They sing with us in the pleasantest days before they go northward.

March 23.

March 22, 2022

I heard, this forenoon, a pleasant jingling note from the slate-colored snowbird on the oaks in the sun on Minott's hillside. Apparently they sing with us in the pleasantest days before they go northward. 

Minott thinks that the farmers formerly used their meadow-hay better, gave it more sun, so that the cattle liked it as well as the English now. 

As I cannot go upon a Northwest Passage, then I will find a passage round the actual world where I am. Connect the Behring Straits and Lancaster Sounds of thought; winter on Melville Island, and make a chart of Banks Land; explore the northward-trending Wellington Inlet, where there is said to be a perpetual open sea, cutting my way through floes of ice.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 23, 1852

A pleasant jingling note from the slate-colored snowbird.  See March 23, 1854 ("The birds in yard active now, — hyemalis, tree sparrow, and song sparrow. The hyemalis jingle easily distinguished."); March 23, 1853 ("The birds which are merely migrating or tarrying here for a season are especially gregarious now."); See also notes to 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.") and March 28, 1853 (The woods ring with the cheerful jingle of the F. hyemalis. This is a very trig and compact little bird, and appears to be in good condition. The straight edge of slate on their breasts contrasts remarkably with the white from beneath ; the short, light-colored bill is also very conspicuous amid the dark slate ; and when they fly from you, the two white feathers in their tails are very distinct at a good distance. They are very lively, pursuing each other from bush to bush.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Dark-eyed Junco (Fringilla hyemalis); A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau: Signs of the Spring, the note of the dark-eyed junco going northward

Hear this forenoon a

pleasant jingling note from the

slate-colored junco.

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,  They sing before they go northward

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-520323

A load of hay in the winter revives the memory of past summers!

January 5. 

January 5, 2020

P. M. – I see one of those fuzzy winter caterpillars, black at the two ends and brown-red in middle, crawling on a rock by the Hunt's Bridge causeway. 

Mr. Hosmer is loading hay in his barn. It is meadow hay, and I am interested in it chiefly as a botanist. If meadow-hay is of less worth in the market, it is more interesting to the poet. In this there is a large proportion of Osmunda regalis. But I fear that in the long run it is not so interesting to the cattle to contemplate and chew this as English hay and clover. 

How completely a load of hay in the winter revives the memory of past summers! Summer in us is only a little dried like it. The rowen in Hosmer's barn has a finer and greener look than the first crop. 

And so the ferns in coal remind us of summer still longer past.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, January 5, 1858


I see one of those fuzzy winter caterpillars, black at the two ends and brown-red in middle, crawling on a rock by the Hunt's Bridge causeway. See  March 5, 1854 ("See a small blackish caterpillar on the snow. Where do they come from? "); March 8, 1855 ("I see of late more than before of the fuzzy caterpillars, both black and reddish-brown.”); January 8, 1857 ("I picked up on the bare ice of the river, opposite the oak in Shattuck's land, on a small space blown bare of snow, a fuzzy caterpillar, black at the two ends and red-brown in the middle, rolled into a ball”);  November 29, 1857 ("One of those fuzzy caterpillars, black at each end and rust-colored in middle, curled up in a ring, — the same kind that I find on the ice and snow, frozen, in winter.") 

How completely a load of hay in the winter revives the memory of past summers! See October 26, 1853 ("It is surprising how any reminiscence of a different season of the year affects us. You only need to make a faithful record of an average summer day's experience and summer mood, and read it in the winter, and it will carry you back to more than that summer day alone could show"); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Reminiscence and Prompting

And so the ferns in coal remind us of summer still longer past. See June 5, 1857 ("Those strange fossil plants whose impressions I see on my coal."); July 23, 1856 ("That fern leaf on my coal ")

Reading Harper's Magazine

October 4. 

Helianthus tuberosus, apparently several days, in Reynolds's yard (the butcher's). 

P. M. — Down river. 

Wind from northeast. Some water milkweed flying. Its pods small, slender, straight, and pointed perfectly upright; seeds large with much wing. 

The hibiscus gone to seed, and pods opened showing the seed, opposite Ostrya Island (Burr's Island) or Rock below Battle-Ground. 

In an article on the alligator in Harper's Magazine for December, 1854, it is said that mosquitoes "surround its head in clouds; and we have heard the negroes assert that the reptile opened its mouth until its interior was fully lined, and suddenly closing it up, would swallow the accumulated marauders, and then set its huge jaws as a trap for more." This reminds me of the swarms of mosquitoes about frogs and, I think, turtles. 

In another article, of May, 1855, on "The Lion and his Kind," the animals are placed in this order: the domestic cat, wildcat, the ocelot or tiger-cat of Peru and Mexico, the caracal of Asia and Africa, the lynx of North America, the chetah of India and Africa, the ounce of India (perhaps a rough variety of the leopard), the leopard, the jaguar, the cougar, the tiger, the lion. 

