The alert and energetic man leads a more intellectual life in winter than in summer.

October 13.

October 13, 2021

Drizzling, misty showers still, with a little misty sunshine at intervals.

The trees have lost many of their leaves in the last twenty-four hours.

The sun has got so low that it will do to let his rays in on the earth; the cattle do not need their shade now, nor men. Warmth is more desirable now than shade.

The alert and energetic man leads a more intellectual life in winter than in summer.

• In summer the animal and vegetable in him are perfected as in a torrid zone; he lives in his senses mainly.
• In winter cold reason and not warm passion has her sway; he lives in thought and reflection; he lives a more spiritual, a less sensual, life.
• If he has passed a merely sensual summer, he passes his winter in a torpid state like some reptiles and other animals.
• The mind of man in the two seasons is like the atmosphere of summer compared with the atmosphere of winter.
• He depends more on himself in winter, — on his own resources, — less on outward aid.
• Insects, it is true, disappear for the most part, and those animals which depend upon them; but the nobler animals abide with man the severity of winter.
• He migrates into his mind, to perpetual summer.
• And to the healthy man the winter of his discontent never comes.

Mr. Pratt told me that Jonas? Melvin found a honey-bee's nest lately near Beck Stow's swamp with twenty-five pounds of honey in it, in the top of a maple tree which was blown down.

There is now a large swarm in the meeting-house chimney, in a flue not used.

Many swarms have gone off that have not been heard from.


H. D. Thoreau, Journal, October 13, 1851

Man in winter. See December 8, 1850 ( "The dear privacy and retirement and solitude which winter makes possible!"); October 27, 1851 ("The cold numbs my fingers. Winter, with its inwardness, is upon us. A man is constrained to sit down, and to think."); January 17, 1852 ("In proportion as I have celestial thoughts, is the necessity for me to be out and behold the western sky sunset these winter days. That is the symbol of the unclouded mind that knows neither winter nor summer ") April 1, 1852 ("We have had a good solid winter, which has put the previous summer far behind us; intense cold, deep and lasting snows, and clear, tense winter sky. It is a good experience to have gone through with."); January 30, 1854 ("The winter was made to concentrate and harden and mature the kernel of man's brain, to give tone and firmness and consistency to his thought. This harvest of thought the great harvest of the year. The human brain is the kernel which the winter itself matures. Now we burn with a purer flame like the stars."); December 5, 1856 ("I love the winter, with its imprisonment and its cold,"); December 11, 1855 ("The winter, with its snow and ice, . . . is as it was designed and made to be.")

Melvin found a honey-bee's nest lately. See February 10, 1852 ("I saw yesterday on the snow on the ice, on the south side of Fair Haven Pond, some hundreds of honey-bees,. . .. Pratt says he would advise me to remove the dead bees, lest somebody else should be led to discover their retreat, and I may get five dollars for the swarm, and perhaps a good deal of honey."); September 30, 1852 ("custom gives the first finder of the nest a right to the honey and to cut down the tree "). See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Bees

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

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, 

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

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 path by the wood-side is red with the effete staminiferous flowers of the white pine..

July 1.

A cloudy and slightly showery morning. 

One object to see the white lilies in blossom. 


I wish to breathe the atmosphere of lilies, and get the full impression which lilies are fitted to make.

From the bridge I see a bream's nest in soft sand on the edge of deeper water, scooped out quite deep, with very sharp edges sloping both ways. 

Some peetweets, which probably have eggs in Conant's corn-field, make a great ado twittering and circling about the dog. 

The path by the wood-side is red with the effete staminiferous flowers of the white pine. 

July 1, 2012

Roses are in their prime now, growing amid huckle-berry bushes, ferns, and sweet-ferns, especially about some dry pond-hole; some paler, some more red.

It is more agreeable walking this cloudy day, with a few harmless sun-showers, than it would be in a glaring sunny day. It is pleasant to behold so much of the landscape in the shadow of the clouds, especially to look off from the top of Conantum, under shady walnut boughs, to larger shades in valleys,- all Nine-Acre Corner in the cool shade of a cloud.

Borrow Brigham the wheelwright's boat at the Corner Bridge. 

