Showing posts with label march 11. Show all posts
Showing posts with label march 11. Show all posts

Sunday, February 26, 2023

A Book of the Seasons, Signs of the Spring: The Red-wing Arrives

  


No mortal is alert enough 
to be present at the first dawn of the spring. 

Henry Thoreau, March 17, 1857


Blackbird's sharp whistle
heard against the dark winter —
like sparks from the swamp.


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

February 26. See five red-wings and a song sparrow(?) this afternoon. February 26, 1851

February 28. One tells me that George Hubbard told him he saw blackbirds go over this forenoon.  February 28, 1860

March 2.  The sharp whistle of the blackbird, too, is heard like single sparks or a shower of them shot up from the swamps and seen against the dark winter in the rear.  March 2, 1859  

March 6. Hear and see the first blackbird, flying east over the Deep Cut, with a tchucktchuck, and finally a split whistle. March 6, 1854 

March 11. I believe that I saw blackbirds yesterday. March 11, 1852

March 11. Fair weather after three rainy days. Air full of birds, — bluebirds, song sparrows, chickadee (phoebe notes), and blackbirds. March 11, 1854

March 11 .  6 a. m. — By riverside I hear the song of many song sparrows, the most of a song of any yet. And on the swamp white oak top by the stone bridge, I see and hear a red-wing. It sings almost steadily on its perch there, sitting all alone, as if to attract companions (and I see two more, also solitary, on different tree-tops within a quarter of a mile), calling the river to life and tempting ice to melt and trickle like its own sprayey notes. Another flies over on high, with a tchuck and at length a clear whistle. The birds anticipate the spring; they come to melt the ice with their songs. March 11, 1859

March 12. This is the blackbird morning. Their sprayey notes and conqueree ring with the song sparrows' jingle all along the river. Thus gradually they acquire confidence to sing. It is a beautiful spring morning.  March 12, 1854

March 13.  I see a small flock of blackbirds flying over, some rising, others falling, yet all advancing together, one flock but many birds, some silent, others tchucking, — incessant alternation. This harmonious movement as in a dance, this agreeing to differ, makes the charm of the spectacle to me. One bird looks fractional, naked, like a single thread or ravelling from the web to which it belongs. Alternation! Alternation! Heaven and hell ! Here again in the flight of a bird, its ricochet motion, is that undulation observed in so many materials, as in the mackerel sky.  March 13, 1859 

On the 13th of March, after I had heard the bluebird, song-sparrow, and red-wing, the ice was still nearly a foot thick. Walden

March 14.  I see a flock of blackbirds and hear their conquereeMarch 14, 1852

March 16.  Thermometer 55; wind slight, west by south. To Abner Buttrick's Hill . . .  Here is a flock of red-wings. I heard one yesterday, and I see a female among these. How handsome as they go by in a checker, each with a bright-scarlet shoulder! They are not so very shy, but mute when we come near. They cover the apple trees like a black fruit. March 16, 1860

March 17.  Channing says he saw blackbirds yesterday. March 17, 1853

March 17.  Now I hear, when passing the south side of the hill, or first when threading the maple swamp far west of it, the tchuck tchuck of a blackbird, and after, a distinct conqueree. So it is a red-wing? . . . Four species of birds have all come in one day, no doubt to almost all parts of the town.  March 17, 1858

March 17. How handsome a flock of red-wings, ever changing its oval form as it advances, by the rear birds passing the others! March 17, 1860

March 18. And now from far southward coming on through the air, the chattering of blackbirds, —probably red-wings, for I hear an imperfect conqueree.  March 18, 1857

March 18When the blackbird gets to a conqueree he seems to be dreaming of the sprays that are to be and on which he is to perch. March 18, 1858

March 19.  This morning I hear the blackbird's fine clear whistle and also his sprayey note, as he is swayed back and forth on the twigs of the elm or of the black willow over the river. His first note may be a chuck, but his second is a rich gurgle or warble.  March 19, 1853

