Ah, willow! willow! Would that I always possessed thy good spirits.

March 18.

Tree sparrows have warbled faintly for a week.

When I pass by a twig of willow, though of the slenderest kind, rising above the sedge in some dry hollow early in December, or in midwinter above the snow, my spirits rise as if it were an oasis in the desert.

The very name “sallow” (salix, from the Celtic sallis, near water) suggests that there is some natural sap or blood flowing there.

It is a divining wand that has not failed, but stands with its root in the fountain.

The fertile willow catkins are those green caterpillar like ones, commonly an inch or more in length, which develop themselves rapidly after the sterile yellow ones,which we had so admired are fallen or effete. 

Arranged around the bare twigs, they often form green wands eight to eighteen inches long.

A single catkin consists of from twenty-five to a hundred little pods, more or less ovate and beaked, each of which is closely packed with cotton, in which are numerous seeds so small that they are scarcely discernible by ordinary eyes.

I do not know what they mean who call this the emblem of despairing love! “The willow, worn by forlorn paramour!” It is rather the emblem of love and sympathy with all nature. It may droop, — it is so lithe, supple, and pliant — but it never weeps.

The willow of Babylon blooms not the less hopefully with us, though its other half is not in the New World at all, and never has been. It droops, not to represent David's tears, but rather to snatch the crown from Alexander's head. (Nor were poplars ever the weeping sisters of Phaëton, for nothing rejoices them more than the sight of the Sun's chariot, and little reck they who drives it.) 

Ah, willow! willow! Would that I always possessed thy good spirits.

No wonder its wood was anciently in demand for bucklers, for, take the whole tree, it is not only soft and pliant but tough and resilient (as Pliny says ?), not splitting at the first blow, but closing its wounds at once and refusing to transmit its hurts.

I know of one foreign species which introduced itself into Concord as [a] withe used to tie up a bundle of trees. A gardener stuck it in the ground, and it lived, and has its descendants.

Herodotus says that the Scythians divined by the help of willow rods. I do not know any better twigs for this purpose.




How various are the habits of men ! Mother says that her father - in - law, Captain Minott, not only used to roast and eat a long row of little wild apples, reaching in a semicircle from jamb to jamb under the andirons on the reddened hearth (I used to buy many a pound of Spanish brown at the stores for mother to redden the jambs and hearth with), but he had a quart of new milk regularly placed at the head of his bed, which he drank at many draughts in the course of the night.

It was so the night he died, and my grandmother discovered that he was dying, by his not turning over to reach his milk.

I asked what he died of, and mother answered apoplexy! at which I did not wonder.

Still this habit may not have caused it. I have a cousin, also, who regularly eats his bowl of bread and milk just before going to bed, however late. He is a very stirring man.

You can't read any genuine history — as that of Herodotus or the Venerable Bede - without perceiving that our interest depends not on the subject but on the man, on the manner in which he treats the subject and the importance he gives it.

A feeble writer and without genius must have what he thinks a great theme, which we are already interested in through the accounts of others, but a genius - a Shakespeare, for instance — would make the history of his parish more interesting than another's history of the world.

Wherever men have lived there is a story to be told, and it depends chiefly on the story-teller or historian whether that is interesting or not.

You are simply a witness on the stand to tell what you know about your neighbors and neighborhood.

Your account of foreign parts which you have never seen should by good rights be less interesting.


H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 18, 1861

Ah, willow! willow! Would that I always possessed thy good spirits. See   February 24, 1855 ("The brightening of the willows or of osiers, —that is a season in the spring,. . . as if all the landscape and all nature shone. T. . . I remember it as a prominent phenomenon affecting the face of Nature, a gladdening of her face. "); March 13, 1859 ("The bright catkins of the willow are the springing most generally observed.."); March 20, 1858 (“How handsome the willow catkins!"); April 12, 1852 ("See the first blossoms (bright-yellow stamens or pistils) on the willow catkins to-day. . . . It is fit that this almost earliest spring flower should be yellow, the color of the sun."); May 14, 1852 (“Going over the Corner causeway, the willow blossoms fill the air with a sweet fragrance, and I am ready to sing, Ah! willow, willow!”)

the brightest object in the landscape these days.

March 20.  

7 a. m. — River no higher than three days ago, notwithstanding the rain of two days ago, the wind being southwest and very strong. 

