They peep at intervals.

May 2.

6 A. M. — Is not the chipping sparrow the commonest heard in the village streets in the mornings now, sitting on an elm or apple tree?

Was it the black and white warbler that I saw this morning? It did not stop to creep round the trunks; was very shy.

Or was it the myrtle-bird? 

Might it have been the log-cock woodpecker that I saw yesterday morning?

Reptiles must not be omitted, especially frogs; their croaking is the most earthy sound now, a rustling of the scurf of the earth, not to be overlooked in the awakening of the year. It is such an earth-sound.

The flowers of Cheney's elm are not only much earlier and larger than others, but the peduncles are in separate bundles proceeding from a common short peduncle. There appears to be such a difference, the tree is made of a different form and appearance.\ I can easily break off a twig from its branches, which hang very low. Vide the rough -- barked elm in the swamp, --if it is not the corky elm.

The balm-of-Gilead begins to show its male (?) catkins.

The commonplaces of one age or nation make the poetry of another.

I think that my seringo-bird has not the marks of the Savannah sparrow. Looks like a chip-bird; or did I see a spot on its breast?

That white maple, methinks, has a smoother bark tħan the red ones.

P. M. - To Conantum.

The handsome blood-red lacquered marks on the edge and under the edge of the painted tortoise's shell, like the marks on a waiter, concentric, few colors like it in nature. This tortoise, too, like the guttata, painted on these parts of its shell and on legs and tail in this style, but throat bright yellow stripes, sternum dull yellowish or buff.
It hisses like the spotted.

Tortoises everywhere coupling.

Is the male the large and flatter, with depressed sternum? It so seems? There is some regularity in the guttata's spots, — generally a straight row on back. Some of the spots are orange sometimes on the head.

Brought home two little frogs which I have described in the Report (q. v.) but cannot make out. Are they young?

The andromeda is ready to bloom.

The yellow lily is budded.

The little frogs peep more or less during the day, but chiefly at evening twilight, rarely in the morning. They peep at intervals. One begins, then all join in over the whole pond, and they suddenly stop all together.

If you would obtain insight, avoid anatomy.

I am pretty sure that is the myrtle-bird I see and hear on the Corner road, picking the blossoms of the maple, with the yellow crown and black throat or cheeks. It sings pe-te-te-te-ter twe ', emphasizing the last and repeating the second, third, and fourth fast.

The little frogs I kept three days in the house peeped at evening twilight, though they had been silent all day; never failed; swelled up their little bagpipes, transparent, and as big as a small cherry or a large pea.

Saw a bird on the willows, very shy, which may be the indigo-bird, but I am not sure.

The Equisetum arvense is now in bloom (the male flowers) all over the railroad embankment, coloring it yellowish (?).


H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 2, 1852

Tobacco-pipes now in their prime.

August 10

August 10, 2018

P. M. — To yew, etc. 

It is cloudy and misty dog-day weather, with a good deal of wind, and thickening to occasional rain this afternoon. This rustling wind is agreeable, reminding me, by its unusual sound, of other and ruder seasons. The most of a storm you can get now is rather exhilarating. The grass and bushes are quite wet, and the pickers are driven from the berry-field. The rabbit’s-foot clover is very wet to walk through, holding so much water. The fine grass falls over from each side into the middle of the woodland paths and wets me through knee-high. 

I see many tobacco-pipes, now perhaps in their prime, if not a little late, and hear of pine-sap. The Indian pipe, though coming with the fungi and suggesting, no doubt, a close relation to them, — a sort of connecting link between flowers and fungi, — is a very interesting flower, and will bear a close inspection when fresh. The whole plant has a sweetish, earthy odor, though Gray says it is inodorous. 

I see them now on the leafy floor of this oak wood, in families of twelve to thirty sisters of various heights,—from two to eight inches,— as close together as they can stand, the youngest standing close up to the others, all with faces yet modestly turned downwards under their long hoods. Here is a family of about twenty-five within a diameter of little more than two inches, lifting the dry leaves for half their height in a cylinder about them. 

They generally appear bursting up through the dry leaves, which, elevated around, may serve to prop them. Springing up in the shade with so little color, they look the more fragile and delicate. They have very delicate pinkish half-naked stems with a few semitransparent crystalline-white scales for leaves, and from the sinuses at the base of the petals without (when their heads are drooping) more or less dark purple is reflected, like the purple of the arteries seen on a nude body. They appear not to flower only when upright. Gray says they are upright in fruit. They soon become black-specked, even before flowering. 

Am surprised to find the yew with ripe fruit (how long ?),— though there is a little still small and green, — where I had not detected fertile flowers. It fruits very sparingly, the berries growing singly here and there, on last year’s wood, and hence four to six inches below the extremities of the upturned twigs. It is the most surprising berry that we have: first, since it is borne by an evergreen, hemlock-like bush with which we do not associate a soft and bright-colored berry, and hence its deep scarlet contrasts the more strangely with the pure, dark evergreen needles; and secondly, because of its form, so like art, and which could be easily imitated in wax, a very thick scarlet cup or mortar with a dark-purple (?) bead set at the bottom. My neighbors are not prepared to believe that such a berry grows in Concord. 