March 19. I hear at last the tchuck tchuck of a blackbird and, looking up, see him flying high over the river southwesterly in great haste to reach somewhere. March 19, 1855

March 19By the river, see distinctly red-wings and hear their conqueree. They are not associated with grackles. They are an age before their cousins, have attained to clearness and liquidity. They are officers, epauletted; the others are rank and file. I distinguish one even by its flight, hovering slowly from tree-top to tree-top, as if ready to utter its liquid notes. Their whistle is very clear and sharp, while the grackle's is ragged and split. It is a fine evening, as I stand on the bridge. The waters are quite smooth; very little ice to be seen. The red-wing and song sparrow are singing, and a flock of tree sparrows is pleasantly warbling. A new era has come. The red-wing's gurgle-ee is heard when smooth waters begin; they come together. One or two boys are out trying their skiffs, even like the fuzzy gnats in the sun, and as often as one turns his boat round on the smooth surface, the setting sun is reflected from its side. March 19, 1858

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.  Overcast and cold. Yet there is quite a concert of birds along the river; the song sparrows are very lively and musical, and the  blackbirds already sing o-gurgle ee-e-e from time to time on the top of a willow or elm or maple, but oftener a sharp, shrill whistle or a tchuckMarch 22, 1855

*****

So I came in and
shut the door and passed my first
spring night in the woods.
Walden, Spring


See also 


A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring:

A Book of the Seasons
, by Henry Thoreau, February 26

  <<<<< Signs of Spring                                                     Early Spring >>>>>


A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring

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

Friday, March 11, 2022

A Book of the Seasons: March 11 (air full of birds, bare ground, distant mountains, the song sparrow sings)




The year is but a succession of days,
and I see that I could assign some office to each day
which, summed up, would be the history of the year.
Henry Thoreau, August 24, 1852



Landscape nearly bare
distant mountains white with snow–
song sparrow’s first song.

Gradual but sure
their song develops like an
 expanding flower.


Fair weather after three rainy days. March 11, 1854

P. M. — To Annursnack. Clear and rather pleasant; the ground again bare; wind northerly. March 11, 1855

P. M.—3.30, thermometer 24°. Cut a hole in the ice in the middle of Walden. . . . Snow and ice together make a curtain twenty-eight inches thick now drawn over the pond. March 11, 1856

2 p.m. — About 40°. It is cold and blustering walking in the wind, though the thermometer is at 40; i. e., though the temperature is thus high, the strong and blustering northwest winds of March make this notorious March weather, which is worse to bear than severe cold without wind. March 11, 1860

The farmers say that there is nothing equal to the March winds for drying wood. It will dry more this month than it has in all the winter before. March 11, 1860

I am surprised to see how rapidly that ice that covered the meadows on the 1st of March has disappeared under the influence of the sun alone. March 11, 1855

From the hill the river and meadow is about equally water and ice, — rich blue water and islands or continents of white ice — no longer ice in place — blown from this side or that. March 11, 1854

The greater part of what then lay on the meadows a foot thick has melted—two thirds at least. March 11, 1855

The water is now high on the meadows and there is no ice there, owing to the recent heavy rains. March 11, 1861

Water that has been so long detained on the hills and uplands by frost is now rapidly finding its level in the ocean. March 11, 1852

All lakes without outlet are oceans, larger or smaller. March 11, 1852

As I sit at the base of Annursnack the earth appears almost completely bare, but from the top I see considerable white ice here and there. . . only observed from a height. March 11, 1855

The distant mountains are all white with snow while our landscape is nearly bare. March 11, 1854

Air full of birds, — bluebirds, song sparrows, chickadee (phoebe notes), and blackbirds. March 11, 1854

But methinks the sound of the woodpecker tapping is as much a spring note as any these mornings; it echoes peculiarly in the air of a spring morning. March 11, 1859

A bluebird day before yesterday in Stow. March 11, 1855

Bluebirds' warbling curls in elms. March 11, 1854

On Tuesday, the 7th, I heard the first song sparrow chirp, and saw it flit silently from alder to alder. March 11, 1854