P. M. — I see under the east side of the house amid the evergreens, where they were sheltered from the cold northwest wind, quite a parcel of sparrows, chiefly F. hyemalis, two or three tree sparrows, and one song sparrow, quietly feeding together. I watch them through a window within six or eight feet. They evidently love to be sheltered from the wind, and at least are not averse to each other's society. 

The tree sparrows sing a little. One perches on a bush to sing, while others are feeding on the ground, but he is very restless on his perch, hopping about and stooping as if dodging those that fly over. He must perch on some bit of stubble or twig to sing. They are evidently picking up the seeds of weeds which lie on the surface of the ground invisible to our eyes. They suffer their wings to hang rather loose. 

The F. hyemalis is the largest of the three. They have remarkably distinct light-colored bills, and when they stretch, show very distinct clear-white lateral tail-feathers. This stretching seems to be contagious among them, like yawning with us. They have considerable brown on the quill-feathers. 

The tree sparrows are much brighter brown and white than the song sparrow. 

The latter alone scratches once or twice, and is more inclined to hop or creep close to the ground, under the fallen weeds. Perhaps it deserves most to be called the ground-bird. 

P. M. — Up Assabet. 

Very strong northwest wind. 

When I get opposite the end of the willow-row, the sun comes out and they are very handsome, like a rosette, pale-tawny or fawn-colored at base and a rich yellow or orange yellow in the upper three or four feet. 

This is, methinks, the brightest object in the landscape these days. Nothing so betrays the spring sun. I am aware that the sun has come out of a cloud first by seeing it lighting up the osiers. Such a willow-row, cut off within a year or two, might be called a heliometer, or measure of the sun's brightness. 

The last year's shoots of many trees — as maples, both white and red — retain a permanent bright color, red or scarlet, all winter and spring, till new ones  grow. The top of the forest is thus very agreeably tinged. 

The river is so high that I leave it at Pinxter Swamp, and come into it again only at the swift narrow place above, near the road.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 20, 1859

The F. hyemalis have remarkably distinct light-colored bills, and when they stretch, show very distinct clear-white lateral tail-feathers.. . . They have considerable brown on the quill-feathers See March 20, 1852 ("And now, within a day or two, I have noticed the chubby slate-colored snowbird (Fringilla hyemalis?), and I drive the flocks before me on the railroad causeway as I walk. It has two white feathers in its tail")'; March 20, 1855 ("At my landing I hear the F. hyemalis, in company with a few tree sparrows. They take refuge from the cold wind, half a dozen in all, behind an arbor-vitae hedge, and there plume themselves with puffed-up feathers."); March 20, 1858 ("The note of the F. hyemalis, or chill-lill, is a jingle, with also a shorter and drier crackling or shuffling chip as it flits by."); March 28, 1853 ("The woods ring with the cheerful jingle of the F. hyemalis. This is a very trig and compact little bird, and appears to be in good condition. The straight edge of slate on their breasts contrasts remarkably with the white from beneath ; the short, light-colored bill is also very conspicuous amid the dark slate ; and when they fly from you, the two white feathers in their tails are very distinct at a good distance. They are very lively, pursuing each other from bush to bush."). See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Dark-eyed Junco.

The tree sparrows sing a little. See March 20, 1855 ("At my landing I hear the F. hyemalis, in company with a few tree sparrows. They take refuge from the cold wind, half a dozen in all, behind an arbor-vitae hedge, and there plume themselves with puffed-up feathers.");March 20, 1858 ("The tree sparrow is perhaps the sweetest and most melodious warbler at present and for some days."). See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Tree Sparrow.

The fields and woods seem now particularly empty and bare. Culling Ebby Hubbard's large oaks.

December 3.

A pleasant day. No snow yet (since that first whitening which lasted so long), nor do I see any ice to speak of. 

Hear and see, of birds, only a tree sparrow in the willows on the Turnpike. 

Met Goodwin going out with his gun. He shot (evidently) some crossbills once in Roxbury. He sometimes gets a skunk drowned in his muskrat or mink traps, and so can get at their secretion without being disturbed by the scent. He, too, has heard that it is a sure cure for the phthisic.

The fields and woods seem now particularly empty and bare. No cattle in pasture; only here and there a man carting or spreading manure. 

