 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.”).  See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Field Sparrow

The balm-of Gilead catkins are well loosened and about three inches long. See April 27, 1854 ("The balm-of-Gilead is in bloom, about one and a half or two inches long, and some hang down straight.") See also April 30, 1857 ("Balm-of-Gilead plucked yesterday, not yet (nor on May 1st) in house.");  May 3, 1856 ("A staminate balm of Gilead poplar by Peter’s path. Many of the catkins fallen and effete in the rain, but many anthers still red and unopen. Probably began five or six days ago."); May 4, 1857 ("Balm-of-Gilead pollen in house to-day;"); and also Balm of Gilead, Balsam Poplar  ("Populus balsamifera is dioecious, that is male and female flowers occur on separate trees. Male (staminate) flowers have a cup shaped disc with 20 to 30 reddish stamens. These are bunched on a short curved catkin. Female (pistillate) flowers are in moderately dense 2 to 3 inch yellow-green drooping catkins . . . After pollination, the female catkins elongate up to 4 inches in length")

April 27. See  A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, April 27

Hear a partridge drum

 also golden-crested wren

before 6 A. M.

From red maple trunks

black and white creepers utter 

oven-bird-like notes.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Black and white creepers utter oven-bird-like notes

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 © 2009-2025

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-550427

We see and hear more birds than usual this mizzling and still day.

April 26

A cloudy, still, damp, and at length drizzling day. 

P.M. — To Bayberry and Black Ash Cellar. 

Wheildon’s arbor-vitae well out, maybe for a week.

The silvery abele, probably to-day or yesterday, but I do not see pollen. 

The blossoms of the red maple (some a yellowish green) are now most generally conspicuous and handsome scarlet crescents over the swamps. 

Going over Ponkawtasset, hear a golden-crested wren, — the robin’s note, etc., —in the tops of the high wood; see myrtle-birds and half a dozen pigeons. 

The prate of the last is much like the creaking of a tree. They lift their wings at the same moment as they sit. There are said to be many about now. See their warm-colored breasts. 

I see pigeon woodpeckers billing on an oak at a distance. 

Young apple leafing, say with the common rose, also some early large ones. Bayberry not started much. Fever-bush out apparently a day or two, between Black Birch Cellar and Easterbrook’s. It shows plainly now, before the leaves have come out on bushes, twenty rods off. 

See and hear chewinks, — all their strains; the same date with last year, by accident. 

Many male and female white-throated sparrows feeding on the pasture with the song sparrow. The male’s white is buff in the female. 

A brown thrasher seen at a little distance.

April 26, 2025

We see and hear more birds than usual this mizzling and still day, and the robin sings with more vigor and promise than later in the season.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 26, 1855

This mizzling and still day . .. the robin sings with more vigor and promise. See April 26, 1854 ("Birds sing all day when it is warm, still, and overcast as now"); April 16, 1856 ("The robins sing with a will now . . . A moist, misty, rain-threatening April day. About noon it does mizzle a little. The robin sings throughout it.”); May 14, 1852 (“The robin sings this louring day. They sang most in and about that great freshet storm. The song of the robin is most suggestive in cloudy weather.”). See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Robins in Spring

Wheildon’s arbor-vitae well out, maybe for a week. See April 19, 1856 ("The arbor-vita: by riverside behind Monroe’s appears to be just now fairly in blossom."); April 20, 1857 ("Arbor-vitae? apparently in full bloom.") April 21, 1858 (“The arbor-vitae is apparently effete already.”) 

The blossoms of the red maple (some a yellowish green) are now most generally conspicuous and handsome scarlet crescents over the swamps. See April 26, 1860 ("Red maples are past prime. I have noticed their handsome crescents over distant swamps commonly for some ten days. At height, then, say the 21st. They are especially handsome when seen between you and the sunlit trees."); See also April 18, 1856 ("Red maple stamens in some places project considerably, and it will probably blossom to-morrow if it is pleasant. "); April 22, 1855 ("Red maple yesterday, — an early one by further stone bridge."); April 23, 1856 ("The red maple did not shed pollen on the 19th and could not on the 20th, 21st, or 22d, on account of rain; so this must be the first day, — the 23d."); April 24, 1854 ("The first red maple blossoms — so very red over the water — are very interesting. ");April 24, 1857 ("I see the now red crescents of the red maples in their prime . . . above the gray stems.");  April 28, 1855 ("The red maples, now in bloom, are quite handsome at a distance over the flooded meadow beyond Peter’s. The abundant wholesome gray of the trunks and stems beneath surmounted by the red or scarlet crescents.”); April 29, 1856 ("Sat on the knoll in the swamp, now laid bare. How pretty a red maple in bloom (they are now in prime), seen in the sun against a pine wood, like these little ones in the swamp against the neighboring wood, they are so light and ethereal, 