This pleasant morning after three days' rain and mist, they generally forth burst into sprayey song from the low trees along the river. March 11, 1854

Song sparrows toward the water, with at least two kinds or variations of their strain hard to imitate. March 11, 1854

The developing of their song is gradual but sure, like the expanding of a flower. This is the first song I have heard. March 11, 1854

By riverside I hear the song of many song sparrows, the most of a song of any yet. . . .The birds anticipate the spring; they come to melt the ice with their songs. March 11, 1859

I believe that I saw blackbirds yesterday. March 11, 1852

And on the swamp white oak top by the stone bridge, I see and hear a red-wing. March 11, 1859

It sings almost steadily on its perch there, sitting all alone, as if to attract companions . . .calling the river to life and tempting ice to melt and trickle like its own sprayey notes. March 11, 1859

Another flies over on high, with a tchuck and at length a clear whistle. March 11, 1859

And I see two more, also solitary, on different tree-tops within a quarter of a mile.

The birds anticipate the spring; they come to melt the ice with their songs. March 11, 1859

C. says that Walden is almost entirely open to-day, so that the lines on my map would not strike any ice, but that there is ice in the deep cove. March 11, 1861

It will be open then the 12th or 13th. March 11, 1861

This is earlier than I ever knew it to open. March 11, 1861

Fair Haven was solid ice two or three days ago, and probably is still, and Goose Pond is to - day all ice. March 11, 1861

The ice in [White Pond] is soft on the surface, but it is still more than a foot thick. March 11, 1852

Why, then, should Walden have broken up thus early? for it froze over early and the winter was steadily cold up to February at least. March 11, 1861

According to all accounts there has been no skating on Walden the past winter on account of the snow. It was unusually covered with snow. March 11, 1861

I infer that, if it has broken up thus early, it must be because the ice was thin, and that it was thin not for want of cold generally, but because of the abundance of snow which lay on it. March 11, 1861

C. observes where mice (?) have gnawed the pitch pines the past winter. Is not this a phenomenon of a winter of deep snow only? . . . I do not commonly observe it on a large scale. March 11, 1861

I see a woodchuck out on the calm side of Lee's Hill (Nawshawtuct).   March 11, 1860

He has pushed away the withered leaves which filled his hole and come forth, and left his tracks in those slight patches of the recent snow which are left about his hole. March 11, 1860

I was amused with the behavior of two red squirrels as I approached the hemlocks. March 11, 1860

I at first heard a faint, sharp chirp like a bird, within the hemlock, on my account, and then one rushed forward on a descending limb toward me, barking or chirruping at me after his fashion, within a rod. March 11, 1860

They seemed to vie with one another who should be most bold. 

For four or five minutes at least, they kept up an incessant chirruping or squeaking bark, vibrating their tails and their whole bodies and frequently changing their position or point of view, making a show of rushing forward, or perhaps darting off a few feet like lightning and barking still more loudly, i. e. with a yet sharper exclamation, as if frightened by their own motions; their whole bodies quivering, their heads and great eyes on the qui vive. March 11, 1860

You are uncertain whether it is not half in sport after all. March 11, 1860

They were as gray as red, and white beneath. March 11, 1860

Many of those dirty-white millers or ephemera in the air. March 11, 1855

I see pitch pine needles looking as if whitewashed, thickly covered on each of the two slopes of the needle with narrow, white, oyster-shell-like latebra or chrysalids of an insect. March 11, 1855

At this season, — before grass springs to conceal them, — I notice those pretty little roundish shells on the tops of hills; one to-day on Annursnack. March 11, 1855

That dull-gray-barked willow shows the silvery down of its forthcoming catkins.  March 11, 1852

The woods I walked in in my youth are cut off. Is it not time that I ceased to sing? My groves are invaded. March 11, 1852

If these fields and streams and woods, the phenomena of nature here, and the simple occupations of the inhabitants should cease to interest and inspire me, no culture or wealth would atone for the loss. March 11, 1856