I notice several of the hylodes hopping through the woods like wood frogs, far from water, this mizzling [day]. They are probably common in the woods, but not noticed, on account of their size, or not distinguished from the wood frog. 

I also saw a young wood frog, with the dark line through the eye, no bigger than the others. 

One hylodes which I bring home has a perfect cross on its back,— except one arm of it. 

 spring peeper (Pseudacris crucifer)

The wood thrush’s was a peculiarly woodland nest, made solely of such materials as that unfrequented grove afforded, the refuse of the wood or shore of the pond. There was no horsehair, no twine nor paper nor other relics of art in it.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, August 10, 1858

Springing up in the shade with so little color, they generally appear bursting up through the dry leaves, which, elevated around, may serve to prop them.They soon become black-specked, even before flowering. See July 30, 1854 ("The tobacco-pipes are still pushing up white amid the dry leaves, sometimes lifting a canopy of leaves with them four or five inches."); September 21, 1857 ("an abundance of tobacco-pipe, which has begun to turn black at the tip of the petals and leaves. ")

A young wood frog, with the dark line through the eye, See September 12, 1857 ("I brought it close to my eye and examined it. . . . There was a conspicuous dark-brown patch along the side of the head")

One hylodes which I bring home has a perfect cross on its back. See October 23, 1853 ("Many phenomena remind me that now is to some extent a second spring, — . . . the peeping of the hylodes for some time ,,,"); November 30, 1859 ("As I go home at dusk on the railroad causeway, I hear a hylodes peeping.")

The wood thrush’s was a peculiarly woodland nest. See July 31, 1858 ("Got the wood thrush’s nest of June 19th.")

August 10. See A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau , August 10

 

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

The naturalist accomplishes a great deal by patience

April 15. 

P. M. — To sedge-path Salix humilis. I see many planting now. 

See a pair of woodpeckers on a rail and on the ground a-courting. One keeps hopping near the other, and the latter hops away a few feet, and so they accompany one another a long distance, uttering sometimes a faint or short a-week. 

I go to find hylodes spawn. I hear some now peeping at mid-afternoon in Potter's meadow, just north of his swamp. It is hard to tell how far off they are. At a distance they often appear to be nearer than they are; when I get nearer I think them further off than they are; and not till I get their parallax with my eyes by going to one side do I discover their locality. From time to time one utters that peculiar quavering sound, I suspect of alarm, like that which a hen makes when she sees a hawk. They peep but thinly at this hour of a bright day. 

Wading about in the meadow there, barelegged, I find the water from time to time, though no deeper than before, exceedingly cold, evidently because there is ice in the meadow there still. Having stood quite still on the edge of the ditch close to the north edge of the maple swamp some time, and heard a slight rustling near me from time to time, I looked round and saw a mink under the bushes within a few feet. 

It was pure reddish-brown above, with a blackish and somewhat bushy tail, a blunt nose, and somewhat innocent-looking head. It crept along toward me and around me, within two feet, in a semicircle, snuffing the air, and pausing to look at me several times. Part of its course when nearest me was in the water of the ditch. It then crawled slowly away, and I saw by the ripple where it had taken to the ditch again. 

Perhaps it was after a frog, like myself. It may have been attracted by the peeping. But how much blacker was the creature I saw April 28th, 1857: A very different color, though the tail the same form. 

The naturalist accomplishes a great deal by patience, more perhaps than by activity. He must take his position, and then wait and watch. It is equally true of quadrupeds and reptiles. Sit still in the midst of their haunts. 

Saw flitting silently through the wood, near the yew, two or three thrushes, much like, at least, the Turdus Wilsonii; a light ring about eyes, and whitish side of throat (?); rather fox-colored or cinnamon tail, with ashy reflections from edges of primaries; flesh-colored legs. Did not see the breast. Could it have been what I have called T. solitarius? Soon after methought I heard one faint wood thrush note (??).

Catch a peeper at Hayden’s Pool. I suspect it may have been a female, for, though I kept it a  day at home, it did not peep. It was a pale fawn-color out of water, nine tenths of an inch long, marked with dusky like this  

though not so distinctly. It could easily climb up the side of a tumbler, and jumped eighteen inches at once. 

