The brittle light-brown twigs of the black willow

November 11

P.M. — Up Assabet. 

As long as the sun is out, it is warm and pleasant.

The water is smooth. I see the reflections, not only of the wool-grass, but the bare button-bush, with its brown balls beginning to crumble and show the lighter inside, and the brittle light-brown twigs of the black willow, and the coarse rustling sedge, now completely withered (and hear it pleasantly whispering), and the brown and yellowish sparganium blades curving over like well-tempered steel, and the gray cottony mikania. 

The bricks of which the muskrat builds his house are little masses or wads of the dead weedy rubbish on the muddy bottom, which it probably takes up with its mouth. It consists of various kinds of weeds, now agglutinated together by the slime and dried confervae threads, utricularia, hornwort, etc., — a streaming, tuft-like wad. 

The building of these cabins appears to be coincident with the commencement of their clam diet, for now their vegetable food, excepting roots, is cut off. I see many small collections of shells already left along the river’s brink. Thither they resort with their clam to open and eat it. 

But if it is the edge of a meadow which is being overflowed, they must raise it and make a permanent dry stool there, for they cannot afford to swim far with each clam. I see where one has left half a peek of shells on perhaps the foundation of an old stool or a harder clod, which the water is just about to cover, and he has begun his stool by laying two or three fresh wads upon the shells, the foundation of his house. 

Thus their cabin is first apparently intended merely for a stool, and afterward, when it is large, is perforated as if it were the bank! 

There is no cabin for a long way above the Hemlocks, where there is no low meadow bordering the stream. The clamshells freshly opened are handsomest this month (or rather are most observable, before the ice and snow conceal them) and in the spring. 

November 11, 2025

I am surprised to see quite a number of painted tortoises out on logs and stones and to hear the wood tortoise rustling down the bank. 

Frogs are rare and sluggish, as if going into winter quarters. A cricket also sounds rather rare and distinct. 

At the Hemlocks I see a narrow reddish line of hemlock leaves and, half an inch below, a white line of saw dust, eight inches above the present surface, on the upright side of a rock, both mathematically level. This chronicles the hemlock fall, which I had not noticed, we have so few trees, and also the river’s rise. 

The North Branch must have risen suddenly before the South, for I see much pail-stuff from the Fort Pond Brook, which has been carried eighteen rods up the latter stream above the Rock, or as far as it extends immediately due west there. 

By “pail-stuff ” I mean the curved and grooved pieces which form the sides and the flat ones for the bottom and their trimmings. 

High blueberry leaves still conspicuous bright scarlet; also duller and darker green-briar leaves hold on on the Island. 

I hear gray squirrels coursing about on the dry leaves, pursuing one another, and now they come in sight, coursing from pine to pine on their winding way, on their unweariable legs, on their undulating and winding course. It is a motion intermediate between running and flying. 

I hear but a tree sparrow and a chickadee this voyage.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, November 11, 1855

The brittle light-brown twigs of the black willow. See June 8, 1856 ("Some species are so brittle at the base of the twigs that they break on the least touch, and these twigs are only thus shed like seeds which float away and plant themselves in the first bank on which they lodge.")

The building of these cabins appears to be coincident with the commencement of their clam diet. See note to November 5, 1853 ("What exactly are they for? . . . so that they may not have to swim so far as the flood would require in order to eat their clams[?]")

At the Hemlocks I see a narrow reddish line of hemlock leaves and, half an inch below, a white line of saw dust, on the upright side of a rock, both mathematically level. See April 1, 1859 ("The river being so low, we see lines of sawdust perfectly level and parallel to one another on the side of the steep dark bank at the Hemlocks. . .”) See also November 23, 1853 ("What an engineer this water is! It comes with its unerring level . . . an obvious piece of geometry in nature.")