See myrtle-birds.  See April 26, 1854 (“The woods are full of myrtle-birds this afternoon”); and note to April 28, 1855 (“There are a great many myrtle-birds here, — they have been quite common for a week,”)

Hear a golden-crested wren. See April 26, 1860 ("Hear the ruby-crowned wren in the morning, near George Heywood's."). See also May 7, 1854 ("A ruby-crested wren. . .Saw its ruby crest and heard its harsh note. (This was the same I have called golden-crowned . . . except that I saw its ruby crest.. ..Have I seen the two?)”) May 6, 1855 ("Hear at a distance a ruby(?)-crowned wren, . . . I think this the only Regulus I have ever seen.”); December 25, 1859 ("I hear a sharp fine screep from some bird,. . . I can see a brilliant crown. . . . It is evidently the golden-crested wren, which I have not made out before.”). Also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau: the ruby-crowned or crested wren.

I see pigeon woodpeckers billing on an oak at a distance. See  April 23, 1855 ("Saw two pigeon woodpeckers approach and, I think, put their bills together and utter that o-week, o-week."); April 25, 1855 ("Hear the peculiar squeaking notes of a pigeon woodpecker. ")

A Book of the Seasons,   by Henry Thoreau, The Pigeon Woodpecker (flicker)

Young apple leafing. See May 7, 1858 ("The earliest apple trees begin to leave and to show green veils against the ground and the sky. "); May 21, 1860 ("Noticed the shadows of apple trees yesterday.")

See and hear chewinks, — all their strains; the same date with last year, by accident. See April 26, 1854 ("Hear the first chewink hopping and chewinking among the shrub oaks.") See also  A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Chewink (Rufous-sided Towhee)

Many male and female white-throated sparrows. . . The male’s white is buff in the female. See  April 25, 1855 ("Hear a faint cheep and at length detect the white throated sparrow, the handsome and well-marked bird. "); April 25, 1854 ("[Saw] on the low bushes, — shrub oaks, etc., — by path, a large sparrow with ferruginous- brown and white-barred wings, — the white-throated sparrow, — uttered a faint ringing chirp.")  see also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau,  the White-throated Sparrow

A brown thrasher seen at a little distance. See May 4, 1855 ("Hear a brown thrasher.") May 12, 1855 ("The brown thrasher is a powerful singer; he is a quarter of a mile off across the river, when he sounded within fifteen rods." );May 13, 1855  ("Now, about two hours before sunset, the brown thrashers are particularly musical. One seems to be contending in song with another. The chewink’s strain sounds quite humble in comparison.") See alao A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,  The Brown Thrasher

 And the robin sings with more vigor and promise than later in the season. See April 21, 1852 ("The robins sing through the ceaseless rain . . .  It sings with power, like a bird of great faith that sees the bright future through the dark present . . . It is a pure, immortal melody . . . I have not this season heard more robins sing than this rainy day.") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,  Robins in Spring

April 26. See A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, April 26

And the robin sings

with more vigor and promise

this mizzling still day.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau,  We see and hear more birds than usual this mizzling and still day.

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 © 2009-2025

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-550426

That fine slaty-blue butterfly – bigger than the small red – in wood-paths.

April 24

P. M. — To Flint’s Pond. 

Warm and quite a thick haze. Cannot see distant  hills, nor use my glass to advantage. 

The Equisetum arvense on the causeway sheds its green pollen, which looks like lint on the hand abundantly, and may have done so when I first saw it upon the 21st. 

Young caterpillars’ nests are just hatched on the wild cherry. Some are an inch in diameter, others just come out. The little creatures have crawled at once to the extremity of the twigs and commenced at once on the green buds just about to burst, eating holes into them. They do not come forth till the buds are about to burst. 