I wish so to live ever as to derive my satisfactions and inspirations from the commonest events, every-day phenomena, so that what my senses hourly perceive, my daily walk, the conversation of my neighbors, may inspire me, and I may dream of no heaven but that which lies about me. March 11, 1856

Only that travelling is good which reveals to me the value of home and enables me to enjoy it better.  March 11, 1856


*****

March 3, 1855 (“I see a dirty-white miller fluttering about over the winter-rye patch next to Hubbard’s Grove. ”)
March 5, 1857 ("See the tracks of a woodchuck in the sand-heap about the mouth of his hole, where he has cleared out his entry.")
March 6, 1854 (" Hear and see the first blackbird, flying east over the Deep Cut, with a tchucktchuck, and finally a split whistle.")
March 7, 1859 ("On the Hill I hear first the tapping of a small woodpecker.")
March 8, 1853(" I look into the placid reflecting water for the signs and promise of the morrow . . .  That dark-blue meadowy revelation.")
March 10, 1852 ("Hear the phoebe note of the chickadee to-day for the first time. . . I find that they too have become spring birds; they have changed their note. Even they feel the influence of spring. ")
March 10, 1855 ("You are always surprised by the sight of the first spring bird or insect; they seem premature, and there is no such evidence of spring as themselves, so that they literally fetch the year about. ")
March 10, 1856 ("A biting northwest wind compels to cover the ears. It is one of the hardest days of the year to bear. Truly a memorable 10th of March")
I hear the warble of my first Concord bluebird, borne to me from the hill through the still  March 10, 1859("morning air, and, looking up, I see him plainly, though so far away, a dark speck in the top of a walnut.. . . The bluebird on the apple tree, warbling so innocently to inquire if any of its mates are within call, —  the angel of the spring!")


March 12, 1854 ("This is the blackbird morning. Their sprayey notes and conqueree ring with the song sparrows' jingle all along the river. Thus gradually they acquire confidence to sing. It is a beautiful spring morning")
March 12, 1859 ("There are many other insects and worms and caterpillars (and especially spiders, dead) on  the ice, there as well as elsewhere . . . . May not this have tempted the bluebirds on early this year?  ")
March 12, 1860 (" It is the wind of March that makes it unpleasant often, and to seem much colder than it is")
March 13, 1855 ("I hear the rapid tapping of the woodpecker from over the water.")
March 15, 1860 ("I see to-day in two places, in mud and in snow, what I have no doubt is the track of the woodchuck that has lately been out")

March 11, 2022

If you make the least correct 
observation of nature this year,
 you will have occasion to repeat it
 with illustrations the next, 
and the season and life itself is prolonged.


March 10 <<<<<  March 11 >>>>> March 12 

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, March 11
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/hdt11march

Thursday, March 11, 2021

March 11. Landscape nearly bare distant mountains white with snow, song sparrow’s first song.

 The year is but a succession of days,

and I see that I could assign some office to each day
which, summed up, would be the history of the year.
Henry Thoreau, August 24, 1852

Journal, March 11, 1852:

The woods I walked in in my youth are cut off
. See January 21, 1852 ("This winter they are cutting down our woods more seriously than ever,--Fair Haven hill, Walden, Linnaea, Borealis Wood, etc., etc. Thank God, they cannot cut down the clouds!")

Water is now rapidly finding its level in the ocean
. See April 14, 1852 ("The streams break up; the ice goes to the sea. Then sails the fish hawk overhead, looking for his prey.")


Journal, March 11, 1854

This is the first song I have heard. 
See March 11, 1859 ("By riverside I hear the song of many song sparrows, the most of a song of any yet. . . .The birds anticipate the spring; they come to melt the ice with their songs.") and note to February 24, 1857 ("I am surprised to hear the strain of a song sparrow from the riverside”) See also A Book of Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Song Sparrow (Fringilla melodia)

The distant mountains are all white with snow while our landscape is nearly bare. See April 4, 1855 (“[F]ar beyond all, in the north western horizon, my eye rests on a range of snow-covered mountains, glistening in the sun.”); April 4, 1852 ("I see the snow lying thick on the south side of the Peterboro Hills, . . .probably the dividing line at present between the bare ground and the snow-clad ground stretching three thousand miles to the Saskatchewan and Mackenzie and the Icy Sea."); February 21, 1855 ("I look at the Peterboro mountains with my glass from Fair Haven Hill. I think that there can be no more arctic scene than these mountains in the edge of the horizon completely crusted over with snow, with the sun shining on them, seen through a telescope over bare, russet fields and dark forests.")