This chronicles the hemlock fall, which I had not noticed. See October 8, 1857 (“Hemlock leaves are copiously falling. They cover the hillside like some wild grain.”); October 13, 1859 ("The hemlock seed is now in the midst of its fall, some of it, with the leaves, floating on the river."); October 15, 1856 ("A great part of the hemlock seeds fallen."); October 16, 1857 (“Hemlock leaves are falling now faster than ever, and the trees are more parti-colored. The falling leaves look pale-yellow on the trees, but become reddish on the ground.”);  October 28, 1858 (The hemlock is in the midst of its fall, and the leaves strew the ground like grain."); October 31, 1853 ("The hemlock seeds are apparently ready to drop from their cones.”)

And the coarse rustling 

sedge now completely withered 

pleasantly whispers.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau,  

The brittle light-brown twigs of the black willow

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-551111

 

The world and my life are simplified .

November 7. 

Another drizzling day, — as fine a mist as can fall. 

November 7, 2021

I find it good to be out this still, dark, mizzling afternoon; my walk or voyage is more suggestive and profitable than in bright weather. 

The view is contracted by the misty rain, the water is perfectly smooth, and the stillness is favorable to reflection. 

I am more open to impressions, more sensitive (not calloused or indurated by sun and wind), as if in a chamber still. 

My thoughts are concentrated; I am all compact. 

The solitude is real, too, for the weather keeps other men at home. 

This mist is like a roof and walls over and around, and I walk with a domestic feeling. 

The sound of a wagon going over an unseen bridge is louder than ever, and so of other sounds. 

I am compelled to look at near objects. 

All things have a soothing effect; the very clouds and mists brood over me. 

My power of observation and contemplation is much increased.

My attention does not wander. 

The world and my life are simplified. 

I see a painted tortoise swimming under water, and to my surprise another afterward out on a willow trunk this dark day. It is long since I have seen one of any species except the insculpta. They must have begun to keep below and go into winter quarters about three weeks ago. 

Looking west over Wheeler’s meadow, I see that there has been much gossamer on the grass, and it is now revealed by the dewy mist which has collected on it. 

Some green-briar leaves still left, a dull red or scarlet, others yellowish; also the silky cornel is conspicuously dull-red, and others yellowish-red. 

And the sallow on river’s brink (not cordata), with a narrow leaf pointed at both ends, shows some clear chrome yellow leaves atop. 

The white birches lose their lower leaves first, and now their tops show crescents or cones of bright-yellow (spring flames) leaves, some of the topmost even green still. 

The black willows almost everywhere entirely bare, yet the color of their twigs gives them the aspect of the crisp brown weeds of the river’s brink. 

How completely crisp and shrivelled the leaves and stems of the Polygonum amphibium var. terrestre, still standing above the water and grass! 

The river has risen a little more, the North Branch especially, and the pail-stuff which has drifted down it has been carried a few rods up the main stream above the junction. It rises and falls very suddenly, and I was surprised to see the other day a line of sawdust more than a foot above the water’s edge, showing that it had risen to that height and suddenly fallen without my knowledge. 

Opened a muskrat-house nearly two feet high, but there was no hollow to it. Apparently they do not form that part yet. 

Birds are pretty rare now. I hear a few tree sparrows in one place on the trees and bushes near the river, — a clear, chinking chirp and a half-strain,— a jay at a distance; and see a nuthatch flit with a ricochet flight across the river, and hear his gnah half uttered when he alights. 

A gray squirrel —as day before yesterday—runs down a limb of an oak and hides behind the trunk and I lose him. A red one runs along the trees to scold at me, boldly or carelessly, with a chuckling, bird like note and that other peculiar sound at intervals, between a purr and a grunt. He is more familiar than the gray and more noisy. What sound does the gray make? 

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, November 7, 1855

More open to impressions. See June 14, 1853 ("open to great impressions . . .you see those rare sights with the unconscious side of the eye.")

The view is contracted by the misty rain . . . I am compelled to look at near objects. See August 4, 1854 ("Rain and mist contract our horizon and we notice near and small objects”).  Also  December 16, 1855 ("The mist makes the near trees dark and noticeable"); February 6, 1852 (A mistiness makes the woods look denser, darker and more primitive.); November 29, 1850("The trees and shrubs look larger than usual when seen through the mist")

The world and my life are simplified. See January 7, 1857 ("I come out to these solitudes, where the problem of existence is simplified.

