A Book of the Seasons, Signs of the Spring: the note of the dark-eyed junco going northward

No mortal is alert enough 

to be present at the first dawn of the spring. 

Henry Thoreau, March 17, 1857

I see a Fringilla hyemalis 

the first bird, perchance, –unless one hawk– 

which is an evidence of spring.

March 14, 1858

They sing with us in 

the pleasantest days before

 they go northward.

March 23, 1852

February 23.   I have seen signs of the spring.  February 23, 1857

March 3. Going to Acton this morning, I saw some sparrows on the wall, which I think must have been the F. hyemalis (?). March 3, 1859

March 6.  Going by Messer's, I hear the well-known note and see a flock of F. hyemalis flitting in a lively manner about trees, weeds, walls, and ground, by the roadside, showing their two white tail-feathers. They are more fearless than the song sparrow. These attract notice by their numbers and incessant twittering in a social manner.  March 6, 1860

March 8. Saw the F. hyemalis March 4th. March 8, 1861

March 14.  I see a Fringilla hyemalis, the first bird, perchance, – unless one hawk, – which is an evidence of spring, though they lingered with us the past unusual winter, at least till the 19th of January. They are now getting back earlier than our permanent summer residents. It flits past with a rattling or grating chip, showing its two white tail-feathers. March 14, 1858 

March 15. Pleasant morning, unexpectedly. Hear on the alders by the river the lill lill lill lill of the first F. hyemalis, mingled with song sparrows and tree sparrows. March 15, 1854

March 18.  I hear the chill-lill or tchit-a-tchit of the slate-colored sparrow, and see it. March 18, 1857

March 19.  Hear the pleasant chill-lill of the F. hyemalis, the first time have heard this note. This, too, suggests pleasant associations. March 19, 1858

March 20.  And now, within a day or two, I have noticed the chubby slate-colored snowbird (Fringilla hyemalis?), and I drive the flocks before me on the railroad causeway as I walk. It has two white feathers in its tail. It is cold as winter to-day, the ground still covered with snow, and the stars twinkle as in winter night. March 20, 1852

March 20.  At my landing I hear the F. hyemalis, in company with a few tree sparrows. They take refuge from the cold wind, half a dozen in all, behind an arbor-vitae hedge, and there plume themselves with puffed-up feathers. March 20, 1855

March 20. The note of the F. hyemalis, or chill-lill, is a jingle, with also a shorter and drier crackling or shuffling chip as it flits by. March 20, 1858 

March 20. I see under the east side of the house amid the evergreens, where they were sheltered from the cold northwest wind, quite a parcel of sparrows, chiefly F. hyemalis, two or three tree sparrows, and one song sparrow, quietly feeding together. I watch them through a window within six or eight feet. They evidently love to be sheltered from the wind, and at least are not averse to each other's society . . . The F. hyemalis is the largest of the three. They   have remarkably distinct light-colored bills, and when they stretch, show very distinct clear-white lateral tail-feathers. This stretching seems to be contagious among them, like yawning with us. They have considerable brown on the quill-feathers. March 20, 1859

March 21.  Why are the early birds found most along the water? These song sparrows are now first heard commonly. The blackbirds , too , create some melody. And the bluebirds, how sweet their warble in the soft air, heard over the water! The robin is heard further off, and seen flying rapidly, hurriedly through the orchard. And now the elms suddenly ring with the chill - lill - lill and canary-like notes of the Fringilla hyemalis, which fill the air more than those of any bird yet , — a little strange they sound be cause they do not tarry to breed with us , — a ringing sound. March 21, 1853

March 22.  I hear the lively jingle of the hyemalis and the sweet notes of the tree sparrow. . .. Both species in considerable numbers, singing together as they flit along, make a very lively concert. They sing as loud and full as ever now. March 22, 1859

March 23.  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.  March 23, 1852

March 23.  The birds which are merely migrating or tarrying here for a season are especially gregarious now. March 23, 1853 

March 23.  The birds in yard active now, — hyemalis, tree sparrow, and song sparrow. The hyemalis jingle easily distinguished. March 23, 1854

March 24. Great flocks of hyemalis drifting about with their jingling note.March 24, 1854

March 24. The F. hyemalis has been seen two or three days. March 24, 1856 

*****

So I came in and

shut the door and passed my first

spring night in the woods.