Every larger tree which I knew and admired is being gradually culled out and carried to mill. I see one or two more large oaks in E. Hubbard’s wood lying high on stumps, waiting for snow to be removed. 

I miss them as surely and with the same feeling that I do the old inhabitants out of the village street. To me they were something more than timber; to their owner not so.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, December 3, 1855

Hear and see, of birds, only a tree sparrow. See December 3, 1853 ("Two tree sparrows on Monroe's larch by the waterside. Larger than chip-birds, with more bay above and a distinct white bar on wings, not to mention bright-chestnut crown and obscure spot on breast; all beneath pale-ash.")

Large oaks culled from E. Hubbard's wood.  See March 11, 1852 ("The woods I walked in in my youth are cut off. Is it not time that I ceased to sing?"); January 22, 1852 ("I love to look at Ebby Hubbard's oaks and pines on the hillside from Brister's Hill. Am thankful that there is one old miser who will not sell nor cut his woods."); January 9, 1855 ("This winter I hear the axe in almost every wood of any consequence left standing in the township."); October 20, 1860 ("I examine Ebby Hubbard's old oak and pine wood. The trees may be a hundred years old."); November 2, 1860 ("Ebby Hubbard's [wood]was never cut off but only cut out of.")

A bird of many colors.

April 28.

A second cold but fair day. Good fires are required to-day and yesterday. 

P. M. —Sail to Ball’s Hill. 

The chimney swallow, with the white-bellied and barn swallows, over the river. 

The red maples, now in bloom, are quite handsome at a distance over the flooded meadow beyond Peter’s. The abundant wholesome gray of the trunks and stems beneath surmounted by the red or scarlet crescents. 

Are not they sheldrakes which I see at a distance on an islet in the meadow? 

The wind is strong from the northwest. Land at Ball’s Hill to look for birds under the shelter of the hill in the sun. 

There are a great many myrtle-birds here, — they have been quite common for a week, — also yellow redpolls, and some song sparrows, tree sparrows, field sparrows, and one F. hyemalis. 

In a cold and windy day like this you can find more birds than in a serene one, because they are collected under the wooded hillsides in the sun. 

The myrtle-birds flit before us in great numbers, yet quite tame, uttering commonly only a chip, but some times a short trill or che che, che che, che che. Do I hear the tull-lull in the afternoon? It is a bird of many colors, — slate, yellow, black, and white, — singularly spotted. 

April 28, 2015

Those little gnats of the 21st are still in the air in the sun under this hill, but elsewhere the cold strong wind has either drowned them or chilled them to death. I see where they have taken refuge in a boat and covered its bottom with large black patches. 

I noticed on the 26th (and also to-day) that since this last rise of the river, which reached its height the 23d, a great deal of the young flag, already six inches to a foot long, though I have hardly observed it growing yet, has washed up all along the shore, and as to-day I find a piece of flag-root with it gnawed by a muskrat, I think that they have been feeding very extensively on the white and tender part of the young blades. 

They, and not ducks, for it is about the bridges also as much as anywhere. I think that they desert the clams now for this vegetable food. In one place a dead muskrat scents the shore, probably another of those drowned out in the winter. 

See the little heaps of dirt where worms had come out by river.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 28, 1855

The chimney swallow, with the white-bellied and barn swallows, over the river. See April 28, 1858 ("The barn swallows and a martin are already skimming low over that small area of smooth water within a few feet of me, never leaving that spot,"); See also April 8, 1856 ("The white bellied swallows have paid us twittering visits the last three mornings. You must rush out quickly to see them,"); April 15, 1855 ("Many martins (with white—bellied swallows) are skimming and twittering above the water,"); April 15, 1856 ("The white-bellied swallows are circling about and twittering above the apple trees and walnuts on the hillside."); April 15, 1859 ("I see and hear white-bellied swallows as they are zigzagging through the air with their loud and lively notes"); April 18, 1855 ("White-bellied swallows and martins twitter now at 9 A. M.");  April 29, 1854 ("The barn swallows are very numerous, flying low over the water in the rain.”); April 29, 1856 ("Barn swallows and chimney, with white-bellied swallows, are flying together over the river.");April 30, 1856  ("Great number of swallows—white-bellied and barn swallows and perhaps republican — flying round and round, or skimming very low over the meadow, just laid bare, only a foot above the ground.")  See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The White-bellied Swallow