Equisetum arvense out by railroad, and probably I saw it out on the 12th, near the factory.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 15, 1858


See a pair of woodpeckers on a rail and on the ground a-courting . . ., uttering sometimes a faint or short a-week. See April 15, 1855 ("Pigeon woodpecker’s cackle is heard");See also April 22, 1856 ("See a pigeon woodpecker on a fence post. . . . Joins his mate on a tree and utters the wooing note o-week o-week, etc "); April 23, 1855 ("Saw two pigeon woodpeckers approach and, I think, put their bills together and utter that o-week, o-week"); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Pigeon Woodpecker (flicker)

I looked round and saw a mink under the bushes within a few feet. It was pure reddish-brown above, with a blackish and somewhat bushy tail, a blunt nose, and somewhat innocent-looking head. It crept along toward me and around me, within two feet. See December 2, 1852 ("Above the bridge on the road from Chelmsford to Bedford we see a mink, slender, black, very like a weasel in form. He alternately runs along on the ice and swims in the water, now and then holding up his head and long neck looking at us. Not so shy as a muskrat."); March 26, 1855 ("At the Hubbard Bath, a mink comes teetering along the ice by the side of the river. I am between him and the sun, and he does not notice me. He runs daintily, lifting his feet with a jerk as if his toes were sore. They seem to go a-hunting at night along the edge of the river "); November 13, 1855 (“Going over Swamp Bridge Brook at 3 P. M., I saw in the pond by the roadside, a few rods before me, the sun shining bright, a mink swimming . . . It was a rich brown fur . . . not black as it sometimes appears, especially on ice.”). April 28, 1857 (“It crossed to my side about twenty-five feet off, apparently not observing me, and disappeared in the woods. It was perfectly black, for aught I could see (not brown), some eighteen or twenty inches or more in length from tip to tip, and I first thought of a large black weasel, then of a large black squirrel, then wondered if it could be a pine marten. I now try to think it a mink”); March 13, 1859 ("I commonly saw two or three in a year. "); April 29, 1860 ("I now actually see one small-looking rusty or brown black mink scramble along the muddy shore and enter a hole in the bank.")


The naturalist accomplishes a great deal by patience. See January 21, 1853 (“I must stand still and listen with open ears, far from the noises of the village, that the night may make its impression on me.”); March 27, 1853 ("Stood perfectly still amid the bushes on the shore, before one showed himself. . . and, though I waited about half an hour, would not utter a sound”); July 17, 1854: "I watch them [white lillies] for an hour and a half.”

Saw flitting silently through the wood, near the yew, two or three thrushes. See note to April 24, 1856 ("Behold my hermit thrush, with one companion, flitting silently through the birches.") and April 15, 1859 (" Not being prepared to hear it, I thought it a boy whistling at first.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of Spring: The Arrival of the Hermit Thrush

Catch a peeper at Hayden’s Pool. See April 3, 1853 ("At Hayden's I hear hylas on two keys or notes. Heard one after the other, it might be mistaken for the varied note of one.");

The voice of the peepers is not so much of the earth earthy as of the air airy.

March 31. 

A very pleasant day. 

Spent a part of it in the garden preparing to set out fruit trees. It is agreeable once more to put a spade into the warm mould. The victory is ours at last, for we remain and take possession of the field. In this climate, in which we do not commonly bury our dead in the winter on account of the frozen ground, and find ourselves exposed on a hard bleak crust, the coming out of the frost and the first turning up of the soil with a spade or plow is an event of importance. 

P. M. — To Hill. 

As I rise the east side of the Hill, I hear the distant faint peep of hylodes and the tut tut of croaking frogs from the west of the Hill. 

How gradually and imperceptibly the peep of the hylodes mingles with and swells the volume of sound which makes the voice of awakening nature! If you do not listen carefully for its first note, you probably will not hear it, and, not having heard that, your ears become used to the sound, so that you will hardly notice it at last, however loud and universal. 

I hear it now faintly from through and over the bare gray twigs and the sheeny needles of an oak and pine wood and from over the russet fields beyond, and it is so intimately mingled with the murmur or roar of the wind as to be well-nigh inseparable from it. 

It leaves such a lasting trace on the ear’s memory that often I think I hear their peeping when I do not. It is a singularly emphatic and ear-piercing proclamation of animal life, when with a very few and slight exceptions vegetation is yet dormant. 

The dry croaking and tut tut of the frogs (a sound which ducks seem to imitate, a kind of quacking, —and they are both of the water!) is plainly enough down there in some pool in the woods, but the shrill peeping of the hylodes locates itself nowhere in particular, but seems to take its rise at an indefinite distance over wood and hill and pasture, from clefts or hollows in the March wind. It is a wind-born sound. 

[This must be the Rana halecina. Vide Apr. 3d, 1858.]

To-day both croakers and peepers are pretty numerously heard, and I hear one faint stertorous (bullfrog-like ??) sound on the river meadow. 

What an important part to us the little peeping hylodes acts, filling all our ears with sound in the spring afternoons and evenings, while the existence of the otter, our largest wild animal, is not betrayed to any of our senses (or at least not to more than one in a thousand)! 

The voice of the peepers is not so much of the earth earthy as of the air airy. It rises at once on the wind and is at home there, and we are incapable of tracing it further back. 

The earliest gooseberry in the garden begins to show a little green near at hand. 