Walden, Spring

*****

See also Signs of the Spring:

• A Sunny Nook in Spring
• A Change in the Air
• Alder and Willow Catkins Expanding
• Braided Ripples of Melting Snow Shine in the Ruts
• Bright Blue Water
• Buzzing Flies
• Ducks Afar, Sailing on the Meadow
• First silvery sheen from needles of the white pine waving in the wind
• Frogs, and Turtles Stirring
• Geese Overhead
• Greening Grasses and Sedges
• I begin to think that my wood will last
• Insects and Worms Come Forth and are Active
• Listening for the Bluebird
• March is famous for its Winds
• Mosses Bright Green
• My Greatcoat on my Arm
• Perla-like Insects Appear
• Red Maple Sap Flows
• Ripples made by Fishes
• Skunks Active
• The Anxious Peep of the Early Robin
• The crowing of cocks, the cawing of crows
• The Days have grown Sensibly Longer
• The Eaves Begin to Run
• The Gobbling of Turkeys
• The Grackle Arrives
• The Hawks of March
• The New Warmth of the Sun
• The Note of the Dark-eyed Junco Going Northward
• The Red-Wing Arrives
• The Skunk Cabbage Blooms
• The Softened Air of these Warm February Days
• The Song Sparrow Sings
• The Spring Note of the Chickadee
• The Spring Note of the Nuthatch
• The Striped Squirrel Comes Out
• The Water Bug (Gyrinus)
• The Woodchuck Ventures Out
• Walking without Gloves
• Woodpeckers Tapping

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,

Signs of the Spring, the note of the dark-eyed junco going 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 ©  2009-2023

At a distance a fox or an otter withdraws from the riverside.

 September 25. 

P. M. — To boat opposite Bittern Cliff  via Cliffs. 

Do I see an F. hyemalis in the Deep Cut? It is a month earlier than last year. 

I am detained by the very bright red blackberry leaves strewn along the sod, the vine being inconspicuous.

On the shrub oak plain, as seen from Cliffs, the red at least balances the green. It looks like a rich, shaggy rug now, before the woods are changed. 

The button-bush leaves are rapidly falling and covering the ground with a rich brown carpet. 

At a distance a fox or an otter withdraws from the riverside.  

I see several smokes in the distance, of burning brush.  I think that if that August haze had been much of it smoke, I should have smelt it much more strongly, for I now smell strongly the smoke of this burning half a mile off, though it is scarcely perceptible in the air.

September 25, 2019

There is a splendid sunset while I am on the water, beginning at the Clamshell reach. 

All the lower edge of a very broad dark-slate cloud which reached up backward almost to the zenith was lit up through and through with a dun golden fire, the sun being be low the horizon . . . a clear, pale robin's-egg sky beneath. 

All the colors are prolonged in the rippled reflection to five or six times their proper length. The effect is particularly remarkable in the case of the reds, which are long bands of red perpendicular in the water.

