The meadow ice is rapidly breaking up.

March 14.

P. M. — To Hunt house.

I thought from the above drawing that the original door must have been in the middle of the old part and not at one end, and that I should detect it in the manner in which the studs were set in. I really did so and found some other traces of the old door (where I have dotted it) when I got there. 

Some of the chalk- marks which have been preserved under the casing of the timbers so long have been completely washed off in yesterday's rain, as the frame stood bare. Also read in chalk on a chamber floor joist (which had been plastered over beneath) "enfine Brown," so many s. and d., and what most read for "Feb 1666," but, being written over a rough knot, it is doubtful.

"Hides 3." 

Saw E. Hosmer take up the cellar stairs.

They are of white oak, in form like one half of a squared white oak log sawed diagonally. These lie flat on their broadest sides on the slanting earth, resting near each end on a horse, which is a white oak stick with the bark on, hewed on the upper side and sunk in the earth, and they are fastened to this by two pins of wood placed as I have indicated.

I judge by my eye that the house is fifteen feet high to the eaves. The posts are remarkably sawn and hewn away on account of the projection of the upper story, so that they are more than twice as large above as below, thus:  the corner posts being cut on two sides or more  than half away (six inches off them) below the second story. 

The chimney was laid in clay. "T. B." were perhaps the initials of Thomas Brown; also "I. [?] H. D." 



The cowslip in pitcher has fairly blossomed to-day.

I see a large flock of grackles searching for food along the water's edge, just below Dr. Bartlett's. Some wade in the water. They are within a dozen rods of me and the road.

It must be something just washed up that they are searching for, for the water has just risen and is still rising fast. Is it not insects and worms washed out of the grass? and perhaps the snails ?

When a grackle sings, it is as if his mouth were full of cotton, which he was trying to spit out. 

The river is still rising. It is open [?] and generally over the meadows. 

The meadow ice is rapidly breaking up. Great cakes half a dozen rods long are drifted down against the bridges. There is a strong current on the meadow, not only north along the causeway, but south along the north end of the causeway, the water thus rushing both ways toward the only outlet at the bridge. 

This is proved by great cakes of ice floating swiftly along parallel with the causeway, but in opposite directions, to meet at the bridge. They are there soon broken up by the current after they strike the abutments. 

I see a large cake eight feet wide and ten inches thick, just broken off, carried under the bridge in a vertical position and wholly under water, such is the pressure there. This shows to what an extent the causeways and bridges act as dams to the flood.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 14, 1859

The cowslip in pitcher has fairly blossomed to-day. See March 5, 1859 ("The cowslip there Well Meadow] is very prominently flower-budded, lifting its yellow flower-buds above water in one place. The leaves are quite inconspicuous when they first come up, being rolled up tightly.");  March 24, 1855 ("It is too cold to think of those signs of spring which I find recorded under this date last year. The earliest signs of spring in vegetation noticed thus far are the maple sap, the willow catkins, grass on south banks, and perhaps cowslip in sheltered places") ;  March 26, 1857 ("The buds of the cowslip are very yellow, and the plant is not observed a rod off, it lies so low and close to the surface of the water in the meadow. It may bloom and wither there several times before villagers discover or suspect it"); March 27, 1855 ("Am surprised to see the cowslip so forward, showing so much green, in E. Hubbard’s Swamp, in the brook, where it is sheltered from the winds. The already expanded leaves rise above the water. If this is a spring growth, it is the most forward herb I have seen"); April 8, 1856 ("There, in that slow, muddy brook near the head of Well Meadow, within a few rods of its source, where it winds amid the alders, which shelter the plants somewhat, while they are open enough now to admit the sun, I find two cowslips in full bloom, shedding pollen")

The first boat on the meadows is exciting as the first flower or swallow..

April 7, 2016

April 7. 

Launched my boat, through three rods of ice on the riverside, half of which froze last night. The meadow is skimmed over, but by mid forenoon it is melted. 

P. M. — Up river in boat. The first boats I have seen are out to-day, after muskrats, etc. Saw one this morning breaking its way far through the meadow, in the ice that had formed in the night. 

How independent they look who have come forth for a day’s excursion! Melvin is out, and Goodwin, and another boat still. They can just row through the thinnest of the ice. 

The first boat on the meadows is exciting as the first flower or swallow. It is seen stealing along in the sun under the meadow’s edge. One breaks the ice before it with a paddle, while the other pushes or paddles, and it grates and wears against the bows. 

We see Goodwin skinning the muskrats he killed this forenoon on bank at Lee’s Hill, leaving their red and mutilated carcasses behind. He says he saw a few geese go over the Great Meadows on the 6th. 