An Irishman is digging a ditch for a foundation wall to a new shop where James Adams’s shop stood. He tells me that he dug up three cannon-balls just in the rear of the shop lying within a foot of each other and about eighteen inches beneath the surface. I saw one of them, which was about three and a half inches in diameter and somewhat eaten with rust on one side. These were probably thrown into the pond by the British on the 19th of April, 1775. Shattuck says that five hundred pounds of balls were thrown into the pond and wells. These may have been dropped out the back window. 

The tortoises now quite commonly lie out sunning on the sedge or the bank. As you float gently down the stream, you hear a slight rustling and, looking up, see the dark shining back of a picta sliding off some little bed of straw-colored coarse sedge which is upheld by the button-bushes or willows above the surrounding water. They are very wary and, as I go up the Assabet, will come rolling and sliding down a rod or two, though they appear to have but just climbed up to that height.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 31, 1857


The existence of the otter, our largest wild animal, is not betrayed to any of our senses (or at least not to more than one in a thousand)! See  April 6, 1855 ("it reminds me of an otter, which however I have never seen."); 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,"); February 20, 1855 (among the quadrupeds of Concord, the otter is "very rare."); the Natural History of Massachusetts (1842) ("The bear, wolf, lynx, wildcat, deer, beaver, and marten have disappeared ; the otter is rarely if ever seen here at present; and the mink is less common than formerly..")

As I rise the east side of the Hill, I hear the distant faint peep of hylodes and the tut tut of croaking frogs from the west of the Hill. Compare March 31, 1855 ("I listen in vain to hear a frog or a new bird as yet; only the frozen ground is melting a little deeper, and the water is trickling down the hills in some places.”)

There is just enough snow left from the big storm of the 15th to make good walking. We are out in a wet snow, almost rain, crossing the Kendall pond  coming out in the beautiful old woods and now head kitty corner straight down to the mountain. it is easy going downhill. The snow being just right. At the head of the stream that crosses our land  we go up a bank into a  hemlock woods on a steep knoll.  Looking down I see a deer. it  takes off and stops quite a distance away and takes off again before the dogs catch its scent and run off. Looking down I see our road and then  it is quite an experience to spot the house through the trees  from above just enough red color to make it visible And here we are high on a knoll never been here looking steeply down on the house The forest is full of large   hemlocks bigger than I can wrap my arms around the feeling of everything is new never been here before yet so close  I never knew the  deer runs  though these old trees standing on the mountain  high above the place where we live.

Everything is new

 never been here before yet

so close to the house.

20170331 zphx

Like the light reflected from the mountain-ridges within the shaded portions of the moon

March 26. 

P. M. — To Walden and Fair Haven. 

Though there has been quite a number of light snows, we have had no sleighing fairly since about February 14th. Walden is already on the point of breaking up. In the shallow bays it is melted six or eight rods out, and the ice looks dark and soft. 

As I go through the woods by Andromeda Ponds, though it is rather cool and windy in exposed places, I hear a faint, stertorous croak from a frog in the open swamp; at first one faint note only, which I could not be sure that I had heard, but, after listening long, one or two more suddenly croaked in confirmation of my faith, and all was silent again. 

When first in the spring, as you walk over the rustling leaves amid bare and ragged bushes, you hear this at first faint, hard, dry, and short sound, it hardly sounds like the note of an animal. It may have been heard some days. 

[The next day at 2.30 P. M., or about the same time, and about the same weather, our thermometer is at 48°.]

I lay down on the fine, dry sedge in the sun, in the deep and sheltered hollow a little further on, and when I had lain there ten or fifteen minutes, I heard one fine, faint peep from over the windy ridge between the hollow in which I lay and the swamp, which at first I referred to a bird, and looked round at the bushes which crowned the brim of this hollow to find it, but ere long a regularly but faintly repeated phe-phe-phe-phe revealed the Hylodes Pickeringii. 

It was like the light reflected from the mountain-ridges within the shaded portions of the moon, forerunner and herald of the spring. 

At Well Meadow Head, am surprised to find the skunk-cabbage in flower, though the flower is very little exposed yet, and some still earlier have been killed by frost. Some of those cabbage buds are curved and short like the beak of a bird. 

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. 

The chrysosplenium is very conspicuous and pretty now. This can afford to be forward, it lies so flat and unexposed. 

Fair Haven is open; may have been open several days; there is only a little ice on the southeast shore. I sit on the high eastern bank. 

Almost every cistus stem has had its bark burst off and left hanging raggedly for an inch or more next the ground by the crystals which formed round it in the fall and winter, but some have escaped. 

As I come out of the Spring Woods I see Abiel Wheeler planting peas and covering them up on his warm sandy hillside, in the hollow next the woods. It is a novel sight, that of the farmer distributing manure with a shovel in the fields and planting again. 

The earth looks warm and genial again. The sight of the earliest planting with carts in the field so lately occupied with snow is suggestive of the genialness of Nature. I could almost lie down in the furrow and be warmed into her life and growth. 

Stopped at Farrar’s little stithy. He is making two nuts to mend a mop with, and when at length he has forged and filed them and cut the thread, he remarks that it is a puttering job and worth a good deal more than he can charge. He has sickness in the house, a daughter in consumption, which he says is a flattering disease, up one day and down the next. 