Bats come out fifteen minutes after sunset, and then I hear some clear song sparrow strains, as from a fence-post amid snows in early spring.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, September 25, 1854

Do I see an F. hyemalis . . . a month earlier than last year? See October 26, 1853 ("Slate-colored snowbirds."); See also September 3, 1857 ("A slate-colored snowbird back."); October 5, 1857 ("F.  hyemalis . . . only transiently visit us in spring and fall."); November 6, 1853 ("These little sparrows with white in tail, perhaps the prevailing bird of late, have flitted before me so many falls and springs, yet they have been strangers to me. I have not inquired whence they came or whither they were going,") See also A Book of the Seasons by Henry Thoreau, the Dark-eyed Junco (Fringilla hyemalis)

I am detained by the very bright red blackberry leaves strewn along the sod. See September 23, 1854 ("Low blackberry vines generally red. "); October 3, 1858 ("Have noticed a very brilliant scarlet blackberry patch within a week."); October 22, 1858 ("Blackberry and other small reddish plants are seen through the fine bleached grass and stubble"); October 23, 1853 ("Blackberry vines still red")

On the shrub oak plain . . . the red at least balances the green . . . like a rich, shaggy rug. See   October 2, 1852 ("From Cliffs the shrub oak plain has now a bright-red ground, perhaps of maples."); October 13, 1852 ("The shrub oak plain is now a deep red,"); October 22, 1858 ("I see, from the Cliffs, that color has run through the shrub oak plain like a fire or a wave, not omitting a single tree"); January 30, 1853 (" What I have called the Shrub Oak Plain contains comparatively few shrub oaks, — rather, young red and white and, it may be, some scarlet (?).") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Shrub Oak.

The button-bush leaves are rapidly falling and covering the ground with a rich brown carpet See September 24, 1854 (The button-bushes, which before had attained only a dull mixed yellow, are suddenly bitten, wither, and turn brown, all but the protected parts. . . . The button-bushes thus withered suddenly paint with a rich brown the river’s brim."); See also September 24, 1855 ("The button bushes pretty well browned with frost . . . their pale yellowish season past."); October 8, 1858 ("The button-bushes and black willows are rapidly losing leaves, and the shore begins to look Novemberish"); October 10, 1858 ("November has already come to the river with the fall of the black willow and the button-bush, . . . letting in the autumn light to the water")

At a distance a fox or an otter withdraws from the riverside.  January 30, 1854 ("How retired an otter manages to live! He grows to be four feet long without any mortal getting a glimpse of him.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Otter

I think that if that August haze had been much of it smoke, I should have smelt it much more strongly. See August 25, 1854 ("Between me and Nawshawtuct is a very blue haze like smoke. Indeed many refer all this to smoke"): August 26, 1854 ("I hear of a great many fires around us, far and near, both meadows and woods; in Maine and New York also. There may be some smoke in this haze, but I doubt it."); August 28, 1854 ("I think that haze was not smoke;"); August 31, 1854 ("At nine this evening I distinctly and strongly smell smoke, I think of burning meadows . . .There must be more smoke in this haze than I have supposed. ")

There is a splendid sunset while I am on the water, beginning at the Clamshell reach. See July 15, 1854 ("Again I am attracted by the Clamshell reach of the river  running east and west, as seen from Hubbard's fields . . . My thoughts are driven inward, even as clouds and trees are reflected in the still , smooth water. "); September 4, 1854 ("Looking up the reach beyond Clamshell, the moon on our east quarter, its sheen was reflected for half a mile . . . and it looked like a sort of Broadway with the sun reflected from its pavements."); December 29, 1856 (“When I return by Clamshell Hill, the sun has set, and the cloudy sky is reflected in a short and narrow open reach at the bend there.”); February 12, 1860 ("Sunset Reach, where the river flows nearly from west to east and is a fine sparkling scene from the hills eastward at sunset; ") See also Ray Angelo, Thoreau Place Names, 44 (Clamshell Reach – an east-west stretch of the Sudbury River, referred as Sunset Reach after this date)

All the colors are prolonged in the rippled reflection. See September 14, 1854 ("Crossing Fair Haven, the reflections are very fine, prolonged by the ripples made by an east wind just risen. "); October 7, 1857 (" The effect of this prolongation of the reflection was a very pleasing softening and blending of the colors . . . reflected and re-reflected from ripple to ripple, losing brightness each time by the softest possible gradation, and tapering toward the beholder . . . This is one of the prettiest effects of the autumnal change.. . .The ripples convey the reflection toward us.")