The half of the meadows next the river, or more, is covered with rises up and floats off. These and more solid cakes from over the river clog the stream where it is least broken up, bridging it quite over. Great cakes rest against every bridge. 

We were but just able to get under the stone arches by lying flat and pressing our boat down, after breaking up a large cake of ice which had lodged against the upper side. 

Before we get to Clamshell, see Melvin ahead scare up two black ducks, which make a wide circuit to avoid both him and us. Sheldrakes pass also, with their heavy bodies. 

See the red and black bodies of more muskrats left on the bank at Clamshell, which the crows have already attacked. Their hind legs are half-webbed, the fore legs not at all. Their paunches are full apparently of chewed roots, yellowish and bluish. Goodwin says they are fatter than usual, perhaps because they have not been driven out of their holes heretofore. 

The open channel is now either over the river or on the upper side of the meadows next the woods and hills. 

Melvin floats slowly and quietly along the willows, watching for rats resting there, his white hound sitting still and grave in the prow, and every little while we hear his gun announcing the death of a rat or two. The dog looks on understandingly and makes no motion. 

At the Hubbard Bridge, we hear the incessant note of the phoebe,— pevet, pe-e-vet, pevee’, —its innocent, somewhat impatient call. 

Surprised to find the river not broken up just above this bridge and as far as we can see, probably through Fair Haven Pond. Probably in some places you can cross the river still on the ice. 

Yet we make our way with some difficulty, through a very narrow channel over the meadow and drawing our boat over the ice on the river, as far as foot of Fair Haven. 

See clams, fresh-opened, and roots and leaf buds left by rats on the edge of the ice, and see the rats there.

By rocking our boat and using our paddles, we can make our way through the softened ice, six inches or more in thickness. 

The tops of young white birches now have a red-pink color. 

Leave boat there.

See a yellow-spotted tortoise in a ditch; and a bay wing sparrow. It has no dark splash on throat and has a light or gray head.

H. D. Thoreau,  Journal, April 7, 1856

Drawing our boat over the ice on the river, as far as foot of Fair Haven. See April 7, 1854 ("Fair Haven is completely open.")  See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Ice-Out

 At the Hubbard Bridge, we hear the incessant note of the phoebe,— pevet, pe-e-vet, pevee’, —its innocent, somewhat impatient call.  See April 6, 1856 ('With what confidence after the lapse of many months, I come out to this waterside, some warm and pleasant spring morning, and, listening, hear, from farther or nearer, through the still concave of the air, the note of the first pewee! If there is one within half a mile, it will be here, and I shall be sure to hear its simple notes from those trees, borne over the water." See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Eastern Phoebe

See a yellow-spotted tortoise in a ditch See April 7, 1853 ("Many spotted tortoises are basking amid the dry leaves in the sun, along the side of a still, warm ditch cut through the swamp. They make a great rustling a rod ahead, as they make haste through the leaves to tumble into the water"); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Yellow-Spotted Turtle (Emys guttata)

See a bay wing sparrow. It has no dark splash on throat and has a light or gray head. See April 13, 1855 ("See a sparrow without marks on throat or breast, running peculiarly in the dry grass in the open field beyond, and hear its song, and then see its white feathers in tail; the bay-wing") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Bay-Wing Sparrow

The bluebird’s warble comes feeble and frozen to my ear.

March 28

P. M. —— To Cliffs, along river. 

It is colder than yesterday; wind strong from northwest. The mountains are still covered with snow. They have not once been bare. 

I go looking for meadow mice nests, but the ground is frozen so hard, except in the meadow below the banks, that I cannot come at them. 

That portion of the meadow next the upland, which is now thawed, has already many earth worms in it. I can dig a quantity of them,—I suspect more than in summer. Moles might already get their living there. 

A yellow-spotted tortoise in a still ditch, which has a little ice also. It at first glance reminds me of a bright freckled leaf, skunk-cabbage scape, perhaps. They are generally quite still at this season, or only slowly put their heads out (of their shells). 

I see where a skunk (apparently) has been probing the sod, though it is thawed but a few inches, and all around this spot frozen hard still. I dig up there a frozen and dead white grub, the large potato grub; this I think he was after. The skunk’s nose has made small round holes such as a stick or cane would make. 

The river has not yet quite worn its way through Fair Haven Pond, but probably will to-morrow. 