The red maples, now in bloom, are quite handsome at a distance. See April 29, 1856 ("How pretty a red maple in bloom (they are now in prime), seen in the sun against a pine wood . . . they are of so cheerful and lively a color.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Red Maple

There are a great many myrtle-birds here, — they have been quite common for a week. The myrtle-birds flit before us in great numbers, yet quite tame, uttering commonly only a chip, but some times a short trill or che che, che che, che che. See  April 28, 1858 (“I see the myrtle-bird in the same sunny place, south of the Island woods, as formerly.”); April 28, 1859 (“The first myrtle-bird that I have noticed”); See also  April 26, 1854 ("The woods are full of myrtle-birds this afternoon, more common and commonly heard than any, especially along the edge of woods on oaks, etc., — their note an oft-repeated fine jingle, a tea le, tea le, tea le.");  May 1, 1855 ("The myrtle-bird is one of the commonest and tamest birds now. It catches insects like a pewee, darting off from its perch and returning to it, and sings something like a-chill chill, chill chill, chill chill, a-twear, twill twill twee,"); May 4, 1855 ("Myrtle-birds numerous, and sing their tea lee, tea lee in morning")

To-day I find a piece of flag-root with it gnawed by a muskrat . . .In one place a dead muskrat scents the shore, probably another of those drowned out in the winter. See April 10, 1855 ("Another dead muskrat, equally old with the two others I have seen this spring,—as if they had died at the time of the great freshet in February. . . .I see much yellow lily root afloat, which the muskrats have dug up and nibbled."); April 25, 1855 (" I have noticed three or four upper jaws of muskrats on the meadow lately, which, added to the dead bodies floating, make more than half a dozen perhaps drowned out last winter. ") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Musquash

The myrtle-birds flit

before us in great numbers –

sheltered from the wind.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, A bird of many colors.

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-550428

A little duck in the middle of the Pond.

April 19

5 A. M. — Up Assabet. 

Warm and still and somewhat cloudy. Am without greatcoat. 

The guns are firing and bells ringing. 

I hear a faint honk and, looking up, see going over the river, within fifty rods, thirty-two geese in the form of a hay-hook, only two in the hook, and they are at least six feet apart. Probably the whole line is twelve rods long. 

At least three hundred have passed over Concord, or rather within the breadth of a mile, this spring (perhaps twice as many); for I have seen or heard of a dozen flocks, and the two I counted had about thirty each. 

Many tortoises have their heads out. The river has fallen a little. Going up the Assabet, two or three tortoises roll down the steep bank with a rustle. One tumbles on its edge and rolls swiftly like a disk cast by a boy, with its back to me, from eight or ten feet into the water. 

I hear no concert of tree sparrows. Hear the tull-lull of the white-throated sparrow in street, and the jingle of the chip-bird. 

This forenoon, sit with open window. Now plowing and planting will begin generally. 

P. M. — To Walden.

Some golden willows will now just peel fairly, though on this one the buds have not started.  (Another sudden change in the wind to northeast and a freshness with some mist from the sea at 3.30 P. M.) These osiers to my eye have only a little more liquid green than a month ago. 

A shad frog on the dry grass. The wild red cherry will begin to leaf to-morrow. 

From Heywood’s Peak I think I see the head of a loon in the pond, thirty-five or forty rods distant. Bringing my glass to bear, it seems sunk very low in the water, — all the neck concealed, — but I can not tell which end was the bill. 

At length I discover that it is the whole body of a little duck, asleep with its head in its back, exactly in the middle of the pond. 

It has a moderate-sized black head and neck, a white breast, and seems dark-brown above, with a white spot on the side of the head, not reaching to the out side, from base of mandibles, and another, perhaps, on the end of the wing, with some black there. 

It sits drifting round a little, but with ever its breast toward the wind, and from time to time it raises its head and looks round to see if it is safe. 

I think it is the smallest duck I ever saw. Floating buoyantly asleep on the middle of Walden Pond. 

Is it not a female of the buffle-headed or spirit duck?

I believed the wings looked blacker when it flew, with some white beneath. It floated like a little casket, and at first I doubted a good while if it possessed life, until I saw it raise its head and look around. It chose a place for its nap exactly equidistant between the two shores there, and, with its breast to the wind, swung round only as much as a vessel held by its anchors in the stream. At length the cars scared it. 