The white lilies are in all their splendor, fully open, sometimes their lower petals lying flat on the surface. The largest appeared to grow in the shallower water, where some stand five or six inches out of water, and are five inches in diameter. Two which I examine have twenty-nine petals each. We push our boat into the midst of some shallow bays covered with pads and spotted white with many hundreds of lilies just expanded. The freshly opened lilies are a pearly white, and though the water amid the pads is quite unrippled, the passing air gives a slight oscillating, boat-like motion to and fro to the flowers, like boats held fast by their cables.

After eating our luncheon at Rice's landing, I can not find one open anywhere for the rest of the day.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, July 1, 1852

The path by the wood-side is red with the effete staminiferous flowers of the white pine. See note to  June 25, 1858 ("The ground under the white pines is now strewn with the effete flowers, like an excrement.”)

Roses are in their prime now . . .The white lilies are in all their splendor. See June 30, 1852 ("Is not this period more than any distinguished for flowers, when roses, swamp-pinks, morning-glories, arethusas, pogonias, orchises, blue flags, epilobiums, mountain laurel, and white lilies are all in blossom at once?")


It is pleasant to behold so much of the landscape in the shadow of the clouds See July 1,1854 ("I see from this hill their great shadows pass slowly here and there over the top of the green forest."); See also June 3, 1858 ("It was interesting to watch from that height the shadows of fair-weather clouds passing over the landscape."); July 27, 1852 ("It is pleasing to behold at this season contrasted shade and sunshine on the side of neighboring hills.")

 After eating our luncheon . . . I can not find one open anywhere for the rest of the day. See July 17, 1854 (“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 . . .I think that I could tell when it was 12 o'clock within half an hour by the lilies.”)

June, the month for grass and flowers, is now past.

July 6.

I walked by night last moon, and saw its disk reflected in Walden Pond, the broken disk, now here, now there, a pure and memorable flame unearthly bright. 

Ah! but that first faint tinge of moonlight . . . a silvery light from the east before day had departed in the west. What an immeasurable interval there is between the first tinge of moonlight which we detect, lighting with mysterious, silvery, poetic light the western slopes, like a paler grass, and the last wave of daylight on the eastern slopes! 

It is wonderful how our senses ever span so vast an interval, how from being aware of the one we become aware of the other.

It is now a free, flowing wind, with wet clouds in the sky. Though the sun shines, from time to time I hear a few drops of rain falling on the leaves, but feel none. All serious showers go round me and get out of my way.

June, the month for grass and flowers, is now past. The red clover heads are now turned black. It is but a short time that their rich bloom lasts.  

The white clover is black or withering also.  Blue-eyed grass is now rarely seen. The grass in the fields is dryer and riper and ready for the mowers. Now grass is turning to hay, and flowers to fruits. 

Already I gather ripe blueberries on the hills. 

The red-topped grass is in its prime, tingeing the fields with red.

H. D. Thoreau,  Journal, July 6, 1851 

June, the month for grass and flowers, is now past. Now grass is turning to hay, and flowers to fruits. See July 2, 1854 ("The spring now seems far behind, yet I do not remember the interval. ") July 5, 1852 (" Nature offers fruits now as well as flowers"); 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 13, 1860 ("The vernal freshness of June is passed."); August 6, 1852 ("Methinks there are few new flowers of late. An abundance of small fruits takes their place. Summer gets to be an old story. Birds leave off singing, as flowers blossoming.");

The red-topped grass is in its prime, tingeing the fields with red. See July 13, 1860 ("First we had the June grass reddish-brown, and the sorrel red, of June; now the red-top red of July.)

July 6. Sunday. I walked by night last moon, and saw its disk reflected in Walden Pond, the broken disk, now here, now there, a pure and memorable flame .unearthly bright, like a cucullo 1 of a water-bug. Ah! but that first faint tinge of moonlight on the gap ! (seen some time ago), — a silvery light from the east before day had departed in the west. What an immeasurable interval there is between the first tinge of moonlight which we detect, lighting with mysterious, silvery, poetic light the western slopes, like a paler grass, and the last wave of daylight on the eastern slopes ! It is wonderful how our senses ever span so vast an interval, how from being aware of the one we become aware of the other. And now the night wind blows, . . The red clover heads are now turned black. They no longer impart that rosaceous tinge to the meadows and fertile fields. It is but a short time that their rich bloom lasts. The white is black or withering also. Whiteweed still looks white in the fields. Blue-eyed grass is now rarely seen.

