How earthy old people become.

August 16. 

P. M. — To Flint's Pond with Mr. Conway. 

Started a woodcock in the woods. 

Also saw a large telltale, I think yellow-shanks, whose note I at first mistook for a jay's, giving the alarm to some partridges. 

The Polygonum orientale, probably some days, by Turnpike Bridge, a very rich rose-color large flowers, distinguished by its salver-shaped upper sheaths. It is a color as rich, I think, as that of the cardinal-flower. 

Desmodium paniculatum in the wood-path northeast of Flint's Pond. Its flowers turn blue-green in drying. 

Yesterday also in the Marlborough woods, perceived everywhere that offensive mustiness of decaying fungi. 

How earthy old people become, — mouldy as the grave! Their wisdom smacks of the earth. There is no foretaste of immortality in it. They remind me of earthworms and mole crickets.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, August 16, 1853

Also saw a large telltale, I think yellow-shanks. See September 14, 1854 ("A flock of thirteen tell tales, great yellow-legs, start up with their shrill whistle from the midst of the great Sudbury meadow, and away they sail in a flock.").

Polygonum orientale, probably some days. See September 12 1852 ("the Polygonum orientale, prince's-feather, in E. Hosmer's grounds.")

Yesterday also in the Marlborough woods, perceived everywhere that offensive mustiness of decaying fungi. See September 10, 1854 ("Last year, for the last three weeks of August, the woods were filled with the strong musty scent of decaying fungi, but this year I have seen very few fungi and have not noticed that odor at all ."); August 14, 1853 ("there are countless great fungi of various forms and colors, the produce of the warm rains and muggy weather . . . and for most of my walk the air is tainted with a musty, carrion like odor, in some places very offensive")

August 16. See A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,  August 16

 

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

Old Election Day

May 31

May 24, 2024

Old Election. Cold weather. Many go a-fishing to-day in earnest, and one gets forty pouts in river.

P. M. — To Miles Meadow by boat. A cold southeast wind. Blue-eyed grass, apparently in pretty good season.  

See a greater telltale, and this is the only one I have seen probably; distinguished by its size. It is very watchful, but not timid, allowing me to come quite near, while it stands on the lookout at the water's edge. It keeps nodding its head with an awkward jerk, and wades in the water to the middle of its yellow legs; goes off with a loud and sharp phe phe phe phe. It acts the part of the telltale, though there are no birds here, as if it were with a flock. Remarkable as a sentinel for other birds.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 31, 1854

Greater telltale. See September 14, 1854 ("A flock of thirteen tell tales, great yellow-legs, start up with their shrill whistle from the midst of the great Sudbury meadow, and away they sail in a flock..."). But see JJ Audubon ("It is true that the Tell-tale is quite loquacious enough; nay, you, reader, and I, may admit that it is a cunning and watchful bird, ever willing to admonish you or me, or any other person whom it may observe advancing towards it with no good intent, that it has all along watched us. But then, when one has observed the habits of this bird for a considerable time, in different situations, and when no other feathered creatures are in sight, he will be convinced that the Tell-tale merely intends by its cries to preserve itself, and not generously to warn others of their danger.")


Old Election Day. By the Provincial Charter and later the Constitution  of Massachusetts, General Election Day occurred on the last Wednesday of May. This was one of the traditional and principal holidays in Massachusetts. Election day changed in 1832 to the first Wednesday in January; after the change, Annual Training Day and Muster took place on old election day in May. Other festivities of election week continued as Anniversary Week.   See Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, Volume 13  and Journal, May 27, 1857:

I hear the sound of fife and drum the other side of the village, and am reminded that it is May Training. Some thirty young men are marching in the streets in two straight sections, with each a very heavy and warm cap for the season on his head and a bright red stripe down the legs of his pantaloons, and at their head march two with white stripes down their pants, one beating a drum, the other blowing a fife...Thus they march and strut the better part of the day, going into the tavern two or three times, to abandon themselves to unconstrained positions out of sight, and at night they may be seen going home singly with swelling breasts.