Goodwin caught twenty-five pouts and one shiner at the Walden meadow, but no perch. 

Slippery elm in tumbler to-day; probably to-morrow at Cliffs.

A partridge drums.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 19, 1855

The guns are firing and bells ringing. See April 19, 1852 ("The guns were fired and the bells rung to commemorate the anniversary of the birth of a nation's liberty. ")

At least three hundred have passed over Concord this spring. See April 19, 1852 ("How many there must be, that one or more flocks are seen to go over almost every farm in New England in the spring.”) See also April 8, 1855 (“This evening, about 9 P.M., I hear geese go over, now there in the south, now southeast, now east, now northeast, low over the village, but not seen. The first I have heard.”); April 9, 1855 ("Several flocks of geese went over this morning also. Now, then, the main body are moving. Now first are they generally seen and heard.”); April 17, 1855 ("Geese go over at noon, when warm and sunny. “); Also see A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau: Signs of Spring, Geese Overhead

A little duck, asleep with its head in its back, exactly in the middle of the pond.  See March 21, 1854 ("Look with glass and find more than thirty black ducks asleep with their heads in their backs, motionless, and thin ice formed about them."); March 31, 1858 ("I see about a dozen black ducks on Flint's Pond, asleep with their heads in their backs and drifting across the pond before the wind.")

Buffle headed or spirit duck. See January 7, 1853 ("He shows me the spirit duck of the Indians, of which Peabody says the Indians call it by a word meaning spirit, "because of the wonderful quickness with which it disappears at the twang of a bow." "); April 22, 1861 (" [Mann]obtained to-day the buffle-headed duck, diving in the river near the Nine-Acre Corner bridge. I identify it at sight as my bird seen on Walden. ") See also J J Audubon (The bufflehead, being known in different districts by the names of Spirit Duck, Butter-box, Marrionette, Dipper, and Die-dipper,") Compare December 14, 1854 ("At our old bathing-place on the Assabet, saw two ducks, which at length took to wing. They had large dark heads, dark wings, and clear white breasts. I think they were buffle-headed or spirit ducks. ") December 26, 1853 ("Saw in [Walden] a small diver, probably a grebe or dobchick, dipper, or what-not, ... It had a black head, a white ring about its neck, a white breast, black back, and apparently no tail.”); September 27, 1860 ("[The little dipper] has a dark bill and considerable white on the sides of the head or neck, with black between it, no tufts, and no observable white on back or tail.") See alsoA Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Little Dipper

Some golden willows will now just peel fairly. See April 19, 1853 ("Willow and bass strip freely."); see also April 9, 1855 ("The golden willow is, methinks, a little livelier green and begins to peel a little"); April 18, 1860 ("The Salix discolor peels well; also the aspen (early) has begun to peel.")

These osiers to my eye have only a little more liquid green than a month ago.  See February 24, 1855 ("You will often fancy that they look brighter before the spring has come, and when there has been no change in them"); March 24, 1855 (" I am not sure that the osiers are decidedly brighter yet"); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Osier in Winter and early Spring

Another sudden change in the wind to northeast and a freshness with some mist from the sea at 3.30 P. M. See April 18, 1855 ("I see suddenly all the southern horizon . . full of a mist, like a dust, already concealing the Lincoln hills and producing distinct wreaths of vapor, the rest of the horizon being clear. Evidently a sea-turn, — a wind from over the sea, condensing the moisture in our warm atmosphere and putting another aspect on the face of things."); April 29, 1856 (" about 3 P. M. I felt a fresh easterly wind, and saw quite a mist in the distance produced by it, a sea-turn. . . .. Your first warning of it may be the seeing a thick mist on all the hills and in the horizon. "); April 30, 1856 ("at one o’clock there was the usual fresh easterly wind and sea-turn . . .and a fresh cool wind from the sea produces a mist in the air.")

A partridge drums. See April 19, 1860 ('"You will hear at first a single beat or two far apart and have time to say, "There is a partridge," so distinct and deliberate is it often, before it becomes a rapid roll."); See also April 25, 1854 ("The first partridge drums in one or two places, as if the earth's pulse now beat audibly with the increased flow of life.”). and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau  The Partridge.