Bats come out fifteen minutes after sunset. See September 4, 1854 ("Full moon; bats flying about; skaters and water bugs like sparks of fire on the surface between us and the moon."); September 7, 1854 ("The moon not yet risen, one star, Jupiter, visible, and many bats over and about our heads, and small skaters creating a myriad dimples on the evening waters.")

I hear some clear song sparrow strains. See September 24,1854 ("Hear from a willow by river a clear strain from a song sparrow!")

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

I am detained by

the bright red blackberry leaves

strewn along the sod.

At a distance a 

fox or an otter withdraws 

from the riverside.

A splendid sunset
all the colors prolonged in
rippled reflection.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, At a distance a 

fox or an otter withdraws  from the riverside.

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-540925

Tell the story of your love.

May 6

To-day it has spit a little snow and is very windy (northwest) and cold enough for gloves. 

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?

There is no such thing as pure objective observation. Your observation, to be interesting, i. e. to be significant, must be subjective. The sum of what the writer of whatever class has to report is simply some human experience, whether he be poet or philosopher or man of science. 

The man of most science is the man most alive, whose life is the greatest event. Senses that take cognizance of outward things merely are of no avail. It matters not where or how far you travel, — the farther commonly the worse, — but how much alive you are. If it is possible to conceive of an event outside to humanity, it is not of the slightest significance, though it were the explosion of a planet. 

Every important worker will report what life there is in him. All that a man has to say or do that can possibly concern mankind, is in some shape or other to tell the story of his love, — to sing; and, if he is fortunate and keeps alive, he will be forever in love. This alone is to be alive to the extremities.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 6, 1854

Is not that the true spring when the F. hyemalis and tree sparrows are with us singing in the cold mornings. See March 20, 1855 ("At my landing I hear the F. hyemalis, in company with a few tree sparrows. They take refuge from the cold wind, half a dozen in all, behind an arbor-vitae hedge, and there plume themselves with puffed-up feathers.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Dark-eyed Junco

Your observation, to be interesting, i. e. to be significant, must be subjective.  See September 2, 1851 ("A writer, a man writing, is the scribe of all nature; he is the corn and the grass and the atmosphere writing. It is always essential that we love to do what we are doing, do it with a heart.”). June 30, 1852 ("Nature must be viewed humanly to be viewed at all; her scenes must be associated with humane affections... She is most significant to a lover."); May 10, 1853 ("I pray for such inward experience as will make nature significant"); August 7, 1853 ("The objects I behold correspond to my mood"); February 20, 1857("If I were to discover that a certain kind of stone by the pond-shore was affected, say partially disintegrated, by a particular natural sound, as of a bird or insect, I see that one could not be completely described without describing the other. I am that rock by the pond-side. “); November 5, 1857 (“The object I caught a glimpse of as I went by haunts my thoughts a long time, is infinitely suggestive, and I do not care to front it and scrutinize it, for I know that the thing that really concerns me is not there, but in my relation to that. That is a mere reflecting surface. . . .I think that the man of science makes this mistake, and the mass of mankind along with him: that you should coolly give your chief attention to the phenomenon which excites you as something independent on you, and not as it is related to you. The important fact is its effect on me. . . . It is the subject of the vision, the truth alone, that concerns me. . . . the point of interest is somewhere between me and them (i. e. the objects)')

Poet or philosopher or man of science. See April 28, 1856 ("Again, as so many times, I am reminded of the advantage to the poet, and philosopher, and naturalist, and whomsoever, of pursuing from time to time some other business than his chosen one, — seeing with the side of the eye."); September 14, 1856 ("Let the traveller bethink himself, elevate and expand his thoughts somewhat, that his successors may oftener hereafter be cheered by the sight of an Aster Novae-Angliae or spectabilis here and there, to remind him that a poet or philosopher has passed this way. "); October 21, 1857("Is not the poet bound to write his own biography? Is there any other work for him but a good journal? We do not wish to know how his imaginary hero, but how he, the actual hero, lived from day to day."); October 27, 1857 ("The real facts of a poet's life would be of more value to us than any work of his art."); April 2, 1858 ("It is not important that the poet should say some particular thing, but should speak in harmony with nature"); September 9, 1858 ("How differently the poet and the naturalist look at objects! A man sees only what concerns him. A botanist absorbed in the pursuit of grasses does not distinguish the grandest pasture oaks.")

