An hour and a half timing the closing of the lilies

July 17.

By river to Fair Haven.  I go to observe the lilies.

July 17, 2015

At Purple Utricularia Shore, there are, within a circle of four or five rods' diameter, ninety-two lilies fairly open and about half a dozen which appear to have already partly closed. I watch them for an hour and a half. By about 1.30 they are all shut up, and no petal is to be seen up and down the river unless a lily is broken off. You may therefore say that they shut up between 11.30 and 1.30, though almost all between 12 and 1. 

I think that I could tell when it was 12 o'clock within half an hour by the lilies. 

Meanwhile large yellowish devil's-needles, coupled, are flying about and repeatedly dipping their tails in the water. 

I feel an intense heat reflected from the surface of the pads. The rippled parts of the stream contrast with the dark smooth portions. They are separated as by an invisible barrier, yet, when I paddle into the smoothness, I feel the breeze the same. 

Why are not all the white lily pads red beneath? 

I am surprised to see crossing my course in middle of Fair Haven Pond great yellowish devil's-needles, flying from shore to shore, from Island to Baker's Farm and back, about a foot above the water, some against a head wind; also yellow butterflies; suggesting that these insects see the distant shore and resolve to visit it. In fact, they move much faster than I can toward it, yet as if they were conscious that they were on a journey, flying for the most part straight forward. It shows more enterprise and a wider range than I had suspected. It looks very bold. If devil's-needles cross Fair Haven, then man may cross the Atlantic. 

In Conant's meadow just behind Wheeler's, the smaller fringed orchis not quite reached by the mowers. It may have been out four or five days. It is a darker purple for being so exposed. None yet opening in the shade.

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

I could tell when it was 12 o'clock within half an hour by the lilies. See June 21, 1853 ("4.30 A.M.––Up river for lilies . . .The few lilies begin to open about 5."); July 1, 1852 ("...to see the white lilies in blossom...to breathe the atmosphere of lilies, and get the full impression which lilies are fitted to make. ... After eating our luncheon I can not find one open anywhere for the rest of the day."); July 20, 1853 ("Coming home at twelve, I see that the white lilies are nearly shut");  July 26, 1856 ("At five [A.M.] the lilies had not opened, but began about 5.15 and were abundantly out at six"); also note to June 29, 1852 ("The wind exposes the red undersides of the white lily pads. This is one of the aspects of the river now."). And March 27, 1853: Half an hour standing perfectly still to hear the frogs croak.

Great yellowish devil's-needles flying from shore to shore about a foot above the water, some against a head wind.  See July 17, 1853 ("I see two great devil’s-needles, three inches long, with red abdomens and bodies as big as hummingbirds, sailing round this pond, round and round, and ever and anon darting aside suddenly, probably to seize some prey. ") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Devil's-needle

The smaller fringed orchis not quite reached by the mowers. See July 21, 1851 ("The small purple orchis, its spikes half opened"); July 24, 1856 ("The small purple fringed orchis, apparently three or four days at least."); July 26, 1852("The smaller purple fringed orchis has not quite filled out its spike");
July 30, 1853("A small purple orchis (Platanthera psycodes) . . . If the meadows were untouched , I should no doubt see many more of the rare white and the beautiful smaller purple orchis there, as I now see a few along the shaded brooks and meadow's edge.") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The Purple Fringed Orchids

July 17. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau July 17

Flying shore to shore

yellowish devil's-needles

cross their Atlantic

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, An hour and a half timing the closing of the lilies

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-540717

When berries begin

July 13.

July 13, 2013

To Bare Hill, Lincoln, by railroad.

In the midst of July heat and drought. The season is trivial as noon. 

I hear the hot-weather and noonday birds, -- red eye, tanager, wood pewee, etc. Plants are curled and withered. The leaves dry, ripe like the berries.

Vaccinium vacillans on Bare Hill ripe enough to pick, now considerably in advance of huckleberries; sweeter than last and grow in dense clusters. 

The V. Pennsylvanicum is soft and rather thin and tasteless, mountain and spring like, with its fine light-blue bloom, very handsome, simple and ambrosial. This vacillans is more earthy, like solid food. 

Many of the huckleberries here on the hilltop have dried black and shrivelled before ripening.

If there is an interregnum in the flowers, it is when berries begin. 

Scent the bruised leaves of the fragrant goldenrod along the Lincoln road now.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, July 13, 1854

In the midst of July heat and drought. See July 13, 1857 ("The grass by the roadside is burnt yellow and is quite dusty. This, with the sultry air, the parched fields, and the languid inhabitants, marks the season."); July 13, 1852 ("The weather has been remarkably warm for a week or ten days, the thermometer at ninety-five degrees, more or less; and we have had no rain.")

If there is an interregnum in the flowers, it is when berries begin. See 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 6, 1851 ("June, the month for grass and flowers, is now past. . . . Now grass is turning to hay, and flowers to fruits.").

July 13. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, July 13.

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

An inky noonday darkness heralds the evening of the year.

August 15.

Rain again in the night, but now clear. It has been melting weather; hundreds sunstruck in New York. Sultry, mosquitoey nights, with both windows and door open, and scarcely a sheet to be endured. 

But now it is cooler and beautifully clear at last after all these rains, and the crickets chirp with a still more autumnal sound.

Instead of the late bluish mistiness, I see a distinct, dark shade under the edge of the woods, the effect of the luxuriant foliage seen through the clear air. It is a pleasure to look at the washed woods far away. You see every feature of the white pine grove with distinctness, -- the stems of the trees, then the dark shade, then their fresh sunlit outsides -- and an inky darkness as of night under the edge of the woods, now at noonday heralding the evening of the year.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, August 15, 1853

. . .heralding the evening of the year. See August, 19, 1853 (" The day is an epitome of the year.")

After all these rains

 the crickets chirp with a still 

more autumnal sound.