I see a painted tortoise swimming. See November 1, 1855 ("I see no painted tortoises out, and I think it is about a fortnight since I saw any."):  November 14, 1855 ("A clear, bright, warm afternoon. A painted tortoise swimming under water and a wood tortoise out on the bank."); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Painted Turtle (Emys picta)

Opened a muskrat-house nearly two feet high, but there was no hollow to it. See    November 7, 1853 ("A muskrat-house on the top of a rock, too thin round the sides for a passage beneath, yet a small cavity at top, which makes me think that they use them merely as a sheltered perch above water."); November 7, 1858 ("I pass a musquash-house, apparently begun last night. ") See also September 20, 1855 ("Open a new and pretty sizable muskrat-house with no hollow yet made in it.") and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Musquash

Birds are pretty rare now.  See November 4, 1855 ("The winter is approaching. The birds are almost all gone. The note of the dee de de sounds now more distinct, prophetic of winter,"):November 5, 1858 ("It is quite still; no wind, no insect hum, and no note of birds, but one hairy woodpecker."); November 24, 1857 ("Nowadays birds are so rare I am wont to mistake them at first for a leaf or mote blown off from the trees or bushes")

See a nuthatch flit with a ricochet flight across the river, and hear his gnah half uttered when he alights. 

See November 7, 1858 ("The nuthatch is another bird of the fall which I hear these days and for a long time, — apparently ever since the young birds grew up. ") See also  October 20, 1856 ("Think I hear the very faint gnah of a nuthatch. Thus, of late, when the season is declining, many birds have departed, and our thoughts are turned towards winter (began to have a fire, more or less, say ten days or a fortnight ago), we hear the jay again more frequently, and the chickadees are more numerous and lively and familiar and utter their phebe note, and the nuthatch is heard again, and the small woodpecker seen amid the bare twigs");  November 26, 1860 ("I hear the faint note of a nuthatch . . .a phenomenon of the late fall or early winter; for we do not hear them in summer that I remember.”); December 1, 1857 ("I thus always begin to hear this bird on the approach of winter, as if it did not breed here, but wintered here.”) and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Nuthatch

A gray squirrel. . . runs down a limb of an oak and hides behind the trunk See November 13, 1857 (“ I see, on a white oak on Egg Rock, where the squirrels have lately made a nest for the winter of the dry oak leaves . . . I suspect it is a gray squirrel's nest.”); November 20, 1858 ("I have seen more gray squirrels of late . . . not merely because the trees are bare but because they are stirring about more, — nutting, etc.");  November 30, 1851 ("While the squirrels hid themselves in the tree-tops, I sat on an oak stump by an old cellar-hole and mused. This squirrel is always an unexpectedly large animal to see frisking about. ") 

A red one runs along the trees to scold at me, See December 1, 1857 ("I hear a red squirrel barking at me amid the pine and oak tops, and now I see him coursing from tree to tree.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Red Squirrel

The world and my life

are simplified this still, dark

mizzling afternoon.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau,  The world and my life are simplified 

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

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-551107

More nests and eggs

American Redstart
Setophaga ruticilla

June 16 

The cherry-bird’s egg was a satin color, or very pale slate, with an internal or what would be called black-and-blue ring about large end. 

P. M. —To Hubbard’s Grove, on river. 

A sparrow’s nest with four gray eggs in bank beyond ivy tree. 

Four catbirds half fledged in the green-briar near bathing-place, hung three feet from ground.

Examined a kingbird’s nest found before (13th) in a black willow over edge of river, four feet from ground. Two eggs. West of oak in Hubbard’s meadow. 

Catbird’s nest in an alder, three feet from ground, three fresh eggs. 

See young and weak striped squirrels nowadays, with slender tails, asleep on horizontal boughs above their holes, or moving feebly about; might catch them. 

Redstarts in the swamp there. 

Also see there a blue yellow-green-backed warbler, with an orange breast and throat, white belly and vent, and forked tail— indigo-blue head, etc.

Ground-nut, how long? 