Every important worker will report what life there is in him . . . tell the story of his love, — to sing. See  September 2, 1851 ("We cannot write well or truly but what we write with gusto . . . Expression is the act of the whole man . . . It is always essential that we love to do what we are doing, do it with a heart.”) Compare July 5, 1852 ("Some birds are poets and sing all summer. They are the true singers. Any man can write verses during the love season.")

The sum of what the

writer has to report is

his experience –

the life in him – in

some shape or other tell the

story of his love.

An eagle concealed, a ripple in the air.

April 23.

A kingfisher with his crack, — cr-r-r-rack. 

Rain yesterday and to-day; yet this morning the robin sings and the blackbirds and, in the yard, the tree sparrow, hyemalis, and song sparrow. A rain is sure to bring the tree sparrow and hyemalis to the gardens.

The first April showers are even fuller of promise and a certain moist serenity than the sunny days. How thickly the green blades are starting up amid the russet! The tinge of green is gradually increasing in the face of the russet earth.

April 23, 2022

P. M. — To Lee's Cliff on foot. See my white-headed eagle again, first at the same place, the outlet of Fair Haven Pond. It is a fine sight, he is mainly — i.e. his wings and body — so black against the sky, and they contrast so strongly with his white head and tail. He first flies low over the water; then rises gradually and circles westward toward White Pond. 

Lying on the ground with my glass, I watch him very easily, and by turns he gives me all possible views of himself. Now I see him edgewise like a black ripple in the air, his white head still as ever turned to earth, and now he turns his under side to me, and I behold the full breadth of his broad black wings, some what ragged at the edges. 

When I observe him edgewise I notice that the tips of his wings curve upward slightly.

He rises very high at last, till I almost lose him in the clouds, circling or rather looping along westward, high over river and wood and farm, effectually concealed in the sky. We who live this plodding life here below never know how many eagles fly over us.

I think I have got the worth of my glass now that it has revealed to me the white-headed eagle.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 23, 1854

A kingfisher with his crack, — cr-r-r-rack. See April 24, 1854 ("The kingfisher flies with a crack cr-r-r-ack and a limping or flitting flight from tree to tree before us, and finally, after a third of a mile, circles round to our rear. He sits rather low over the water. Now that he has come I suppose that the fishes on which he preys rise within reach.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau. The Kingfisher

Rain yesterday and to-day . . . and, in the yard, the tree sparrow, hyemalis, and song sparrow. A rain is sure to bring the tree sparrow and hyemalis to the gardens. See April 23, 1859 (" Rain, rain.. . .The tree sparrows abundant and singing in the yard, but I have not noticed a hyemalis of late. The field sparrow sings in our yard in the rain") See also A Book of the Seasons by Henry Thoreau, Birds in the Rain

The tinge of green is gradually increasing in the face of the russet earth. See April 14, 1854 ("There is a general tinge of green now discernible through the russet on the bared meadows and the hills, the green blades just peeping forth amid the withered ones."); April 28, 1854 ("Perhaps the greenness of the landscape may be said to begin fairly now . . . During the last half of April the earth acquires a distinct tinge of green, which finally prevails over the russet."). See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Colors of March-- Brown Season

The white-headed eagle.  See April 8, 1854  (“A perfectly white head and tail and broad or blackish wings. It sailed and circled along over the low cliff, and the crows dived at it in the field of my glass, and I saw it well.”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The White-headed Eagle

The worth of my glass. See March 13, 1854 ("Bought a telescope to-day for eight dollars.")