 The grass in the fields and meadows is not so fresh and fair as it was a fortnight ago. It is dryer and riper and ready for the mowers. Now June is past. June is the month for grass and flowers. Now grass is turning to hay, and flowers to fruits. Already I gather ripe blueberries on the hills. 

The red-topped grass is in its prime, tingeing the fields with red. It is a free, flowing wind, with wet clouds in the sky, though the sun shines. The distant hills look unusually near in this atmosphere. Acton meeting-houses seen to stand on the side of some hills, Nagog or Nashoba, beyond, as never before. Nobscot looks like a high pasture in the sunlight not far off. From time to time I hear a few drops of rain falling on the leaves, but none is felt and the sun does not cease to shine. All serious showers go round me and get out of my way.

it is wonderful 

our senses ever span so 

vast an interval

that first faint tinge of

moonlight from the east before

day has departed

that grass is turning 

to hay and flowers to fruit

that now June is past

Summer showers

June 9.

June 9, 2017

We have half a dozen showers to-day, distinct summer showers from black clouds suddenly wafted up from the west and northeast; also some thunder and hail, – large white stones.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 9, 1860

Summer showers from black clouds. See June 9, 1856 ("Compelled to squat under a bank and stand under a wood-pile through a shower."); see also  June 2, 1857 ("Heat lightning in the north, and hear the distant thunder.”); June 8, 1860 ("Within a day or two has begun that season of summer when you see afternoon showers, maybe with thunder, or the threat of them, dark in the horizon, and are uncertain whether to venture far away or without an umbrella. I noticed the very first such cloud on the 25th of May, — the dark iris of June. When you go forth to walk at 2 p. m. you see perhaps, in the south west or west or maybe east horizon, a dark and threatening mass of cloud showing itself just over the woods, its base horizontal and dark, with lighter edges where it is rolled up to the light, while all beneath is the kind of dark slate of falling rain. These are summer showers, come with the heats of summer.”); June 14, 1855 (“It suddenly begins to rain with great violence, and we in haste draw up our boat on the Clamshell shore, upset it, and get under, sitting on the paddles, and so are quite dry while our friends thought we were being wet to our skins. But we have as good a roof as they. It is very pleasant to lie there half an hour close to the edge of the water and see and hear the great drops patter on the river, each making a great bubble”); June 15, 1860 (“A thunder-shower in the north goes down the Merrimack.”); June 16, 1852 (“Heat lightning in the horizon. A sultry night. A flute from some villager.”); June 16, 1854 ("Three days in succession, — the 13th, 14th, and 15th, — thunder-clouds, with thunder and lightning, have risen high in the east, threatening instant rain, and yet each time it has failed to reach us.”); June 16, 1860 ("Thunder-showers show themselves about 2 P.M. in the west, but split at sight of Concord and go east on each side.”); June 17, 1852 (“A small thunder-shower comes up in the south-west. The thunder sounds like moving a pile of boards in the attic. We see the increasing outline of the slate-colored falling rain from the black cloud. It passes mainly to the south. We feel only the wind of it at first, but after it appears to back up and we get some rain. ”); June 17, 1860 (“About 1 P.M., notice thunder-clouds in west and hear the muttering. As yesterday, it splits at sight of Concord and goes south and north. Nevertheless about 3 P. M. begins a steady gentle rain here for several hours, and in the night again, the thunder, as yesterday, mostly forerunning or superficial to the shower. This the third day of thunder-showers in afternoon, though the 14th it did not rain here.”); June 21, 1852 ("I hear the sound of distant thunder, though no cloud is obvious, muttering like the roar of artillery. That is a phenomenon of this season. As you walk at evening, you see the light of the flashes in the horizon and hear the muttering of distant thunder, where some village is being refreshed with the rain denied to Concord. ")

June 9. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, June 9

summer showers from 

black clouds suddenly wafted 

up from the northeast

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Summer showers

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau,

"A book, each page written in its own season,

out-of-doors, in its own locality.”

~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2024

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-600609