Seeing a monstrous horseshoe nailed against his shop inside, with a little one within it, I asked what that was for. He said that he made the big one when he was an apprentice (of three months’ standing) for a sign, and he picked up the little one the other day in the road and put it within it for the contrast. But he thought that the big one was hardly too big for one of the fore feet of the horse Columbus, which he had seen. 

The first croaking frogs, the hyla, the white maple blossoms, the skunk-cabbage, and the alder’s catkins are observed about the same time. I saw one hazel catkin much elongated and relaxed. It is surprising always to see this on dry plains or banks where there is so little evidence of life beside. 

Farrar spoke of horses driven “tantrum.” 

You take your walk some pretty cold and windy, but sunny March day, through rustling woods, perhaps, glad to take shelter in the hollows or on the south side of the hills or woods. When ensconced in some sunny and sheltered hollow, with some just melted pool at its bottom, as you recline on the fine withered sedge, in which the mice have had their galleries, leaving it pierced with countless holes, and are, perchance, dreaming of spring there, a single dry, hard croak, like a grating twig, comes up from the pool. 

Such is the earliest voice of the pools, where there is a small smooth surface of melted ice bathing the bare button-bushes or water andromeda or tufts of sedge; such is the earliest voice of the liquid pools, hard and dry and grating. Unless you watch long and closely, not a ripple nor a bubble will be seen, and a marsh hawk will have to look sharp to find one. The notes of the croaking frog and the hylodes are not only contemporary with, but analogous to, the blossoms of the skunk-cabbage and white maple. 

Are not March and November gray months? 

Men will hardly believe me when I tell them of the thickness of snow and ice at this time last year.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 26, 1857


The first croaking frogs, the hyla, the white maple blossoms, the skunk-cabbage, and the alder’s catkins are observed about the same time. See March 26, 1860 ("TFair Haven Pond may be open by the 20th of March, as this year, or not till April 13 as in ’56, or twenty-three days later. Tried by the skunk-cabbage, this may flower March 2 (‘60) or April 6 or 8 (as in ’55 and ’54), or some five weeks later, — say thirty-six days . . .The wood frog may be heard March 15, as this year, or not till April 13, as in ’56, — twenty-nine days. That is, tried by the last four phenomena, there may be about a month’s fluctuation, so that March may be said to have receded half-way into February or advanced half-way into April, i. e., it borrows half of February or half of April."); March 27, 1853 ("though I waited about half an hour, would not utter a sound . . .")

Fair Haven is open; may have been open several days . . . See 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, or twenty-three days later.”) Also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Ice-out

Are not March and November gray months?  See March 30, 1855 (“He must have a great deal of life in him to draw upon, who can pick up a subsistence in November and March. . . . Except for science, do not travel in such a climate as this in November and March.”); March 12, 1854 (“The scenery is like, yet unlike, November; you have the same barren russet, but now, instead of a dry, hard, cold wind, a peculiarly soft, moist air, or else a raw wind.”)

First shad

April 13

Haverhill.

Pewee days and April showers. First hear toads (and take off coat), a loud, ringing sound filling the air, which yet few notice. First shad caught at Haverhill to-day; first alewife 10th. 

Fisher-men say that no fish can get above the dam at Lawrence. No shad, etc., were caught at Lowell last year. Were catching smelts with a small seine. It says in deeds that brooks shall be opened or obstructions removed by the 20th of April, on account of fish. 

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 13, 1853

See April 15, 1856 ("First salmon and shad at Haverhill to-day. . . . I am surprised to hear the first loud, clear, prolonged ring of a toad ") and note to April 13, 1858 ("Hear the first toad in the rather cool rain, 10 A. M.")

The road is white with the apple blossoms fallen off, as with snowflakes.

May 27.

A wet day. The veery sings nevertheless. 

The road is white with the apple blossoms fallen off, as with snowflakes. 

The dogwood is coming out.

Ladies'-slippers out. They perfume the air. 

May 27

Ranunculus recurvatus, hooked crowfoot, by the spring.

I hear but few toads and peepers now. Methinks the tree-toad croaks more this wet weather. The tall crowfoot out. 

The fringed polygala near the Corner Spring is a delicate flower, with very fresh tender green leaves and red-purple blossoms; beautiful from the contrast of its clear red-purple flowers with its clear green leaves.

  Catch a wood frog (Rana sylvatica), the color of a dead leaf. He croaks as I hold him, perfectly frog-like. 

a

H. D. Thoreau,  Journal, May 27, 1852

Ladies'-slippers out.  See May 26, 1857 (“A lady's-slipper. At Cliffs, no doubt, before. ”)

A wood frog  the color of a dead leaf. See June 29, 1852 ("The mud turtle is the color of the mud, the wood frog and the hylodes of the dead leaves, the bullfrogs of the pads, the toad of the earth, the tree-toad of the bark."); May 30, 1854 ("Wood frogs skipping over the dead leaves, whose color they resemble."). Compare September 12, 1857 ("I brought it close to my eye and examined it. It was very beautiful seen thus nearly, not the dull dead-leaf color which I had imagined. . .")