April 23. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, April 23

White-headed eagle

edgewise like a black ripple

concealed in the sky.

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, White-headed eagle concealed in the sky.

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-540423

How remarkable that the American mind runs to statistics.

April 17.

April 27, 2022

It is remarkable how the American mind runs to statistics. Consider the number of meteorological observers and other annual phenomena. The Smithsonian Institution is a truly national institution. 

Every shopkeeper makes a record of the arrival of the first martin or bluebird to his box. Dod, the broker, told me last spring that he knew when the first blue bird came to his boxes, he made a memorandum of it: John Brown, merchant, tells me this morning that the martins first came to his box on the 13th, he "made a minute of it." Beside so many entries in their day-books and ledgers, they record these things. 

I look up, these snowy days, and see purple finches silently feeding on the elms, when I have heard no sound. 

Did not see a linaria the past winter, though they were the prevailing bird the winter before. 

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. 

The tree sparrow is still the prevailing bird.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 17, 1854

John Brown, merchant, tells me this morning that the martins first came to his box on the 13th,  See April 17, 1860 ("J. Brown says that he saw martins on his box on the 13th and 14th, and that his son saw one the 8th").

I look up, these snowy days, and see purple finches silently feeding on the elms. See April 3, 1858  ("I am surprised by the rich strain of the purple finch from the elms"); April 11, 1853 ("I hear the clear, loud whistle of a purple finch, somewhat like and nearly as loud as the robin, from the elm by Whiting's.”); April 12, 1855 ("I hear a purple finch . . . on an elm, steadily warbling and uttering a sharp chip from time to time"); April 15, 1856 ("The purple finch is singing on the elms . . . ") April 15, 1854 ("The arrival of the purple finches appears to be coincident with the blossoming of the elm, on whose blossom it feeds.") Also see A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Elms and the Purple Finch

Did not see a linaria the past winter. See March 5, 1853 ("Though this is described by Nuttall as an occasional visitor in the winter, it has been the prevailing bird here this winter. "); March 6, 1860 ("The linarias have been the most numerous birds the past winter.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Lesser Redpoll

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. See April 8, 1854 (" Perchance after the warmer days, which bring out the frogs and butterflies, the alders and maples, the greater part of them leave for the north and give place to newcomers."); See also April 17, 1855 (" I believe I see a tree sparrow still, but I do not remember an F. hyemalis for two days."); April 24, 1855 (" Have not seen the F. hyemalis for a week") and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Dark-eyed Junco (Fringilla hyemalis)

The tree sparrow is still the prevailing bird. Compare April 17, 1855 ("I suspect that most of the tree sparrows and F. hyemalis, at least, went yesterday. So the pleasanter weather seems not an unmixed benefit.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Tree Sparrow

How remarkable 

that the American mind 

runs to statistics.

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Statistics

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-540417

A white-headed eagle

April 8. 

Methinks I do not see such great and lively flocks of hyemalis and tree sparrows in the morning since the warm days, the 4th, 5th, and 6th. Perchance after the warmer days, which bring out the frogs and butterflies, the alders and maples, the greater part of them leave for the north and give place to newcomers.

Am surprised to find two crowfoot blossoms withered. They undoubtedly opened the 5th or 6th; say the last. They must be earlier here than at the Cliffs, where I have observed them the last two years. 

They are a little earlier than the saxifrage around them here, of which last I find one specimen at last, in a favorable angle of the rock, just opening. I have not allowed enough for the difference of localities.

The columbine shows the most spring growth of any plant.

Saw a large bird sail along over the edge of Wheeler's cranberry meadow just below Fair Haven, which I at first thought a gull, but with my glass found it was a hawk and had a perfectly white head and tail and broad or blackish wings. It sailed and circled along over the low cliff, and the crows dived at it in the field of my glass, and I saw it well, both above and beneath, as it turned, and then it passed off to hover over the Cliffs at a greater height. It was undoubtedly a white-headed eagle. It was to the eye but a large hawk.