April 19, 2015

Little duck asleep

in the middle of the pond –

its head in its back 

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, A little duck in the middle of the Pond

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-550419

Wishing that I could find a dead duck floating on the water

April 6.

It clears up at 8 P. M. warm and pleasant, leaving flitting clouds and a little wind, and I go up the Assabet in my boat. 

The blackbirds have now begun to frequent the water’s edge in the meadow, the ice being sufficiently out. 

The April waters, smooth and commonly high, before many flowers (none yet) or any leafing, while the landscape is still russet and frogs are just awakening, is peculiar. 

April 6, 2020

It began yesterday. A very few white maple stamens stand out already loosely enough to blow in the wind, and some alder catkins look almost ready to shed pollen. On the hillsides I smell the dried leaves and hear a few flies buzzing over them. 

The banks of the river are alive with song sparrows and tree sparrows. They now sing in advance of vegetation, as the flowers will blossom, —those slight tinkling, twittering sounds called the singing of birds; they have come to enliven the bare twigs before the buds show any signs of starting. 

I see a large wood tortoise just crawled out upon the bank, with three oval, low, bug-like leeches on its sternum. 

You can hear all day, from time to time, in any part of the village, the sound of a gun fired at ducks. Yesterday I was wishing that I could find a dead duck floating on the water, as I had found muskrats and a hare, and now I see something bright and reflecting the light from the edge of the alders five or six rods off. Can it be a duck? 

I can hardly believe my eyes. I am near enough to see its green head and neck. I am delighted to find a perfect specimen of the Mergus merganser, or goosander, undoubtedly shot yesterday by the Fast-Day sportsmen, and I take a small flattened shot from its wing, — flattened against the wing—bone, apparently. The wing is broken, and it is shot through the head. 

(The chief wound was in a wing, which was broken. I afterward took three small shot from it, which were flattened against the bill’s base and perhaps (?) the quills’ shafts.)

It is a perfectly fresh and very beautiful bird, and as I raise it, I get sight of its long, slender vermilion bill (color of red sealing wax) and its clean, bright-orange legs and feet, and then of its perfectly smooth and spotlessly pure white breast and belly, tinged with a faint salmon (or tinged with a delicate buff inclining to salmon). 

This, according to Wilson, is one of the mergansers, or fisher ducks, of which there are nine or ten species and we have four in America. It is the largest of these four; feeds almost entirely on fin and shell fish; called water pheasant, sheldrake, fisherman diver, dun diver, sparkling fowl, harle, etc., as well as goosander. Go in April, return in November. 

Jardine has found seven trout in one female. Nuttall says they breed in the Russian Empire and are seen in Mississippi and Missouri in winter. He found a young brood in Pennsylvania. Yarrell says they are called also saw-bill and jack-saw; are sometimes sold in London market. 

Nest, according to Selby, on ground; according to others, in a hollow tree also. Found on the continent of Europe, northern Asia, and even in Japan. Some breed in the Orkneys and thereabouts.

My bird is 25 7/8 inches long and 35 in alar extent; from point of wing to end of primaries, 11 inches. 

It is a great diver and does not mind the cold. It appears admirably fitted for diving and swimming. Its body is flat, and its tail short, flat, compact, and wedge-shaped; its eyes peer out a slight slit or semicircle in the skin of the head; and its legs are flat and thin in one direction, and the toes shut up compactly so as to create the least friction when drawing them forward, but their broad webs spread them three and a half inches when they take a stroke. The web is extended three eighths of an inch beyond the inner toe of each foot. There are very conspicuous black teeth-like serrations along the edges of its bill, and this also is roughened so that it may hold its prey securely. 

The breast appeared quite dry when I raised it from the water. 

The head and neck are, as Wilson says, black, glossed with green, but the lower part of the neck pure white, and these colors bound on each other so abruptly that one appears to be sewed on to the other. It is a perfect wedge from the middle of its body to the end of its tail, and it is only three and a quarter - inches deep from back to breast at the thickest part, while the greatest breadth horizontally (at the root of the legs) is five and a half inches. In these respects it reminds me of an otter, which however I have never seen. - I suspect that I have seen near a hundred of these birds this spring, but I never got so near one before. 