A painted tortoise just burying three flesh-colored eggs in the dry, sandy plain near the thrasher’s nest. It leaves no trace on the surface. Find near by four more about this business. When seen they stop stock still in whatever position, and stir not nor make any noise, just as their shells may happen to be tilted up.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 16, 1855

Catbird’s nest in an alder, three feet from ground, three fresh eggs. See note to June 20, 1855 ("A catbird’s nest eight feet high on a pitch pine")

Examined a kingbird’s nest found before (13th) in a black willow. See June 13, 1855 ("Two kingbirds’ nests with eggs in an apple and in a willow by riverside.").

Redstarts in the swamp there. See May 17, 1856(“At the Kalmia Swamp, see and hear the redstart, very lively and restless, flirting and spreading its reddish tail.”); June 4, 1855 ("Redstarts still very common in the Trillium Woods (yesterday on Assabet also). Note tche, tche, tche vit, etc.”); June 6, 1855 ("On the Island I hear still the redstart—tsip tsip tsip tsip, tsit-i-yet, or sometimes tsip tsip tsip tsip, tse vet. A young male.”);June 23, 1855 ("Probably a redstart’s nest on a white oak sapling, twelve feet up, on forks against stem. Have it. See young redstarts about.”) See also A Book of Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The American Redstart

When seen they stop stock still in whatever position. See June 10, 1856 ("A tedious, naturlangsam pause of the slow-blooded creature, a sacrifice of time such as those animals are up to which slumber half a year and live for centuries"); see also A Book of the Seasons. by Henry Thoreau, the Painted Turtle (Emys picta)

June 16. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, June 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 ©  2009-2021

A sparrow's nest, five eggs.

 June 5.  P. M. — To Clamshell by river.  

Yellow Bethlehem-star in prime. 

Aphyllon, or orobanche, well out apparently several days. 

Nuphar Kalmiana budded above water. Green-briar flower out apparently two or three days. Low blackberry out in low ground. 

That very early (or in winter green radical leaf) plant by ash is the myosotis laxa, open since the 28th of May, say June 1st. 

Ranunculus repens, say two days out, river being very low. Common cress well out along river.

302 Side-flowering Sandwort 303 Flower magnified 

(Gray 1859)

Side-flowering sandwort apparently three days out in Clamshell flat meadow. 

Some oxalis done, say two or three days, on ditch bank. 

Ranunculus repens in prime. 

Yellow clover well out some days. 

Flowering ferns, reddish-green, show on meadows. 

Green oak-balls. 

Walking along the upper edge of the flat Clamshell meadow, a bird, probably a song sparrow (for I saw two chipping about immediately after), flew up from between my feet, and I soon found its nest remarkably concealed. 

It was under the thickest of the dry river wreck, with an entry low on one side, full five inches long and very obscure. On looking close I detected the eggs from above by looking down through some openings in the wreck about as big as sparrows’ eggs, through which I saw the eggs, five in number. I never saw the nest so perfectly concealed. 

I am much interested to see how Nature proceeds to heal the wounds where the turf was stripped off this meadow. There are large patches where nothing remained but pure black mud, nearly level or with slight hollows like a plate in it. This the sun and air had cracked into irregular polygonal figures, a foot, more or less, in diameter. The whole surface of these patches here is now covered with a short, soft, and pretty dense moss-like vegetation springing up and clothing it. 

The little hollows and the cracks are filled with a very dense growth of reddish grass or sedge, about one inch high, the growth in the cracks making pretty regular figures as in a carpet, while the intermediate spaces are very evenly but much more thinly covered with minute sarothra and whitish Gnaphalium uliginosum. Thus the wound is at once scarred over. Apparently the seeds of that grass were heavier and were washed into the hollows and cracks. Is it likely that the owner has sprinkled seed here?

H. D. Thoreau,  Journal, June 5, 1855

Yellow Bethlehem-star in prime.  See June 15, 1851 ("The Hypoxis erecta, yellow Bethlehem-star, where there is a thick, wiry grass in open path; should be called yellow-eyed grass, methinks.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Yellow Bethlehem-star

Aphyllon, or orobanche, well out apparently several days. See June 13, 1852 ("Orobanche uniflora, single-flowered broom-rape (Bigelow), [or] Aphyllon uniflorum, one-flowered cancer-root (Gray). C. found it June 12 at Clematis Brook."); June 21, 1852 ("Found the single-flowered broom-rape in Love Lane, under the oak.")