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

The warmer days, which bring out the frogs and butterflies. See April 5, 1854 ("These days, when a soft west or southwest wind blows and it is truly warm, and an outside coat is oppressive, — these bring out the butterflies and the frogs, and the marsh hawks which prey on the last. Just so simple is every year. ")

Lively flocks of hyemalis and tree sparrows. See March 23, 1854 ("The birds in yard active now, — hyemalis, tree sparrow, and song sparrow. The hyemalis jingle easily distinguished. "): March 24, 1854 ("Great flocks of hyemalis drifting about with their jingling note"); March 30, 1854 ("Great flocks of tree sparrows and some F. hyemalis on the ground and trees on the Island Neck, making the air and bushes ring with their jingling. March 30, 1854"); April 1, 1854 ("The tree sparrows, hyemalis, and song sparrows are particularly lively and musical in the yard this rainy and truly April day. The air rings with them. ");April 2, 1854 ("The tree sparrows make the alders, etc. ring. They have a metallic chirp and a short canary- like warble . They keep company with the hyemalis.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau: Signs of the Spring, the note of the dark-eyed junco going northward;  A Book of the Seasons by Henry Thoreau, the Dark-eyed Junco (Fringilla hyemalis); A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Tree Sparrow

Am surprised to find two crowfoot blossoms withered. . . They must be earlier here than at the Cliffs, . . . They are a little earlier than the saxifrage around them here.  See April 8, 1856 ("On the Fair Haven Cliff, crowfoot and saxifrage are very backward");   April 3, 1853 ("To my great surprise the saxifrage is in bloom. It was, as it were, by mere accident that I found it. I had not observed any particular forwardness in it, when, happening to look under a projecting rock in a little nook on the south side of a stump, I spied one little plant which had opened three or four blossoms high up the Cliff.") April 10, 1853 ("Two crowfoots out on the Cliff. A very warm and dry exposure but no further sheltered were they. Pale yellow offering of spring. The saxifrage is beginning to be abundant, elevating its flowers somewhat, pure, trustful, white amid its pretty notched and reddish cup of leaves . The white saxifrage is a response from earth to the increased light of the year; the yellow crowfoot to the increased heat of the sun");   April 13, 1854 ("The saxifrage is pretty common, ahead of the crowfoot now, and its peduncles have shot up.");   April 23, 1854 (Crowfoot is not yet abundant , though it was earlier than saxifrage, which has now gone ahead"") and  A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Crowfoot (Ranunculus fascicularis); A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Saxifrage in Spring (Saxifraga vernalis)

The columbine shows the most spring growth of any plant.  See  April 8, 1855 ("The columbine leaves in the clefts of Cliffs are one of the very earliest obvious growths. I noticed it the first of April.");  April 1, 1855 ("At the first Conantum Cliff I am surprised to see how much the columbine leaves have grown in a sheltered cleft")

A white-headed eagle. See March 13, 1854 ("Bought a telescope to-day for eight dollars"); April 10, 1854 ("I bought me a spy-glass some weeks since. I buy but few things, and those not till long after I begin to want them, so that when I do get them I am prepared to make a perfect use of them and extract their whole sweet"); April 23, 1854 (" Saw my white - headed eagle again , first at the same place. . .We who live this plodding life here below never know how many eagles fly over us"); April 23, 1854 ("I think I have got the worth of my glass now that it has revealed to me the white-headed eagle");  See also April 6, 1856 (" Looking with my glass, I saw that it was a great bird.. . . I am not sure whether it was a white-headed eagle or a fish hawk. . . . then, with its rear to me, presenting the least surface, it moved off steadily in its orbit over the woods northwest, with the slightest possible undulation of its wings, — a noble planetary motion, like Saturn with its ring seen edgewise.") and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The White-headed Eagle

A pigeon woodpecker at the hollow poplar

March 30.