I run about these cold and blustering days, on the whole perhaps the worst to bear in the year, — partly because they disappoint expectation, — looking almost in vain for some animal or vegetable life stirring. The warmest springs hardly allow me the glimpse of a frog’s heel as he settles himself in the mud, and I think I am lucky if I see one winter-defying hawk or a hardy duck or two at a distance on the water. 

As for the singing of birds, — the few that have come to us, — it is too cold for them to sing and for me to hear. The bluebird’s warble comes feeble and frozen to my ear. 

We still walk on frozen ground, though in the garden I can thrust a spade in about six inches. 

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, sometimes separated by narrow and deep channels like muskrat paths, but oftener the edges have been raised and apparently stretched and, settling, have not fallen into their places exactly but lodged on their neighbors. Even yet you see cakes of ice surmounted by a shell of meadow-crust, which has preserved it, while all around is bare meadow.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 28, 1855

Colder . . . wind strong from northwest. The mountains are still covered with snow. See March 11, 1854 ("The distant mountains are all white with snow while our landscape is nearly bare");  March 20, 1853 ("The mountains are white with snow, and sure as the wind is northwest it is wintry.");April 4, 1859 ("When I look with my glass, I see the cold and sheeny snow still glazing the mountains. This it is which makes  the wind so piercing cold."); . April 12, 1855 ("The mountains are again thickly clad with snow, and, the wind being northwest, this coldness is accounted for") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Mountains in the Horizon

I go looking for meadow mice nests. See   March 15, 1855 ("Mr. Rice tells me that  . . . he heard a squeaking and found that he was digging near the nest of what he called a " field mouse," – by his description probably the meadow mouse. It was made of grass, etc., and, while he stood over it, the mother, not regarding him, came and carried off the young, one by one. . . and finally she took the nest itself."); March 22, 1855 ("A (probably meadow) mouse nest in the low meadow by stone bridge."); April 7, 1855 ("A mouse-nest of grass, in Stow's meadow east of railroad, on the surface . . . I think is the nest of the meadow mouse.") [Thoreau's meadow mouse or "short-tailed meadow mouse" (Arvicola hirsuta) s now known as Microtus pennsylvanicus, meadow Vole.] See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Wild Mouse

 A yellow-spotted tortoise in a still ditch, which has a little ice also. See March 26, 1860 ("The yellow-spotted tortoise may be seen February 23, as in '57, or not till March 28, as in '55, — thirty-three days. "); February 23, 1857 (“See two yellow-spotted tortoises in the ditch south of Trillium Wood.”); March 10, 1853 ("I find a yellow-spotted tortoise (Emys guttata) in the brook.”); March 18, 1854 (" C. has already seen a yellow-spotted tortoise in a ditch.”); March 23, 1858 ("See something stirring amid the dead leaves in the water at the bottom of a ditch, in two or three places, and presently see the back of a yellow-spotted turtle."); March 27, 1853 ("I see but one tortoise (Emys guttata) in Nut Meadow Brook now; the weather is too raw and gusty."); March 28, 1852 (" A yellow-spotted tortoise by the causeway side in the meadow near Hubbard's Bridge. "); March 28, 1857 ("The Emys guttata is found in brooks and ditches. I passed three to-day, lying cunningly quite motionless, with heads and feet drawn in, on the bank of a little grassy ditch, close to a stump, in the sun, on the russet flattened grass, . . .Do I ever see a yellow-spot turtle in the river? "); April 1, 1857 ("Up Assabet. See an Emys guttata sunning on the bank. I had forgotten whether I ever saw it in this river") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Yellow-Spotted Turtle

I see where a skunk (apparently) has been probing the sod.  See February 24, 1857 ("I have seen the probings of skunks for a week or more.); February 25, 1860 ("They appear to come out commonly in the warmer weather in the latter part of February."); March 30, 1855 ("Not till late could the skunk find a place where the ground was thawed on the surface.")  See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring; Skunks Active

The river has not yet quite worn its way through Fair Haven Pond, but probably will to-morrow.  See March 29, 1855 ("Fair Haven Pond only just open over the channel of the river. ");  See also March 29, 1854 (" Fair Haven half open; channel wholly open."); March 30, 1852 ("From the Cliffs I see that Fair Haven Pond is open over the channel of the river . . . I never knew before exactly where the channel was."); March 26, 1860 ("Fair Haven Pond may be open by the 20th of March, as this year or not till April 13 as in '56.")

As for the singing of birds, — the few that have come to us, — it is too cold for them to sing and for me to hear. See March 28, 1853 ("Too cold for the birds to sing much.")

The bluebird’s warble comes feeble and frozen to my ear. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Bluebird in Early Spring.