Rich blue water and islands or continents of white ice. See

The first sight of
the blue water in the spring
is exhilarating.
April 5, 1856

And for the first time
I see the water looking
blue on the meadows.
March 5, 1854


Journal, March 11, 1855:

Many of those dirty-white millers or ephemera in the air. See March 3, 1855 (“I see a dirty-white miller fluttering about over the winter-rye patch next to Hubbard’s Grove. ”)

Journal, March 11, 1856:

I wish so to live ever as to derive my satisfactions and inspirations from the commonest events . . . dream of no heaven but that which lies about me. See April 24, 1859 ("There is no other life but this, or the like of this. Nothing must be postponed. “); January 11, 1852 ("Let me not live as if time was short. Catch the pace of the seasons; have leisure to attend to every phenomenon of nature, and to entertain every thought that comes. “)


Journal, March 11, 1857:


Journal, March 11, 1859:

By riverside I hear the song of many song sparrows, the most of a song of any yet. See March 11, 1854 (“The developing of their song is gradual but sure, like the expanding of a flower. This is the first song I have heard. ”)

I see and hear a red-wing. See March 11, 1852 ("I believe that I saw blackbirds yesterday.”); March 11, 1854 ("Air full of birds, — bluebirds, song sparrows, chickadee (phoebe notes), and blackbirds.”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Red-wing in Spring

But methinks the sound of the woodpecker tapping is as much a spring note as any these mornings; it echoes peculiarly in the air of a spring morning. See March 13, 1855 ("I hear the rapid tapping of the woodpecker from over the water."); March 15, 1854 ("I hear that peculiar, interesting loud hollow tapping of a woodpecker from over the water.”); March 18, 1853 ("The tapping of the woodpecker about this time.”); March 27, 1857 (“You are pretty sure to hear a woodpecker early in the morning over these still waters.”); 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.”); April 14, 1856 (“Hear the flicker’s cackle on the old aspen, and his tapping sounds afar over the water. . . .It is a hollow sound which rings distinct to a great distance, especially over water.”); April 27, 1856 ("The tapping of a woodpecker is made a more remarkable and emphatic sound by the hollowness of the trunk, the expanse of water which conducts the sound, and the morning hour at which I commonly hear it.”);May 9, 1860 ("The tapping of a woodpecker sounds distinct and hollow this still cloudy day.”)  See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of Spring, the tapping of the woodpecker


On the chimney was the date 1703 (?), — I think that was it. See February 15, 1857 (“I found that the Lee house, of which six weeks ago I made an accurate plan, had been completely burned up the evening before, i. e. the 13th, while I was lecturing in Worcester. . . . In the course of the forenoon of yesterday I walked up to the site of the house, . . .. On my way I met Abel Hunt, to whom I observed that it was perhaps the oldest house in town. "No," said he, "they saw the date on it during the fire, — 1707." ”)


Journal, March 11, 1860:


Journal, March 11, 1861:

It will be open then the 12th or 13th.This is earlier than I ever knew it to open.
See Walden ("In 1845 Walden was first completely open on the 1st of April; in '46, the 25th of March; in '47, the 8th of April; in '51, the 28th of March; in '52, the 18th of April; in '53, the 23rd of March; in '54, about the 7th of April. "); April 18, 1856 ("Walden is open entirely to-day for the first time, owing to the rain of yesterday and evening. I have observed its breaking up of different years commencing in ’45, and the average date has been April 4th. ") Note: From 1995 to 2015, ice out ranged from Jan. 29 in 2012 to as late as April 12. The median ice out date over that period was March 21. See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Ice-out

C. observes where mice (?) have gnawed the pitch pines the past winter. See January 23, 1852 ("Mice have nibbled the buds of the pitch pines, where the plumes have been bent down by the snow.")