That very early (or in winter green radical leaf) plant by ash is the Myosotis laxa. See June 12, 1852 ("The mouse-ear forget me-not (Myosotis laxa) is one of the most interesting minute flowers. It is the more beautiful for being small and unpretending, for even flowers must be modest.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Mouse-ear forget-me-not

Side-flowering sandwort apparently three days out in Clamshell flat meadow. See May 26, 1853 ("Side-flowering sandwort is abundant, for some time, by wall of Lee's field near Garfield's."); June 3, 1859 ("Arenaria lateriflora well out, how long? "); June 6, 1852 ("The side-flowering sandwort, an inconspicuous white flower like a chickweed."); June 10, 1856 ("Side-flowering sandwort abundantly out this side of Dugan Spring."); June 13, 1858 ("Arenaria lateriflora, how long?")

Ranunculus repens in prime. See May 19, 1858 ("R. repens . . . the earliest ranunculus. It is a dense bed of yellow now. I am struck by the light spot in the sinuses of the leaves. "); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Ranunculus Repens

Some oxalis done. See June 3, 1860 ("These are the clear breezy days of early June, when the leaves are young and few and the sorrel not yet in its prime.");  June 6, 1857 ("Now I am ice, now I am sorrel. Each experience reduces itself to a mood of the mind.");See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Wood Sorrel (Oxalis)

Yellow clover well out some days. See May 24, 1852 (" Found in College Yard Trifolium procumbens, or yellow clover."); May 30, 1856 ("Yellow clover abundantly out, though the heads are small yet. Are they quite open?")

A sparrow's nest remarkably concealed . . .  the eggs, five in number. See June 9, 1855 ("A song sparrow’s nest low in Wheeler’s meadow, with five eggs, made of grass lined with hair.");  June 14, 1855 ("A song sparrow’s nest in ditch bank under Clamshell, of coarse grass lined with fine, and five eggs nearly hatched and a peculiar dark end to them."); see also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Song Sparrow (Fringilla melodia)

Whitish Gnaphalium uliginosum [(Marsh Cudweed] See June 24, 1853 ("The Gnaphalium uliginosum seems to be almost in blossom."); July 11, 1853 ("Gnaphalium uliginosum now."):  July 17, 1852 ("Gnaphalium uliginosum by the roadside,"); July 24, 1856 ("Some Gnaphalium uliginosum going to seed; how long?")

I am much interested to see how Nature proceeds to heal the wounds where the turf was stripped off this meadow. See March 28, 1855 ("Over a great many acres, the meadows have been cut up into great squares and other figures by the ice of February, as if ready to be removed"); February 28, 1855 ("This is a powerful agent at work.")

June 5. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, June 5

A bird flies up from 

between my feet and I soon 

find its concealed nest. 

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, A sparrow's nest, five eggs.

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-550605

The clump of golden willows west of new stone bridge is very handsome now seen from hill.

May 18.

P. M. — Boat to Nut Meadow. 

MAY 18, 2015

Large devil’s-needle. 

Sassafras well open. How long? Celtis will probably shed pollen to-morrow; shoots already an inch long. Sorrel pollen. 

First veery strain. 

Green-briar leafed several days. Veronica serpylli folia well out (how long?) at Ash Bank Spring. 


See the yellow-legs feeding on shore. Legs not bright-yellow. Goes off with the usual whistle; also utters a long monotonous call as it is standing on the shore, not so whistling. Am inclined to think it the lesser yellow-legs (though I think the only one we see). Yet its bill appears quite two inches long. Is it curved up? 

Observe a blackbird’s (red-wing’s) nest finished. At Clamshell a bay-wing sparrow’s nest, four eggs (young half hatched) -- some black-spotted, others not.