"The Cougar is the American lion — at least it bears a closer resemblance to that noble brute than any other of the feline family, for it is destitute of the stripes of the tiger, the spots of the leopard, and the rosettes of the jaguar; but when full-grown possesses a tawny-red color, almost uniform over the whole body, and hence the inference that it is like the lion." 

"Cougar is a corruption of the Mexican name." Ranges between Paraguay and the Great Lakes of North America. "In form it is less attractive than the generality of its species, there being an apparent want of symmetry; for it is observable that its back is hollow, its legs short and thick, and its tail does not gracefully taper; yet nature has invested the cougar with other qualities as a compensation, the most remarkable of which is an apparent power to render itself quite invisible; for so cunningly tinged is its fur, that it perfectly mingles with the bark of trees — in fact, with all subdued tints — and stretched upon a limb, or even extended upon the floor of its dimly lighted cage, you must prepare your eye by consider able mental resolution to be assured of its positive presence." Its flesh is eaten by some. 

Mrs. Jane Swisshelm kept one which grew to be nine feet long, and, according to her, in this writer's words, "If in exceeding good-humor he would purr; but if he wished to intimidate, he would raise his back, erect his hair, and spit like a cat. In the twilight of the evening the animal was accustomed to pace back and forth to the full extent of his limits, ever and anon uttering a short, piercing shriek, which made the valley reverberate for half a mile or more in every direction. Mrs. Swisshelm says these sounds were the shrillest, and at the same time the most mournful she ever heard. They might, perhaps, be likened to the scream of a woman in an agony of terror." He once sprang at her, but was brought up by his chain. When preparing to spring, his eyes were "green and blazing, and the tip of his tail moving from side to side." 

This paper describes "a full-grown royal tiger, measuring four feet seven inches from the nose to the insertion of the tail. . . . Unlike the miserable wretches we see in our menageries, etc." 

The Brattleboro paper makes the panther four feet eleven inches, so measured!! 

I hear that a Captain Hurd, of Wayland or Sudbury, estimates the loss of river meadow-hay this season in those two towns on account of the freshet at twelve hundred tons.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, October 4, 1856

The Brattleboro paper makes the panther four feet eleven inches  . . . See September 9, 1856 ("The most interesting sight I saw in Brattleboro was the skin and skull of a panther (Felis concolor) (cougar, catamount, painter, American lion, puma), . . . The Brattleboro newspaper says its body was "4 feet 11 inches in length, and the tail 2 feet 9 inches; the animal weighed 108 pounds."

The loss of river meadow-hay this season . . . See September 30, 1856 "Speaking of the meadow-hay which is lost this year, Minott said that the little they had got since the last flood before this was good for nothing.")

A day of sunny water.

August 8. 

August 8, 2014

This is a day of sunny water. As I walk along the bank of the river, I look down a rod and see distinctly the fishes and the bottom.

Lobelia cardinalis

The cardinals are in perfection, standing in dark recesses of the green shore, or in the open meadow. They are fluviatile, and stand along some river or brook, like myself.

The foliage of most trees is now not only most dense, but a very dark green. 

I see one large white maple crisped and tinged with a sort of rosaceous tinge, just above the Golden Horn. 

The surface is very glassy there.   

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

I look down a rod and see distinctly the fishes and the bottom.  See August 8, 1859 ("The river, now that it is so clear and sunny, is better than any aquarium."); see also July 30, 1856 ("The wonderful clearness of the water, enabling you to explore the river bottom and many of its secrets now...”); July 28, 1859 ("The season has now arrived when I begin to see further into the water"); July 27, 1860 ("The water has begun to be clear and sunny, revealing the fishes and countless minnows of all sizes and colors”) and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Season of Sunny Water

The cardinals are in perfection. See July 27, 1852 ("The cardinal-flower just opened, close to the water's edge, remarkable for its intense scarlet color, contrasting with the surrounding green."); August 6, 1851 ("I see cardinal-flowers, with their red artillery, reminding me of soldiers . . It is remarkable for its intensely brilliant scarlet color. You are slow to concede to it a high rank among flowers, but ever and anon, as you turn your eyes away, it dazzles you and you pluck it."); August 6, 1852 ("I love to follow up the course of the brook and see the cardinal-flowers. . . their brilliant scarlet the more interesting in this open, but dark, cellar-like wood,"); 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. So much does a plant fluctuate from season to season.")