The road is white with

the apple blossoms fallen off

as with snowflakes.

 A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The road is white with apple blossoms

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

A Strange Dog

April 22.

It still rains. The water is over the road at Flint's Bridge, so that there is now only the Boston road open. This flood tempts men to build boats. The villagers walk the streets and talk of the great rise of waters.


A strange dog accompanies us today, a hunting dog, gyrating about us at a great distance, beating every bush and barking at the birds, with great speed, gyrating his tail too all the while. Our dog sends off a partridge with a whir, far across the open field and the river, like a winged bullet. This stranger dog has good habits for a companion, he keeps so distant. He never trusts himself near us, though he accompanies us for miles.

It takes this day to clear up gradually; successive sun-showers still make it foul. But the sun feels very warm after the storm. This makes five stormy days. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday.

The water, slightly agitated, looks bright when the sun shines.

See four hawks soaring high in the heavens over the Swamp Bridge Brook. At first saw three; said to myself there must be four, and found the fourth.

From Cliffs see much snow on the mountains.

The pine on Lee's shore of the pond, seen against the light water this cloudy weather from part way down the Cliff, is an agreeable object to me. When the outline and texture of white pine is thus seen against the water or the sky, it is an affecting sight.

The shadow of the Cliff on Conantum in the semi-sunshine, with indistinct edge and a reddish tinge from bushes here and there!

What is that grass with a yellow blossom which I find now on the Cliff? [Carex marginata, early sedge, the earliest grass that flowers.] 
The early sedge grows on the side of the Cliffs in little tufts with small yellow blossoms, i. e. with yellow anthers, low in the grass.

I want things to be incredible, — too good to appear true. 

C. says, "After you have been to the post-office once you are damned!" But I answer that it depends somewhat on whether you get a letter or not. If you should not get a letter there is some hope for you.

If you would be wise, learn science and then forget it.

A boat on the river, on the white surface, looks black, and the boatman like Charon.

I see swarms of gnats in the air.
.
It is the contrast between sunshine and storm that is most pleasing; the gleams of sunshine in the midst of the storm are the most memorable.

It is pleasant sometimes looking thirty or forty rods into an open wood, where the trunks of the trees are plainly seen, and patches of soft light on the ground.

The maples in the side swamp near Well Meadow are arranged nearly in a circle in the water.

Saw that winkle-like fungus, fresh and green, covering an oak stump to-day with concentric marks, spirally arranged, sometimes in a circle, very handsome. I love this apparent exuberance of nature.
.
On the most retired, the wildest and craggiest,  most precipitous hillside you will find some old road by which the teamster carted off the wood.

The hylas peep now in full chorus, but are silent on my side of the pond.

The water at 6 P. M. is one and a half inches higher than in the morning , i.e. seven inches above the iron truss. 

The strain of the red-wing on the willow spray over the water to-night is liquid, bubbling, watery, almost like a tinkling fountain, in perfect harmony with the meadow. It oozes, trickles, tinkles, bubbles from his throat, -bob-y-lee-e-e, and then its shrill, fine whistle.

At 10 P. M. the northern lights are flashing, like some grain sown broadcast in the sky. 

I hear the hylas peep on the meadow as I stand at the door.

Mr. Holbrook tells me he heard and saw martins (?) yesterday. [Storm ends this evening.]

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 22, 1852

It still rains. The water is over the road at Flint's Bridge, so that there is now only the Boston road open. See April 22, 1856 (“These rain-storms -- this is the third day of one -- characterize 'the season, and belong rather to winter than to summer.”)

Our dog sends off a partridge with a whir, far across the open field and the river, like a winged bullet. See April 22,1859 (" Scare up partridges feeding about the green springy places under the edge of hills. See them skim or scale away for forty rods along and upward to the woods. . .dodging to right and left and avoiding the twigs, yet without once flapping the wings after having launched themselves.")See also December 14, 1855 ("They shoot off swift and steady, showing their dark-edged tails, almost like a cannon-ball. “)

The shadow of the Cliff on Conantum in the semi-sunshine, . . . See May 16, 1854 ("I notice the dark shadow of Conantum Cliff from the water. Why do I notice it at this season particularly? Is it because a shadow is more grateful to the sight now that warm weather has come? Or is there anything in the contrast between the rich green of the grass and the cool dark shade?”)