6 a. m. — To Island. First still hour since the afternoon of the 17th.

Very severe cold and high winds cold enough to skim the river over in broad places at night, and commencing with the greatest and most destructive gale for many a year,  has never ceased to blow since till this morning. 

The ground these last cold (thirteen) days has been about bare of snow, but frozen.

At the Island I see and hear this morning the cackle of a pigeon woodpecker at the hollow poplar; had heard him tapping distinctly from my boat's place. 

Great flocks of tree sparrows and some F. hyemalis on the ground and trees on the Island Neck, making the air and bushes ring with their jingling.

The river early is partly filled with thin, floating, hardly cemented ice, occasionally turned on its edge by the wind and sparkling in the sun.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 30, 1854

At the Island I see and hear this morning the cackle of a pigeon woodpecker at the hollow poplar; had heard him tapping distinctly from my boat's place. See March 29, 1853 (" On approaching the Island, I am surprised to hear the scolding, cackle-like note of the pigeon woodpecker, a prolonged loud sound somewhat like one note of the robin. This was the tapper, on the old hollow aspen which the small woodpeckers so much frequent. Unless the latter make exactly the same sound with the former, then the pigeon woodpecker has come!! "); April 14, 1856 ("Hear the flicker’s cackle on the old aspen, and his tapping sounds afar over the water. Their tapping resounds thus far, with this peculiar ring and distinctness, because it is a hollow tree they select to play on, as a drum or tambour. It is a hollow sound which rings distinct to a great distance, especially over water.") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The Pigeon Woodpecker (flicker).

Great flocks of tree sparrows.  See March 28, 1853 ("I saw in Dodd's yard and flying thence to the alders by the river what I think must be the tree sparrow, — a ferruginous crowned, or headed, and partly winged bird, light beneath, with a few of the F. hyemalis in company. It sang sweetly, much like some notes of a canary."); April 1, 1854 ("The birds sing this warm, showery day after a fortnight's cold with a universal burst and flood of melody. The tree sparrows, hyemalis, and song sparrows are particularly lively and musical in the yard this rainy and truly April day. The air rings with them"); April 4, 1853 ("I hear the twitter of tree sparrows from fences and shrubs in the yard and from alders by meadows and the riverside every day"); April 4, 1855 ("A fine morning, still and bright, with smooth water and singing of song and tree sparrows and some blackbirds"); April 8, 1854 ("Methinks I do not see such great and lively flocks of hyemalis and tree sparrows in the morning since the warm days, the 4th, 5th, and 6th. Perchance after the warmer days, which bring out the frogs and butterflies, the alders and maples, the greater part of them leave for the north and give place to newcomers."); April 17, 1855 ("A sudden warm day, like yesterday and this, takes off some birds and adds others. . . . I suspect that most of the tree sparrows and F. hyemalis, at least, went yesterday.") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Tree Sparrow; A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Dark-eyed Junco (Fringilla hyemalis)

Ice turned on its edge by the wind and sparkling in the sun. See March 29, 1854 ("Thin cakes of ice at a distance now and then blown up on their edges glistening in the sun."). See also February 12, 1851 ("I see at a distance thin cakes of ice forced upon their edges and reflecting the sun like so many mirrors, whole fleets of shining sails, giving a very lively appearance to the river. ");  March 10, 1859 ("The strong northwest wind of last night broke the thin ice just formed, and set the irregular triangular pieces on their edges quite perpendicular and directed northwest and southeast and pretty close together, about nine inches high, for half a dozen rods, like a dense fleet of schooners with their mainsails set."); March 4, 1860 ("Ice will occasionally be lifted up on its edge two feet high and very conspicuous afar.")

Trees in foggy woods

appearing one at a time

clear my foggy mind.

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