The foliage of most trees is now not only most dense, but a very dark green. See August 6, 1854 ("As I look westward up the stream, the oak, etc., on Ponkawtasset are of a very dark green, almost black, which, methinks, they have worn only since midsummer"

I see one large white maple crisped and tinged with a sort of rosaceous tinge. See August 6, 1854 ("I see some smaller white maples turned a dull red, — crimsonish, — a slight blush on them. "); August 15, 1858 (“The smaller white maples are very generally turned a dull red, and their long row, seen against the fresh green of Ball’s Hill, is very surprising.”); August 22, 1856 (“I notice three or four clumps of white maples, at the swamp up the Assabet, which have turned as red (dull red) as ever they do, fairly put on their autumnal hue.”)

The surface is very glassy there. See June 11, 1854 (" A sheet of water . . . revealed by its reflections, a smooth, glassy mirror, reflecting the light sky and the dark and shady woods.") See also note to August 4, 1852 ("A pleasant time to behold a small lake in the woods is in the intervals of a gentle rain-storm at this season, when the air and water are perfectly still, but the sky still overcast.")

August 8. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, August 8

Along the river

a day of sunny water –

I see the fishes.

Perfect cardinals,

fluviatile like myself

standing on the shore.

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, A day of sunny water

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,

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

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

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

tinyurl.com/hdt-540808

June, the month for grass and flowers, is now past.

July 6.

I walked by night last moon, and saw its disk reflected in Walden Pond, the broken disk, now here, now there, a pure and memorable flame unearthly bright. 

Ah! but that first faint tinge of moonlight . . . a silvery light from the east before day had departed in the west. What an immeasurable interval there is between the first tinge of moonlight which we detect, lighting with mysterious, silvery, poetic light the western slopes, like a paler grass, and the last wave of daylight on the eastern slopes! 

It is wonderful how our senses ever span so vast an interval, how from being aware of the one we become aware of the other.

It is now a free, flowing wind, with wet clouds in the sky. Though the sun shines, from time to time I hear a few drops of rain falling on the leaves, but feel none. All serious showers go round me and get out of my way.

June, the month for grass and flowers, is now past. The red clover heads are now turned black. It is but a short time that their rich bloom lasts.  

The white clover is black or withering also.  Blue-eyed grass is now rarely seen. The grass in the fields is dryer and riper and ready for the mowers. Now grass is turning to hay, and flowers to fruits. 

Already I gather ripe blueberries on the hills. 

The red-topped grass is in its prime, tingeing the fields with red.

H. D. Thoreau,  Journal, July 6, 1851 

June, the month for grass and flowers, is now past. Now grass is turning to hay, and flowers to fruits. See July 2, 1854 ("The spring now seems far behind, yet I do not remember the interval. ") July 5, 1852 (" Nature offers fruits now as well as flowers"); July 7, 1852 ("And now that there is an interregnum in the blossoming of flowers, so is there in the singing of the birds."); July 13, 1860 ("The vernal freshness of June is passed."); August 6, 1852 ("Methinks there are few new flowers of late. An abundance of small fruits takes their place. Summer gets to be an old story. Birds leave off singing, as flowers blossoming.");

The red-topped grass is in its prime, tingeing the fields with red. See July 13, 1860 ("First we had the June grass reddish-brown, and the sorrel red, of June; now the red-top red of July.)

July 6. Sunday. I walked by night last moon, and saw its disk reflected in Walden Pond, the broken disk, now here, now there, a pure and memorable flame .unearthly bright, like a cucullo 1 of a water-bug. Ah! but that first faint tinge of moonlight on the gap ! (seen some time ago), — a silvery light from the east before day had departed in the west. What an immeasurable interval there is between the first tinge of moonlight which we detect, lighting with mysterious, silvery, poetic light the western slopes, like a paler grass, and the last wave of daylight on the eastern slopes ! It is wonderful how our senses ever span so vast an interval, how from being aware of the one we become aware of the other. And now the night wind blows, . . The red clover heads are now turned black. They no longer impart that rosaceous tinge to the meadows and fertile fields. It is but a short time that their rich bloom lasts. The white is black or withering also. Whiteweed still looks white in the fields. Blue-eyed grass is now rarely seen.

 The grass in the fields and meadows is not so fresh and fair as it was a fortnight ago. It is dryer and riper and ready for the mowers. Now June is past. June is the month for grass and flowers. Now grass is turning to hay, and flowers to fruits. Already I gather ripe blueberries on the hills. 

The red-topped grass is in its prime, tingeing the fields with red. It is a free, flowing wind, with wet clouds in the sky, though the sun shines. The distant hills look unusually near in this atmosphere. Acton meeting-houses seen to stand on the side of some hills, Nagog or Nashoba, beyond, as never before. Nobscot looks like a high pasture in the sunlight not far off. From time to time I hear a few drops of rain falling on the leaves, but none is felt and the sun does not cease to shine. All serious showers go round me and get out of my way.

it is wonderful 

our senses ever span so 

vast an interval

that first faint tinge of

moonlight from the east before

day has departed

that grass is turning 

to hay and flowers to fruit

that now June is past