The early sedge (Carex marginata) grows on the side of the Cliffs in little tufts with small yellow blossoms, i. e. with yellow anthers, low in the grass. See  April 22, 1859 ("Sedge, rising green and dense with yellow tips above the withered clumps, is very striking, suggesting heat, even a blaze, there."); April 10, 1855 ('As for the early sedge, who would think of looking for a flower of any kind in those dry tufts whose withered blades almost entirely conceal the springing green ones? I patiently examined one tuft after another, higher and higher up the rocky hill, till at last I found one little yellow spike low in the grass which shed its pollen on my finger");  See also  A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Sedges in Early Spring

The strain of the red-wing on the willow spray over the water to-night is liquid,,bubbling, watery, almost like a tinkling fountain,. . ., and then its shrill, fine whistle. See April 30, 1855 (" Red-wing blackbirds now fly in large flocks, covering the tops of trees—willows, maples, apples, or oaks—like a black fruit , and keep up an incessant gurgling and whistling, — all for some purpose; what is it?")  

See four hawks soaring high in the heavens. See April 22, 1860 ("See now hen-hawks, a pair, soaring high as for pleasure, circling ever further and further away, as if it were midsummer. The peculiar flight of a hawk thus fetches the year about. I do not see it soar in this serene and leisurely manner very early in the season, methinks. ")

When the outline and texture of white pine is thus seen against the water or the sky, it is an affecting sight. See April 24, 1853 ("See a pretty islet in the Creek Pond on the east side covered with white pine wood, appearing from the south as if the trees grew out of the water. . . .This gives the isle a peculiarly light and floating appearance.")

I see swarms of gnats in the air. See note to April 22, 1860 ("And in one place we disturb great clouds of the little fuzzy gnats that were resting on the bushes.")

The pine on Lee’s shore

seen against the light water

this cloudy weather.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, A Strange Dog

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 © 2009-2025

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-520422

The first half of June is cooler than the last half of May.

June 23. 

River at 7 a.m. fifteen inches above summer level, having fallen. 

A sparrow's nest with three fresh eggs in a hollow of a willow, two and a half feet from ground, at my boat's place. The bird has the usual marks, except perhaps the spot on the breast is more obvious, and the lines over the eyes more white and distinct. The eggs have a much bluer-white ground than those I have, and beside are but slightly spotted with brown except toward the larger end. The chip of the bird is metallic, not the hoarse chip of the spring song sparrow. Vide eggs in collection. 

2 p. m. — To Bare Hill road. 

This is a decidedly dogdayish day,* foretold by the red moon of last evening. The sunlight, even this fore noon, was peculiarly yellow, passing through misty clouds, and this afternoon the atmosphere is decidedly blue. 

I see it in the street within thirty rods, and perceive a distinct musty odor. First bluish, musty dog-day, and sultry. Thermometer at two only 85°, however, and wind comes easterly soon and rather cool.

The foliage is now thick and for the most part dark, and this kind of weather is probably the result of this amount of shadow; but it grows cooler with easterly wind before night.

I suspect that it may be true, as said, that the first half of June is cooler than the last half of May, on this account.

Smilacina racemosa, how long? 

Agrostis scabra, pond path at east end of Walden.

Poa compressa may fairly begin on the railroad at Walden; also piper grass just begun. 

I see a young Rana sylvatica in the woods, only five eighths of an inch long. Or is it a hylodes ? — for I see a faint cross-like mark on the back and yet the black dash on the sides of the face. 

At 7 p. m. the river is fifteen and three fourths inches above summer level. It rained hard on the 20th and part of the following night, — two and one eighth inches of rain in all, there being no drought, — raising the river from some two or three inches above summer level to seven and a half inches above summer level at 7 a. m. of the 21st. 

At 7 p. m. of the 21st, 11 inches above summer level. 

At 7 p. m. of the 23rd, 15 3/4 inches above summer level. 

Thus two and one eighth inches of rain at this season, falling in one day, with little or no wind, raises the river while it is falling some four inches; on the next day it rises four more; the next night it rises seven sixteenths inch more; the next day (second after the rain) it rises three and three sixteenths inches ; the next night it falls one eighth of an inch; it rises again three fourths of an inch, or five eighths absolutely; i. e., it rises still the third day after the rain. 

That is, after a remarkably heavy rain of one day it does not rise as much in a night as it ordinarily falls in a day at this season.

H. D. Thoreau,  Journal, June 23, 1860

A sparrow's nest with three fresh eggs in a hollow of a willow, two and a half feet from ground. The eggs have a much bluer-white ground than those I have, and beside are but slightly spotted with brown except toward the larger end. See May 21, 1852 ("A song sparrow's nest and eggs so placed in a bank that none could tread on it; bluish-white, speckled."); June 13, 1858 ("I see a song sparrow's nest here in a little spruce . . . Some of the eggs have quite a blue ground."); June 14, 1855 ("A song sparrow’s nest in ditch bank under Clamshell, of coarse grass lined with fine, and five eggs nearly hatched and a peculiar dark end to them.") See also  A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The Song Sparrow

This is a decidedly dogdayish day, See June 23, 1853 ("Looking down on it through the woods in middle of this sultry dogdayish afternoon, the water is a misty bluish-green. "); June 23, 1859 ("A foggy, Cape-Cod day, with an easterly wind.")