We have many kinds, but each is confined to its own habitat
. See May 12, 1857 ("Consider how many species of willow have been planted along the railroad causeway within ten years, of which no one knows the history, and not one in Concord beside myself can tell the name of one,")

The seed of the willow is exceedingly minute. . .and is surrounded at base by a tuft of cotton - like hairs about one fourth of an inch long rising around and above it, forming a kind of parachute. These render it the most buoyant of the seeds of any of our trees . . and, though apparently not more than one in many millions gets to be a shrub, yet so lavish and persevering is Nature that her purpose is completely answered. Compare October 12, 1851 ("The seeds of the bidens, or beggar-ticks, with four-barbed awns like hay-hooks, now adhere to your clothes, so that you are all bristling with them. ... How tenacious of its purpose to spread and plant its race! By all methods nature secures this end, whether by the balloon, or parachute, or hook, or barbed spear like this, or mere lightness which the winds can waft."); November 8, 1860 ("Consider how persevering Nature is, and how much time she has to work in, though she works slowly.") See also A Book of Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Propogation of the Willow. and A Book of Seasons, by Henry Thoreau. Willows on the Causeway.



Landscape nearly bare
distant mountains white with snow,
song sparrow’s first song.


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


This is earlier than I ever knew it to open.


March 11.

C. says that Walden is almost entirely open to-day, so that the lines on my map would not strike any ice, but that there is ice in the deep cove.

It will be open then the 12th or 13th.

This is earlier than I ever knew it to open.

Fair Haven was solid ice two or three days ago, and probably is still, and Goose Pond is to - day all ice.

Why, then, should Walden have broken up thus early? for it froze over early and the winter was steadily cold up to February at least.

I think it must have been because the ice was uncommonly covered with snow, just as the earth was, and as there was little or no frost in the earth, the ice also was thin, and it did not increase upward with snow ice as much as usual because there was no thaw or rain at all till February 2d, and then very little.

According to all accounts there has been no skating on Walden the past winter on account of the snow. It was unusually covered with snow.

This shows how many things are to be taken into account in judging of such a pond.

I have not been able to go to the pond the past winter.

I infer that, if it has broken up thus early, it must be because the ice was thin, and that it was thin not for want of cold generally, but because of the abundance of snow which lay on it.

The water is now high on the meadows and there is no ice there, owing to the recent heavy rains.

Yet C. thinks it has been higher a few weeks since.

C. observes where mice (?) have gnawed the pitch pines the past winter. Is not this a phenomenon of a winter of deep snow only? as that when I lived at Walden, a hard winter for them. I do not commonly observe it on a large scale.

My Aunt Sophia, now in her eightieth year, says that when she was a little girl my grandmother, who lived in Keene, N. H., eighty miles from Boston, went to Nova Scotia, and, in spite of all she could do, her dog Bob, a little black dog with his tail cut off, followed her to Boston, where she went aboard a vessel.

Directly after, however, Bob returned to Keene. 

One day, Bob, lying as usual under his mistress's bed in Keene, the window being open, heard a dog bark in the street, and instantly, forgetting that he was in the second story, he sprang up and jumped out the chamber window. He came down squarely on all fours, but it surprised or shocked him so that he did not run an inch, --- which greatly amused the children, - my mother and aunts.



The seed of the willow is exceedingly minute, - as I measure, from one twentieth to one twelfth of an inch in length by one fourth as much in width, - and is surrounded at base by a tuft of cotton - like hairs about one fourth of an inch long rising around and above it, forming a kind of parachute. These render it the most buoyant of the seeds of any of our trees, and it is borne the furthest horizontally with the least wind.

It falls very slowly even in the still air of a chamber, and rapidly ascends over a stove. It floats the most like a mote of any, — in a meandering manner, — and, being enveloped in this tuft of cotton, the seed is hard to detect.