These last warmer days a great many fishes dart away from close to the shore, where they seem to lie now more than ever. I see some darting about and rippling the water there with large back fins out, either pouts or suckers (not pickerel certainly). Apparently their breeding-season arrived. Is not this where the fish hawks get them? 

Rhodora; probably some yesterday. Black scrub oak pollen. Fir balsam pollen; say begins to leaf at same time. 

The clump of golden willows west of new stone bridge is very handsome now seen from hill, with its light-yellowish foliage, because the stems of the trees are seen through it.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 18, 1855

Large devil’s-needle. See April 27, 1856 ("I see a rather large devil’s-needle coursing over the low osiers in Pinxter Swamp. Is it not early for one?");  April 29, 1856 ("I see great devil’s-needles whiz by, coupled."); May 23, 1856("A warm summer-like night. A bullfrog trumps once. A large devil’s—needle goes by after sundown."); May 30, 1860 ("Saw some devil’s-needles (the first) about the 25th."); June 6, 1852 ("First devil's-needles in the air, and some smaller, bright-green ones on flowers."); June 8, 1855  ("A great many devil’s-needles in woods within a day or two."); June 6, 1857 ("I see many great devil's-needles in an open wood") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Devil's-needle

First veery strain. See  May 17, 1852 ("The first veery note."); May 17, 1853 ("the veery constantly now.");  May 17, 1856  ("Hear the first veery note."); May 23, 1857 ("Hear the first veery strain.") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The Veery

Tell tale, great yellow-legs. See May 31, 1854 ( "It acts the part of a telltale."   "watchful, but not timid, ... while it stands on the lookout ... wades in the water to the middle of its yellow legs; goes off with a loud and sharp phe phe phe phe. ...")

The clump of golden willows west of new stone bridge is very handsome now seen from hill, with its light-yellowish foliage. See   January 21, 1855 ("Few twigs are conspicuous at a distance like those of the golden willow. The tree is easily distinguished at a distance by its color."); May 14, 1852 ("These willows have yellow bark, bear yellow flowers and yellowish-green leaves, and are now haunted by the summer yellowbird and Maryland yellow-throat") ; May 15, 1853 ("The golden willow catkins begin to fall; their prime is past."); May 16, 1854 ("Yesterday, when the blossoms of the golden willow began to fall, the blossoms of the apple began to open."); May 19, 1853  ("The days of the golden willow are over for this season; their withered catkins strew the causeways and cover the water and also my boat, which is moored beneath them. ") See also A Book of Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau. Willows on the Causeway.   Compare May 18, 1853 ("A singular effect produced by a mass of ferns at a little distance, some rods square, their light yellow green tops seen above the dark masses of their fruit. ")

The clump of golden 

willows west of new stone bridge 

handsome seen from hill.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The clump of golden willows west of new stone bridge 

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

The ripening year. My thoughts break out spotted yellow and green and brown.

September 8

September 8, 2014

The grapes would no doubt be riper a week hence, but I am compelled to go now before the vines are stripped. I partly smell them out. 

I pluck splendid great bunches of the purple ones, with a rich bloom on them and the purple glowing through it like a fire; large red ones, also, with light dots, and some clear green. Sometimes I crawl under low and thick bowers, where they have run over the alders only four or five feet high, and see the grapes hanging from a hollow hemisphere of leaves over my head. At other times I see them dark-purple or black against the silvery undersides of the leaves, high overhead where they have run over birches or maples, and either climb or pull them down to pluck them. 

Some goldfinches twitter over, while I am pulling down the vines from the birch tops. 

The witch-hazel on Dwarf Sumach Hill looks as if it would begin to blossom in a day or two.

Many green-briar leaves are very agreeably thickly spotted now with reddish brown, or fine green on a yellow or green ground, producing a wildly variegated leaf. I have seen nothing more rich. Now, while I am gathering grapes, I see them. It excites me to a sort of autumnal madness. My thoughts break out like them, spotted all over, yellow and green and brown. Now for the ripening year! Even leaves are beginning to be ripe.