I see a young Rana sylvatica in the woods, only five eighths of an inch long. Or is it a hylodes ? — for I see a faint cross-like mark on the back and yet the black dash on the sides of the face.  Compare  August 10, 1858 ("I notice several of the hylodes hopping through the woods like wood frogs,. . . They are probably common in the woods, but not noticed, on account of their size, or not distinguished from the wood frog. I also saw a young wood frog, with the dark line through the eye, no bigger than the others. One hylodes which I bring home has a perfect cross on its back"). See September 12, 1857 ("There was a conspicuous dark-brown patch along the side of the [wood frog's] head, whose upper edge passed directly through the eye horizontally, just above its centre, so that the pupil and all below were dark and the upper portion of the iris golden") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The  Wood Frog (Rana sylvatica)

A new season begun.

June 15.

We have had warmer weather for several days. A new season begun.

The bullfrogs now commonly trump at night, and the mosquitoes are now really troublesome. For some time I have not heard toads by day, and the hylodes appear to have done.

A thunder-shower in the north goes down the Merrimack.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 15, 1860

Bullfrogs trump, mosquitoes troublesome, toads and hylodes cease, and thundershowers. See June 15, 1852 ("The crickets creak louder and more steadily; the bullfrogs croak in earnest. The drouth begins. The dry z-ing of the locust is heard."); June 16, 1860 ("It appears to me that these phenomena occur simultaneously, say June 12th :• Heat about. 85° at 2 P.M.• Hylodes cease to peep.• Purring frogs (Rana palustris) cease.• Lightning-bugs first seen.• Bullfrogs trump generally.• Mosquitoes begin to be really troublesome.• Afternoon thunder-showers almost regular.• Sleep with open window.• Turtles fairly and generally begun to lay.")

June 15 . 2 P . M . — River four and one half above summer level . For some time I have not heard toads by day , ' and not for a long time in numbers ; yet they still ring at night . Perhaps it is entirely a matter of temperature , – that in June and maybe the latter half of May ( ? ) they require the coolness of the evening to arouse them . The hylodes appear to have done . I paddle to Clamshell . Notice the down of the white willow near the bridge , twenty rods off , whitening Sassafras Shore for two or three rods like a dense white foam . It is all full of lit tle seeds not sprouted , is as dense as fur , and has first blown fifteen rods overland . This is a late willow to ripen , but the black willow shows no down yet , as I notice . It is very conspicuously white along the shore , a foot or two wide , – a dense downy coat or fleece on the water . Has blown northeast . See froth about the base of some grass in a meadow . The large early wool - grass of the meadows will shed pollen in a day or two — can see stamens — on Hos mer ' s Flat shore . This it is grows in circles . As I stood there I heard that peculiar hawk - like ( for rhythm ) but more resonant or clanging kind of scream which I may have heard before this year , plover - like , indefinitely far , — over the Clamshell plain . After proceeding half a dozen rods toward the hill , I heard the familiar willet note of the upland plover and , looking up , saw one standing erect — like a large tell tale , or chicken with its head stretched up — on the rail fence . After a while it flew off southwest and low , then wheeled and went a little higher down the river . Of pigeon size , but quick quivering wings . Finally rose higher and flew more or less zigzag , as if uncertain where it would alight , and at last , when almost out of sight , it pitched down into a field near Cyrus Hubbard ' s . It was the same note I heard so well on Cape Cod in July , ' 55 , and probably the same I heard in the Shaw sheen valley , May 15 , 1858 . I suspect , then , that it breeds here . The button - bush is now fairly green . The Carex stricta tufts are now as large as ever , and , the culms falling over , they are like great long - haired 355 heads , now drooping around the great tussocks . I know of no other sedge that make so massive and conspicuous a tussock , yet with a slender leaf . This the one that reflects the peculiar glaucous sheen from its bent surfaces . The turtles are apparently now in the midst of their laying . I go looking for them , to see where they have left the water for this purpose . See a snapping turtle whose shell is about ten inches long making her hole on the top of the sand - bank at the steam - mill site , within four rods of the road . She pauses warily at sound of my boat , but I should have mistaken her for a dark stone if she had [ not ] lifted her snout above her shell . I went to her as she lay and hissed by the hole at 4 P . M . It was about three and a half inches across , and not perpendicular but chiefly on one side ; say five inches deep ( as yet ) , and four plus inches wide beneath , but only about one inch of the bottom exposed when you looked straight down , — in short , like the common Emys picta ' s hole . She had copiously wet the ground before or while digging , as the picta does . Saw two or three similar holes made by her afterward . There was her broad track ( some ten inches wide ) up the sandy or gravelly bank , and I saw where she had before dug , or begun to dig , within a rod of this , but had retreated to the river . I withdrew to the bridge to observe her ( not having touched her ) , but she took the occasion to hasten to the river . A thunder - shower in the north goes down the Merrimack . We have had warmer weather for several days , say since 12th . A new season begun , — daily baths , thin coat , etc . The bullfrogs now commonly trump at night , and the mosquitoes are now really troublesome .