~ Zphx



May 31. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, May 31

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 mild, thawy day.

February 4. 

The needles of the pine are the touchstone for the air; any change is revealed by their livelier green or increased motion.  Now the white pine are a misty blue; anon a lively, silvery light plays on them, and they seem to erect themselves unusually; while the pitch pines are a brighter yellowish-green than usual. 

They are the telltales.

The sun loves to nestle in the boughs of the pine and pass rays through them.

11 P. M. — Coming home through the village by this full moonlight, it seems one of the most glorious nights I ever beheld. 

Though the pure snow is so deep around, the air, by contrast perhaps with the recent days, is mild and even balmy to my senses, and the snow is still sticky to my feet and hands. 

And the sky is the most glorious blue I ever beheld, even a light blue on some sides, as if I actually saw into day, while small white, fleecy clouds, at long intervals, are drifting from west-north west to south-southeast. 

If you would know the direction of the wind, look not at the clouds, which are such large bodies and confuse you, but consider in what direction the moon appears to be wading through them. 

The outlines of the elms were never more distinctly seen than now. 

It seems a slighting of the gifts of God to go to sleep now; as if we could better afford to close our eyes to daylight, of which we see so much. 

Has not this blueness of the sky the same cause with the blueness in the holes in the snow, and in some distant shadows on the snow? — if, indeed, it is true that the sky is bluer in winter when the ground is covered with snow.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, February 4, 1852

Now the white pine are a misty blue; anon a lively, silvery light plays on them. See February, 5, 1852 ("The boughs, feathery boughs, of the white pines, tier above tier, reflect a silvery light against the darkness of the grove, as if both the silvery-lighted and greenish bough and the shadowy intervals of the shade behind belong to one tree.”);  April 2 1853 (“I can see far into the pine woods to tree behind tree, and one tower behind another of silvery needles, stage above stage, relieved with shade. ”);  December 3, 1856 ("The silvery needles of the pine straining the light.");  December 8, 1855 (“the sun is reflected from far through the aisles with a silvery light from the needles of the pine.”)

The sky is the most glorious blue I ever beheld, even a light blue on some sides, as if I actually saw into day. See February 3. 1852 ("Is not the sky unusually blue to-night? dark blue? Is it not always bluer when the ground is covered with snow in the winter than in summer?"): February 5, 1852 ("The sky last night was a deeper, more cerulean blue than the far lighter and whiter sky of to-day."). See also May 11, 1853 ("Blue is the color of the day, and the sky is blue by night as well as by day, because it knows no night."); January 21, 1853 ("The blueness of the sky at night — the color it wears by day — is an everlasting surprise to me, suggesting the constant presence and prevalence of light in the firmament, that we see through the veil of night to the constant blue, as by day."); February 12, 1860 ("There is an annual light in the darkness of the winter night. The shadows are blue, as the sky is forever blue.") [According to Wikepedia "Airglow at night was known to the ancient Greeks; it may be bright enough for a ground observer to notice and appears generally bluish. See also Airglow for images.]

Consider in what direction the moon appears to be wading through[the clouds]. See August 12, 1851 ("In the after-midnight hours . . .It is [the traveller's] employment to watch the moon, the companion and guide of his journey, wading through clouds, and calculate what one is destined to shut out her cheering light."); April 3, 1852 ("The sky is two-thirds covered with great four or more sided downy clouds, drifting from the north or northwest, with dark-blue partitions between them. The moon, with a small brassy halo, seems travelling ever through them toward the north."); June 1, 1852 ("The moving clouds are the drama of the moonlight nights"); November 12, 1853 ("The moon is wading slowly through broad squadrons of clouds, with a small coppery halo, and now she comes forth triumphant and burnishes the water far and wide, and makes the reflections more distinct.")

February 4. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, February 4

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, A mild, thawy day

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