I see on the pitch pines at Thrush Alley that golden crested wren or the other, ashy-olive above and whitish beneath, with a white bar on wings, restlessly darting at insects like a flycatcher, —into the air after them. It is quite tame. A very neat bird, but does not sing now. 

I see a bee like a small bumble-bee go into a little hole under a leaf in the road, which apparently it has made, and come out again back foremost. 

That fine slaty-blue butterfly, bigger than the small red, in wood-paths. 

I see a cone-bearing willow in dry woods, which will begin to leaf to-morrow, and apparently to show cones. 

Pyrus arbutifolia will begin to leaf to-morrow. Its buds are red while those of the shad-bush are green.

I can find no red cedar in bloom, but it will undoubtedly shed pollen to-morrow. It is on the point of it. I am not sure that the white cedar is any earlier. 

The sprigs of red cedar, now full of the buff-colored staminate flowers, like fruit, are very rich. The next day they shed an abundance of pollen in the house. It is a clear buff color, while that of the white cedar is very different, being a faint salmon. 

It would be very pleasant to make a collection of these powders,—like dry ground paints. They would be the right kind of chemicals to have. 

I see the black birch stumps, where they have cut by Flint’s Pond the past winter, completely covered with a greasy-looking pinkish-colored cream, yet without any particular taste or smell,—what the sap has turned to. 

The Salix alba begins to leaf. 

Have not seen the F. hyemalis for a week.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 24, 1855

Young caterpillars’ nests are just hatched on the wild cherry. See April 24, 1856 ("old caterpillar-nests which now lie on the ground under wild cherry trees ”)

I see on the pitch pines at Thrush Alley that golden crested wren or the other, See April 26, 1855 (“Going over Ponkawtasset, hear a golden-crested wren, — the robin’s note, etc., —in the tops of the high wood”); April 27, 1855 (“Few birds are heard this cold and windy morning. Hear a partridge drum before 6 A. M., also a golden-crested wren.”); May 6, 1855 ("Hear at a distance a ruby(?)-crowned wren,. . . I think this the only Regulus I have ever seen.”).  See also May 7, 1854 ("A ruby-crested wren. . .Saw its ruby crest and heard its harsh note. (This was the same I have called golden-crowned ; and so described by W[ilson], I should say, except that I saw its ruby crest. . . ..Have I seen the two?)”);  May 11, 1854 (“I am in a little doubt about the wrens (I do not refer to the snuff -colored one), whether I have seen more than one. All that makes me doubt is that I saw a ruby, or perhaps it might be called fiery, crest on the last — not golden.”); December 25, 1859 ("I can see a brilliant crown, evidently the golden-crested wren, which I have not made out before.") and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau: the Ruby-crowned or crested wren. [Thoreau first misidentified the ruby-cowned as a warbler and also misidentified the ruby-crowned as the golden-crowned.  He was put in doubt when  he saw a red crest on what he had been calling the golden-crested wren, and did not truly identify a golden-crested wren until  Christmas 1859.]

That fine slaty-blue butterfly, bigger than the small red, in wood-paths. See April 19, 1860 ("See the small blue butterfly hovering over the dry leaves."); April 28, 1856 (“A fine little blue-slate butterfly fluttered over the chain. Even its feeble strength was required to fetch the year about. How daring, even rash, Nature appears, who sends out butterflies so early!”); April 30, 1859 ("That interesting small blue butterfly (size of small red) is apparently just out, fluttering over the warm dry oak leaves within the wood in the sun"); May 4, 1858 (“See a little blue butterfly (or moth) — saw one yesterday — fluttering about over the dry brown leaves in a warm place by the swamp-side, making a pleasant contrast. ”); See also  A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The  Blue Butterfly in Spring; A Book of the Seasons,   by Henry Thoreau, The Small Red Butterfly

I can find no red cedar in bloom, but it will undoubtedly shed pollen to-morrow. See April 25, 1854 ("The red cedar has fairly begun to-day; maybe the first yesterday. Put the red yesterday and the white to-day. As I approach the red cedars now, I perceive a delicious strawberry-like fragrance in the air, like that from the arbor-vita.")    See also  A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Cedar Swamps

Black birch stumps . . . cut by Flint’s Pond the past winter . . . covered with a greasy-looking pinkish-colored cream.  See June 29, 1854 ("All the large black birches on Hubbard's Hill have just been cut down, — half a dozen or more. The two largest measure two feet seven inches in diameter on the stump at a foot from the ground; the others, five or six inches less. The inner bark there about five eighths of an inch."). . See also  April 23, 1856 ("The white birch sap flows yet from a stump cut last fall, and a few small bees, flies, etc., are attracted by it.")