I bring home a half-bushel of grapes to scent my chamber with. As I paddle home with my basket of grapes in the bow, every now and then their perfume was wafted to me in the stern, and I think that I am passing a richly laden vine on shore.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, September 8, 1854

I partly smell them out. . . . As I paddle home with my basket of grapes in the bow, every now and then their perfume was wafted to me in the stern, and I think that I am passing a richly laden vine on shore. See September 8, 1852 (“Grapes ripe on the Assabet for some days”); September 8, 1858 (“Gather half my grapes, which for some time have perfumed the house.”); September 8, 1859 ("Grapes are turning purple, but are not ripe."); See also August 30, 1853 ("Grapes are already ripe; I smell them first."); September 13, 1856 ("Up Assabet. Gather quite a parcel of grapes, quite ripe.. . . the best are more admirable for fragrance than for flavor. Depositing them in the bows of the boat, they fill all the air with their fragrance, as we row along against the wind, as if we were rowing through an endless vineyard in its maturity."); October 9, 1853 ("I smell grapes, . . . their scent is very penetrating and memorable."). See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Grape

Some goldfinches twitter over, while I am pulling down the vines from the birch tops.See September 16, 1852 (" The jay screams; the goldfinch twitters; the barberries are red. The corn is topped. "); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Goldfinch

The witch-hazel on Dwarf Sumach Hill looks as if it would begin to blossom in a day or two. See September 8, 1856 ("Witch-hazel out, maybe a day or two, in some places."); September 15, 1854 ("The witch-hazel has opened since the 8th; say 11th. Its leaves, a third or a half of them, are yellow and brown."); September 18, 1856 ("The witch-hazel at Conantum just begun here and there; some may have been out two or three days. Yet I saw the witch-hazel out in Brattleboro September 8th, then apparently for a day or two.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Witch-Hazel

The ripening year 

excites me to a sort of 

autumnal madness 

while gathering grapes

all my thoughts break out spotted 

yellow green and brown.

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Autumnal madness. 

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau

 "A book, each page written in its own season,

out-of-doors, in its own locality."

 ~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx ©  2009-2024

tinyurl.com/HDTgrapes

Down river on snow-covered ice.

February 7.

February 7, 2016

The river has not been so concealed by snow before. 

We crossed the Great Meadows lengthwise, a broad level plain, roughened only by snowy waves, about two miles long and nearly half as wide. Looking back over it made me think of what I have read of Arctic explorers travelling over snow-covered ice. 

Saw a few crows. Some green-briar berries quite fresh. 

Made a fire on the snow-covered ice half a mile below Ball's Hill -- a large warm fire, whose flame went up straight, there being no wind, and without smoke. Stayed half an hour, and when we took our departure, felt as if we had been in a house all the while, for we had been warm and had looked steadily at the fire instead of looking off. The fire made a large circular cavity in the snow and ice, three feet in diameter and four or five inches deep, with water at the bottom. 

We had often sailed over this very spot.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, February 7, 1854

It made me think of what I have read of Arctic explorers travelling over snow-covered ice. See February 2, 1860 ("No part of our scenery is ever more arctic than the river and its meadows now."); February 3, 1852 ("The landscape covered with snow two feet thick . . .The scenery is wholly arctic.")

Made a fire on the snow-covered ice.  See February 2, 1860("And as we were kindling a fire on the pond by the side of the island, we saw the fox "); February 20, 1854 ("It is best to lay down first some large damp wood on the ice for a foundation, since the success of a fire depends very much on the bed of coals it makes, and, if these are nearly quenched in the basin of melted ice, there is danger that it will go out.")

We had often sailed over this very spot. See February 3, 1856 ("How different this from sailing or paddling up the stream here in July, or poling amid the rocks!"); January 24, 1856("They have been sledding wood along the river . . . one of the rockiest and swiftest parts of the stream. Where I have so often stemmed the swift current, dodging the rocks, with my paddle, there the heavy, slow paced oxen, with their ponderous squeaking load, have plodded, while the teamster walked musing beside it.")

February 7. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, February 7

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau

 "A book, each page written in its own season, 

out-of-doors, in its own locality."

 ~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx ©  2009-2024

tinyurl.com/hdt540207