Notice some of the fungus called spunk, very large, on the large white oak in Love Lane, eight or nine feet from the ground on the east side, on a protuberance where a limb was formerly cut off. It is now green and moist, of a yellowish color, composed of several flakes one above the other; the length of the shelf, or chord of the arc, twenty-one inches; depth from the tree, or width of shelf, about one foot.
Frost has now within three or four days turned almost all flowers to woolly heads, — their November aspect. Fuzzy, woolly heads now reign along all hedge rows and over many broad fields.
Some trees, as small hickories, appear to have dropped their leaves instantaneously, as at a signal, as a soldier grounds arms. The ground under such reflects a blaze of light from now crisped yellow leaves. Down they have come on all sides, as if touched by fairy fingers.
October 17, 2016
Boys are raking leaves in the street, if only for the pleasure of dealing with such clean, crisp substances.
Countless leafy skiffs are floating on pools and lakes and rivers and in the swamps and meadows, often concealing the water quite from foot and eye. Each leaf, still crisply curled up on its edges, makes as yet a tight boat like the Indian's hide one, but ere long it will be come relaxed and flatted out and sink to the bottom, i. e. if it is driven out to sea, but most are drifted toward the shore, which is converted into one long, crowded haven where the water is concealed, and they settle close to land.
Many fringed gentians quite fresh yet, though most are faded and withered. I suspect that their very early and sudden fading and withering has nothing, or little, to do with frost after all, for why should so many fresh ones succeed still? My pressed ones have all faded in like manner! !
It would be too late to look for bees now at Wyman's; the flowers are too far gone.
I go down the path through Charles Bartlett's land. The young white oak leaves are now generally withered in and on the sides of the hollows there, also the black scrub, while the red and black oaks are still commonly red and so far alive.
As I stand looking at Emerson's bound under the railroad embankment, I heard a smart tche-day-day-day close to my ear, and, looking up, see four of these birds, which had come to scrape acquaintance with me, hopping amid the alders within three and four feet of me. I had heard them further off at first, and they had followed me along the hedge. They day-day 'd and lisp their faint notes alternately, and then, as if to make me think they had some other errand than to peer at me, they peck the dead twigs with their bills — the little top-heavy, black-crowned, volatile fellows.
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, October 17, 1856
Notice some of the fungus called spunk, very large, on the large white oak in Love Lane . . . It is now green and moist, of a yellowish color. See November 25, 1857 ("Further in Ebby Hubbard’s wood, I see a great two-storied mass of black spunk which has fallen. ") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Season for Fungi
Frost has now within three or four days turned almost all flowers to woolly heads, — their November aspect. See October 17, 1851 ("A severe frost this morning."); October 17, 1857 ("The cinnamon ferns . . .have acquired their November aspect") See also October 11, 1856 ("Solidagos now generally show woolly heads along the fences and brooks"); October 15, 1856 (“A smart frost . . . Ground stiffened in morning; ice seen. . . Large fleets of maple and other leaves are floating on its surface as I go up the Assabet, leaves which apparently came down in a shower with yesterday morning's frost . . . Mikania is all whitish woolly now "); October 16, 1856 (“Ground all white with frost.”); October 16, 1858 ("The mikania, goldenrods, and Andropogon scoparius have now their November aspect, the former showing their dirty-white pappus, the last its white plumose hairs. The year is thus acquiring a grizzly look before the snows of winter."); and note to September 21, 1854 ("The first frost in our yard last night")
Some trees, . . have dropped their leaves instantaneously, as at a signal, . . .The ground under such reflects a blaze of light from now crisped yellow leaves. See October 8, 1856 ("The hickory leaves are among the handsomest now, varying from green through yellow."); October 15, 1853 ("They suddenly form thick beds . . . just the size and form of the tree above."); October 22, 1857 ("The hickory leaves, now after they have fallen, are often if not oftenest a dark rich yellow, very conspicuous upon the brown leaves of the forest floor, seeming to have more life in them than those leaves which are brown.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau. The Hickory
Boys are raking leaves in the street, if only for the pleasure of dealing with such clean, crisp substances. See October 20, 1853 ("How pleasant to walk over beds of these fresh, crisp, and rustling fallen leaves, — clean, crisp, and wholesome!")