The Salix alba begins to leaf. See April 27, 1854 ("The Salix alba begins to leaf, and the catkins are three quarters of an inch long.");   April 29, 1855 ("For two or three days the Salix alba, with its catkins (not yet open) and its young leaves, or bracts (?), has made quite a show, before any other tree, —a pyramid of tender yellowish green in the russet landscape."):  April 30, 1859 ("Salix alba leafing, or stipules a quarter of an inch wide; probably began a day or two.") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Leaf-Out

Have not seen the F. hyemalis for a week.  See March 14 1858 ("I see a Fringilla hyemalis, the first bird, perchance . . .which is an evidence of spring . . . They are now getting back earlier than our permanent summer residents."); April 17, 1854 ("There are but few F. hyemalis about now; they appear to have gone north mostly on the advent of warmer weather about the 5th of April. "); April 17, 1855 ("I believe I see a tree sparrow still, but I do not remember an F. hyemalis for two days. ");  April 23, 1859 ("I have not noticed a hyemalis of late.");  May 4, 1855 ("See no gulls, nor F. hyemalis nor tree sparrows now."; )May 6, 1854 ("Is not that the true spring when the F. hyemalis and tree sparrows are with us singing in the cold mornings with the song sparrows, and ducks and gulls are about?") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau: Signs of the Spring, the note of the dark-eyed junco going northward and  A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Dark-eyed Junco (Fringilla hyemalis)

That fine slaty-blue 

butterfly – bigger than the 

small red – in wood-paths. 

A Book of the Seasons,   by Henry Thoreau, That fine slaty-blue butterfly in wood-paths.

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 © 2009-2025

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-550424

December snowfalls

December 30

I awake to find it snowing fast, but it slackens in a few hours. Perhaps seven or eight inches have fallen, — the deepest snow yet, and almost quite level. 

At first the flakes (this forenoon) were of middling size. At noon, when it was leaving off, they were of a different character. I observed them on my sleeve, — little slender spiculae about one tenth of an inch long, little dry splinters, sometimes two forking, united at one end, or two or three lying across one another, quite dry and fine; and so it concluded. 

P. M. — Going by Dodd's, I see a shrike perched on the tip-top of the topmost upright twig of an English cherry tree before his house, standing square on the topmost bud, balancing himself by a slight motion of his tail from time to time. I have noticed this habit of the bird before. You would suppose it inconvenient for so large a bird to maintain its footing there. Scared by my passing [?] in the road, it flew off, and I thought I would see if it alighted on a similar place. It flew toward a young elm, whose higher twigs were much more slender, though not quite so upright as those of the cherry, and I thought he might be excused if he alighted on the side of one; but no, to my surprise, he alighted without any trouble upon the very top of one of the highest of all, and looked around as before. 

I spoke to the barber to-day about that whirl of hair on the occiput of most (if not all) men's heads. He said it was called the crown, and was of a spiral form, a beginning spiral, when cut short; that some had two, one on the right, the other on the left, close together. I said that they were in a sense double-headed. He said that it was an old saying that such were bred under two crowns. 

I noticed the other day that even the golden-crested wren was one of the winter birds which have a black head, — in this case divided by yellow. 

Those who depend on skylights found theirs but a dim, religious light this forenoon and hitherto, owing to the thickness of snow resting on them. Also cellar windows are covered, and cellars are accordingly darkened. 

What a different phenomenon a musquash now from what it is in summer! Now if one floats, or swims, its whole back out, or crawls out upon the ice at one of those narrow oval water spaces in the river, some twenty rods long (in calm weather, smooth mirrors), in a broad frame of white ice or yet whiter snow, it is seen at once, as conspicuous (or more so) as a fly on a window-pane or a mirror. 

But in summer, how many hundreds crawl along the weedy shore or plunge in the long river unsuspected by the boatman! 

Even if the musquash is not there I often see the open clam shell on the edge of the ice, perfectly distinct a long way off, and he is betrayed. 