Each of the numerous little pods, more or less ovate and beaked, which form the fertile catkin is closely packed with down and seeds. At maturity these pods open their beaks, which curve back, and gradually discharge their burden like the milkweed. It would take a delicate gin indeed to separate these seeds from their cotton.

If you lay bare any spot in our woods, however sandy, as by a railroad cut, no shrub or tree is surer to plant itself there sooner or later than a willow (commonly S. humilis or tristis) or poplar.

We have many kinds, but each is confined to its own habitat. I am not aware that the S. nigra has ever strayed from the river's brink. Though many of the S. alba have been set along our causeways, very few have sprung up and maintained their ground elsewhere.

The principal habitat of most of our species, such as love the water, is the river's bank and the adjacent river meadows, and when certain kinds spring up in an inland meadow where they were not known before, I feel pretty certain that they come from the river meadows.

I have but little doubt that the seed of four of those that grow along the railroad causeway was blown from the river meadows, viz. S. pedicellaris, lucida, Torreyana, and petiolaris.

The barren and fertile flowers are usually on separate plants. I observe [?] that the greater part of the white willows set out on our causeways are sterile ones.

You can easily distinguish the fertile ones at a distance when the pods are bursting.

And it is said that no sterile weeping willows have been introduced into this country, so that it cannot be raised from the seed.

Of two of the indigenous willows common along the brink of our river I have detected but one sex.

The seeds of the willow thus annually fill the air with their lint, being wafted to all parts of the country, and, though apparently not more than one in many millions gets to be a shrub, yet so lavish and persevering is Nature that her purpose is completely answered.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 11, 1861


It will be open then the 12th or 13th.This is earlier than I ever knew it to open. See Walden ("In 1845 Walden was first completely open on the 1st of April; in '46, the 25th of March; in '47, the 8th of April; in '51, the 28th of March; in '52, the 18th of April; in '53, the 23rd of March; in '54, about the 7th of April. "); April 18, 1856 ("Walden is open entirely to-day for the first time, owing to the rain of yesterday and evening. I have observed its breaking up of different years commencing in ’45, and the average date has been April 4th. ") NoeFrom 1995 to 2015, ice out ranged from Jan. 29 in the record-breaking warm winter of 2012 to as late as April 12. The median ice out date over that period was March 21.  See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Ice-out

C. observes where mice (?) have gnawed the pitch pines the past winter. See January 23, 1852 ("Mice have nibbled the buds of the pitch pines, where the plumes have been bent down by the snow."); April 8, 1861 ("The pitch pines have been much gnawed or barked this snowy winter . . . At the base of each, also, is a quantity of the mice droppings. It is probably the white-footed mouse. ") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Wild Mouse
   
We have many kinds, but each is confined to its own habitat. See May 12, 1857 ("Consider how many species of willow have been planted along the railroad causeway within ten years, of which no one knows the history, and not one in Concord beside myself can tell the name of one,")

The seed of the willow is exceedingly minute. . .and is surrounded at base by a tuft of cotton - like hairs about one fourth of an inch long rising around and above it, forming a kind of parachute. These render it the most buoyant of the seeds of any of our trees . . and, though apparently not more than one in many millions gets to be a shrub, yet so lavish and persevering is Nature that her purpose is completely answered. See October 12, 1851 ("The seeds of the bidens, or beggar-ticks, with four-barbed awns like hay-hooks, now adhere to your clothes, so that you are all bristling with them. ... How tenacious of its purpose to spread and plant its race! By all methods nature secures this end, whether by the balloon, or parachute, or hook, or barbed spear like this, or mere lightness which the winds can waft."); November 8, 1860 ("Consider how persevering Nature is, and how much time she has to work in, though she works slowly.") See also A Book of Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Propogation of the Willow. and  A Book of Seasons, by Henry Thoreau. Willows on the Causeway.

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"A stone fruit. Each one yields me a thought." ~ H. D. Thoreau, March 28, 1859


I sit on this rock
wrestling with the melody
that possesses me.