In Yarrell’s plate the depth of the male goosander is to its length (i. e. from tip of tail to most forward part of breast) as thirty-seven to one hundred and three, or the depth is more than one third. This length in Yarrell’s bird, calling the distance from the point of the wing to the end of the primaries eleven inches, is about fourteen and a half inches, of which my three and a quarter is not one fourth. In Nuttall’s plate the proportion is thirty-two to ninety-one, also more than one third. I think they have not represented the bird flat enough.  

Yarrell says it is the largest of the British mergansers; is a winter visitor, though a few breed in the north of Britain; are rare in the southern counties. But, according to Yarrell, a Mr. Low in his Natural History of Orkney says they breed there, and, after breeding, the sexes separate; and Y. quotes Selby as saying that their nest is near the edge of the water, of grass, roots, etc., lined with down, sometimes among stones, in long grass, under bushes, or in a stump or hollow tree. 

Y. continues, egg “a uniform buff white,” two and a half inches long. Sometimes carry their young  on their backs in the water. It is common in Sweden and, according to the traveller Acerbi, in Lapland they give it a hollow tree to build in and then steal its eggs. The mother, he adds, carries her young to the water in her bill. 

Y. says it is well known in Russia and is found in Germany, Holland, France, Switzerland, Provence, and Italy. Has been seen near the Caucasus (and is found in Japan, according to one authority). Also in North America, Hudson’s Bay, Greenland, and Iceland.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 6, 1855

They now sing in advance of vegetation, as the flowers will blossom, . . .they have come to enliven the bare twigs before the buds show any signs of starting. See April 28, 1852 ("The spring flowers wait not to perfect their leaves before they expand their blossoms.)

White maple stamens stand out already loosely enough to blow in the wind. See April 6, 1853 ("Notice a white maple with almost all the staminate flowers above or on the top, most of the stamens now withered, before the red maple has blossomed. Another maple, all or nearly all female. The staminiferous flowers look light yellowish, the female dark crimson”); April 6, 1854 ("I am surprised to find so much of the white maples already out”); see also April 7, 1861 (" The white maple at the bridge not quite out.”); April 9, 1852 ("The maple by the bridge in bloom”); April 8, 1855 (I find some anthers effete and dark, and others still mealy with pollen. There are many in this condition. The crimson female stigmas also peeping forth. It evidently began to shed pollen yesterday.”).  Also see A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, White maple buds and flowers.

The banks of the river are alive with song sparrows . See April 6, 1856 ("The hedges resound with the song of the song sparrow."). See also Henry Thoreau, A Book of the Seasons: the Song Sparrow (Fringilla melodia)

A perfect specimen of the Mergus merganser, or goosander, undoubtedly shot yesterday by the Fast-Day sportsmen.  See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Sheldrake (Goosander, Merganser)

I see a large wood tortoise just crawled out upon the bank, with three oval, low, bug-like leeches on its sternum. See April 17, 1858 (" I take up a wood turtle on the shore, whose sternum is covered with small ants") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Wood Turtle (Emys insculpta)

White maple stamens 

already stand out enough

to blow in the wind.

it reminds me of 

an otter, which however 

i have never seen.

 

Spring birding - A flurry of snow.

March 20

A flurry of snow at 7 A. M. I go to turn my boat up.

Four or five song sparrows are flitting along amid the willows by the waterside. Probably they came yesterday with the bluebirds. From distant trees and bushes I hear a faint tinkling te te te te te' and at last a full strain whose rhythm is whit whit whit, ter tche, tchear tche, deliberately sung, measuredly, while the falling snow is beginning to whiten the ground, —not discouraged by such a reception. 

The bluebird, too, is in the air, and I detect its blue back for a moment upon a picket. 

It is remarkable by what a gradation of days which we call pleasant and warm, beginning in the last of February, we come at last to real summer warmth. At first a sunny, calm, serene winter day is pronounced spring, or reminds us of it; and then the first pleasant spring day perhaps we walk with our greatcoat buttoned up and gloves on.

P. M. — Up Assabet. It soon clears off and proves a fair but windy day.  I notice havoc along the stream on making my first voyages on it.  