However, the edges of these silver lakes, — winter lakes, late freezers, swift-waters, musquash mirrors, breathing-holes, — to-day, after the morning's snow, are, by the water flowing back over the thin edges and staining the snow, a distinct yellow (brown-yellow) tinge for a rod or two on every side. This shows what and how much coloring matter there is in the river water. I doubt if it would be so at Walden. No doubt, however, we here get the impurer parts of the river, the scum as it were, repeatedly washed over at these places.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, December 30, 1859


Going by Dodd's, I see a shrike perched on the tip-top of the topmost upright twig of an English cherry tree before his house, standing square on the topmost bud, balancing himself by a slight motion of his tail from time to time. See note to December 24, 1858 ("See another shrike this afternoon, — the fourth this winter!")

I noticed the other day that even the golden-crested wren was one of the winter birds which have a black head, — in this case divided by yellow. See December 25, 1859 ("I can see a brilliant crown . . .the golden-crested wren, which I have not made out before . . .This little creature is contentedly seeking its food here alone this cold winter day on the shore of our frozen river.")

Those who depend on skylights found theirs but a dim, religious light this forenoon, owing to the thickness of snow resting on them. See December 27, 1853 ("High wind with more snow in the night. The snow is damp and covers the panes, darkening the room.")

I awake to find it snowing fast. Perhaps seven or eight inches have fallen, — the deepest snow yet. See December 30, 1853 (“I carried a two-foot rule and measured the snow of yesterday. . . it varied from fourteen to twenty-four inches.”); December 30, 1855 ("The snow which began last night has continued to fall very silently but steadily, and now it is not far from a foot deep, much the most we have had yet; a dry, light, powdery snow")

December 1859  snowfalls:

Awake to winter, and snow two or three inches deep, the first of any consequence. December 4, 1859

At 2 p. m. begins to snow, and snows till night. Still, normal storm, large flakes, warm enough, lodging. December 11, 1859

Snow-storms might be classified. This is a fine, dry snow, drifting nearly horizontally from the north, so that it is quite blinding to face, almost as much so as sand. It is cold also. It is drifting but not accumulating fast. I can see the woods about a quarter of a mile distant through it. That of the 11th was a still storm, of large flakes falling gently in the quiet air, like so many white feathers descending in different directions when seen against a wood-side, — the regular snow-storm such as is painted. A myriad falling flakes weaving a coarse garment by which the eye is amused. The snow was a little moist and the weather rather mild. Also I remember the perfectly crystalline or star snows, when each flake is a perfect six(?)-rayed wheel. This must be the chef-d'oeuvre of the Genius of the storm. Also there is the pellet or shot snow, which consists of little dry spherical pellets the size of robin-shot. This, I think, belongs to cold weather. Probably never have much of it. Also there is sleet, which is half snow, half rain. December 14, 1859

The first kind of snow-storm, or that of yesterday, which ceased in the night after some three inches had fallen, was that kind that makes handsome drifts behind the walls. There are no drifts equal to these behind loosely built stone walls, the wind passing between the stones. Slight as this snow was, these drifts now extend back four or five feet and as high as the wall, on the north side of the Corner Bridge road. December 15, 1859

Snows very fast, large flakes, a very lodging snow, quite moist; turns to rain in afternoon. If we leave the sleigh for a moment, it whitens the seat, which must be turned over. We are soon thickly covered, and it lodges on the twigs of the trees and bushes, — there being but little wind, — giving them a very white and soft, spiritual look. Gives them a still, soft, and light look. When the flakes fall thus large and fast and are so moist and melting, we think it will not last long, and this turned to rain in a few hours, after three or four inches had fallen. To omit the first mere whitening, — There was the snow of the 4th. December. 11th was a lodging snow, it being mild and still, like to-day (only it was not so moist). Was succeeded next day noon by a strong and cold northwest wind. 14th, a fine, dry, cold, driving and drifting storm. 20th (to-day's), a very lodging, moist, and large-flaked snow, turning to rain. To be classed with the 11th in the main. This wets the woodchopper about as much as rain. December 20, 1859