Countless leafy skiffs . . . concealing the water quite from foot and eye. See October 17, 1857 ("The swamp floor is covered with red maple leaves, many yellow with bright-scarlet spots or streaks. Small brooks are almost concealed by them. "); October 17, 1858 ("They remind me of ditches in swamps, whose surfaces are often quite concealed by leaves now. The waves made by my boat cause them to rustle.") See also October 11, 1857 ("Another frost last night, although with fog, and this afternoon the maple and other leaves strew the water, and it is almost a leaf harvest."); October 12, 1855 ("The leaves fallen last night now lie thick on the water next the shore, concealing it, —fleets of dry boats . . ."); October 12, 1858 ("There are many maple, birch, etc., leaves on the Assabet, in stiller places along the shore, but not yet a leaf harvest"); October 13, 1860 (("Now, as soon as the frost strips the maples, and their leaves strew the swamp floor and conceal the pools, the note of the chickadee sounds cheerfully winteryish."); October 15, 1856 ("Large fleets of maple and other leaves are floating on its surface as I go up the Assabet."); October 19, 1853 ("The leaves have fallen so plentifully that they quite conceal the water along the shore, and rustle pleasantly when the wave which the boat creates strikes them."); October 22, 1853 ("this great fleet of scattered leaf boats, still tight and dry, each one curled up on every side by the sun's skill,"); November 1, 1852("On the river this afternoon, the leaves, now crisp and curled, when the wind blows them on to the water become rude boats which float and sail about awhile conspicuously before they go to the bottom."). See also Jennifer Thomas ("Ochibabune. It’s a Japanese term that means “fallen leaf boat.” In Japan, an autumn leaf drifting on water is a poignant metaphor for vulnerability and impermanence.") (https://bsky.app/profile/jthomasabc.bsky.social/post/3mxu55f2jv22l)
Many fringed gentians quite fresh yet. See September 14, 1856 ("Fringed gentian well out (and some withered or frost-bitten?), say a week, though there was none to be seen here August 27th."); October 19, 1852 ("It is a very singular and agreeable surprise to come upon this conspicuous and handsome and withal blue flower at this season, when flowers have passed out of our minds and memories; the latest of all to begin to bloom.”);November 30, 1856 ("Minot Pratt tells me that he watched the fringed gentian this year, and it lasted till the first week in November.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau: The Fringed Gentian
It would be too late to look for bees now at Wyman's; the flowers are too far gone. See September 30, 1852 ("If there are any sweet flowers still lingering on the hillside, it is known to the bees both of the forest and the village"); October 12, 1856 ("It is interesting to see how some of the few flowers which still linger are frequented by bees and other insects . . . in the garden, I see half a dozen honey bees, many more flies, some wasps, a grasshopper, and a large handsome butterfly. ") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau. Wasps and Hornets and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Bees
The young white oak leaves are now generally withered . . . while the red and black oaks are still commonly red and so far alive. See December 9, 1856 (""The sunlight reveals no redness in the white oak leaves The bright colors of autumn are transient; these browns are permanent . These are not so much withered leaves, for they have a wintry life in them still, and the tanned or bronzed color of assured health." ); December 21, 1856 ("The white oak leaves are the palest and most shrivelled, the lightest, perhaps a shade of buff . . . The black oak leaves are the darkest brown, with clear or deep yellowish-brown undersides . . .The red oak leaves are a little lighter brown than the black oak, less yellowish beneath."); December 31, 1854 ("The white oak leaves are a cinnamon-color, the black and red oak leaves a reddish brown or leather-color.’)
They day-day'd and lisp their faint notes alternately, and then, as if to make me think they had some other errand than to peer at me, they peck the dead twigs with their bills. See October 15, 1856 ("The chickadees are hopping near on the hemlock above. They resume their winter ways before the winter comes."); December 3, 1856. ("Six weeks ago I noticed the advent of chickadees and their winter habits . . . they will flit after and close to you, and naively peck at the nearest twig to you, as if they were minding their own business all the while without any reference to you.") See also October 23, 1852 ("The chickadees flit along, following me inquisitively a few rods with lisping, tinkling note, — flit within a few feet of me from curiosity."); November 9, 1850 ("The chickadees, if I stand long enough, hop nearer and nearer inquisitively, from pine bough to pine bough, till within four or five feet, occasionally lisping a note."); December 1, 1853 ("I hear their faint, silvery, lisping notes, like tinkling glass, and occasionally a sprightly day-day-day, as they inquisitively hop nearer and nearer to me. They are our most honest and innocent little bird, drawing yet nearer to us as the winter advances.) and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Chickadee in Winter
October 17. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, October 17
Within days frost turns
flowers to woolly heads – their
November aspect.
Under hickories
a blaze of light reflects from
now crisped yellow leaves.
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, A blaze of light from yellow leaves
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 © 2009-2026
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