The snow of yesterday having turned to rain in the afternoon, the snow is no longer (now that it is frozen) a uniformly level white, as when it had just fallen, but on all declivities you see it, even from a great distance, strongly marked with countless furrows or channels. These are about three inches deep, more or less parallel where the rain ran down. On hillsides these reach from top to bottom and give them a peculiar combed appearance. Hillsides around a hollow are thus very regularly marked by lines converging toward the centre at the bottom. In level fields the snow is not thus furrowed, but dimpled with a myriad little hollows where the water settled, and perhaps answering slightly to the inequalities of the ground. In level woods I do not see this regular dimpling — the rain being probably conducted down the trunks — nor the furrows on hillsides; the rain has been differently distributed by the trees. This makes a different impression from the fresh and uniformly level white surface of recently fallen snow. It is now, as it were, wrinkled with age. The incipient slosh of yesterday is now frozen, and makes good sleighing and a foundation for more. December 21, 1859

After being uniformly overcast all the forenoon, still and moderate weather, it begins to snow very gradually, at first imperceptibly, this afternoon, — at first I thought I imagined it, — and at length begins to snow in earnest about 6 p. m., but lasts only a few minutes. December 26, 1859

I awake to find it snowing fast, but it slackens in a few hours. Perhaps seven or eight inches have fallen, — the deepest snow yet, and almost quite level. At first the flakes (this forenoon) were of middling size. At noon, when it was leaving off, they were of a different character. I observed them on my sleeve, — little slender spiculae about one tenth of an inch long, little dry splinters, sometimes two forking, united at one end, or two or three lying across one another, quite dry and fine; and so it concluded. December 30, 1859  See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Snow-storms might be classified.

The deepest snow yet.

Those who depend on skylights

find theirs a dim light

A note of recognition meant for me.

December 25

Standing by the side of the river at Eleazer Davis's Hill, -- prepared to pace across it, -- I hear a sharp fine screep from some bird, which at length I detect amid the button-bushes and willows. The screep is a note of recognition meant for me.

The bird is so very active that I can not get a steady view of it. Yet I can see a brilliant crown, even between the twigs of the button-bush and through the withered grass, when I can detect no other part. It is evidently the golden-crested wren, which I have not made out before.

This little creature is contentedly seeking its food here alone this cold winter day on the shore of our frozen river. If it does not visit us often it is strange that it should chose such a season.

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

The screep is a note of recognition meant for me. See  JJ Audubon ("This active little bird breeds in Labrador... It enters the United States late in September, and continues its journey beyond their limits,... remain[ing] in all the Southern and Western States the whole of that season, and leave them again about the beginning of March. They generally associate in groups, composed each of a whole family, and feed in company with the Titmice, Nuthatches, and Brown Creepers, perambulating the tops of trees and bushes, sometimes in the very depth of the forests or the most dismal swamps, while at other times they approach the plantations, and enter the gardens and yards. Their movements are always extremely lively and playful ..., and are unceasingly occupied. They have no song at this season, but merely emit now and then a low screep.”)

I can see a brilliant crown, evidently the golden-crested wren, which I have not made out before. See December 30, 1859 ("I noticed the other day that even the golden-crested wren was one of the winter birds which have a black head, — in this case divided by yellow.") [Apparently this is Thoreau’s first true sighting of the golden-crested wren, having misidentified  the ruby-crested as it until he saw its ruby crest and then waivers in his naming.]  See May 7, 1854 ("A ruby-crested wren. . .Saw its ruby crest and heard its harsh note. (This was the same I have called golden-crowned ; and so described by W[ilson], I should say, except that I saw its ruby crest. . . ..Have I seen the two?)”);  May 11, 1854 (“I am in a little doubt about the wrens (I do not refer to the snuff -colored one), whether I have seen more than one. All that makes me doubt is that I saw a ruby, or perhaps it might be called fiery, crest on the last — not golden.”); April 24, 1855 ("I see on the pitch pines at Thrush Alley that golden crested wren or the other, ashy-olive above and whitish beneath, with a white bar on wings, restlessly darting at insects like a flycatcher, —into the air after them. It is quite tame. A very neat bird, but does not sing now.”); April 26, 1855 (“Going over Ponkawtasset, hear a golden-crested wren, — the robin’s note, etc., —in the tops of the high wood”); April 27, 1855 (“ Few birds are heard this cold and windy morning. Hear a partridge drum before 6 A. M., also a golden-crested wren.”); May 6, 1855 ("Hear at a distance a ruby(?)-crowned wren, . . . I think this the only Regulus I have ever seen.”). See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau: the ruby-crowned or crested wren.

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

Seeking its food here

alone this cold winter day –

its note meant for me.

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,  A note of recognition 

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