At my landing I hear the F. hyemalis, in company with a few tree sparrows. They take refuge from the cold wind, half a dozen in all, behind an arbor-vitae hedge, and there plume themselves with puffed-up feathers.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 20, 1855

Song sparrows are flitting along amid the willows by the waterside . . . I hear . . . at last a full strain whose rhythm is whit whit whit, ter tche, tchear tche, deliberately sung, measuredly, while the falling snow is beginning to whiten the ground. See March 11, 1854 ("They generally forthburst into sprayey song from the low trees along the river. The developing of their song is gradual but sure, like the expanding of a flower. This is the first song I have heard."); March 18, 1852 ("But this snow has not driven back the birds. I hear the song sparrow's simple strain, most genuine herald of the spring, and see flocks of chubby northern birds with the habit of snowbirds, passing north.") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau , Signs of the Spring: the Song Sparrow Sings

The bluebird, too, is in the air, and I detect its blue back. See March 19, 1855 ("I hear my first bluebird, somewhere about Cheney’s trees by the river. I hear him out of the blue deeps, but do not yet see his blue body. He comes with a warble."); See alsoA Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau , Signs of the Spring: Listening for the Bluebird

At my landing I hear the F. hyemalis, in company with a few tree sparrows. They take refuge from the cold wind. See March 20, 1852 ("And now, within a day or two, I have noticed the chubby slate-colored snowbird (Fringilla hyemalis?) . . .It is cold as winter to-day, the ground still covered with snow"); March 20, 1859 ("I see under the east side of the house . . . quite a parcel of sparrows, chiefly F. hyemalis, two or three tree sparrows, and one song sparrow, quietly feeding together. "); See also March 15, 1854(" Pleasant morning, unexpectedly. Hear on the alders by the river the lill lill lill lill of the first F. hyemalis, mingled with song sparrows and tree sparrows."); March 23, 1854 ("Snows and rains a little. The birds in yard active now, — hyemalis, tree sparrow, and song sparrow. The hyemalis jingle easily distinguished. Hear all together on apple trees these days.") and A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau , Signs of the Spring, the note of the dark-eyed junco going northward; A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau , the Tree Sparrow

It is remarkable by what a gradation of days which we call pleasant and warm . . . See April 26, 1860 ("What we should have called a warm day in March is a cold one at this date in April.”) 

March 20. See A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau , March 20

 Song sparrows flitting

 along amid the willows 

by the waterside.

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Spring birding - A flurry of snow.

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-55320

Late snows blind us most.

March 14

Three inches of snow in the morning, and it snows a little more during the day, with occasional gleams of sunshine. Winter back again in prospect, and I see a few sparrows, probably tree sparrows, in the yard. 

March 14, 2022

P. M. — To Andromeda Ponds. At one of the holes under the stump of March 7th, caught a Mus leucopus (deer mouse). So this was the kind, undoubtedly, that fed on the moss.  It is in very good condition; extreme length six and a half, tail three inches. It is a less reddish brown on the sides and cheeks than my whole skin, and a darker brown above, mixed with a little reddish; no yellow tinge on breast.  Some whiskers, as usual, are white, others black, and I count the “six tubercles on each palm.” 

There are no tracks about the stump, for they are not abroad by day, i.e. since the last of this snow, but probably there will be tracks to-morrow morning. Thus it is generally. If it ceases snowing in the morning, you see few, if any, tracks in your walk, but the next morning many.

It is the first and last snows - especially the last -  that blind us most, when the sun is most powerful and our eyes are unused to them. 

I observe the tracks of sparrows leading to every little sprig of blue-curls amid the other weeds which (its seemingly empty pitchers) rises above the snow. There seems, however, to be a little seed left in them. This, then, is reason enough why these withered stems still stand, – that they may raise these granaries above the snow for the use of the snowbirds. 

That ice of February has destroyed almost the whole of Charles Hubbard’s young red maple swamp in front of the Hollowell place. Full an acre of thrifty young maples, as well as alders and birches four to ‘seven feet high, is completely destroyed, being pulled and broken down (broken near the ground) as the ice sank after the water went down. It is all flat, and looks at a little distance as if one had gone through with a bush-whack and done his work faithfully. 

R. Rice tells me that a great many young white pines in a swamp of his in Sudbury have been barked, the bark rubbed down several inches completely bare by the ice. 

Thus the river from time to time asserts its authority over its swamps to a great distance.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 14, 1855

Winter back again in prospect, and I see a few sparrows, probably tree sparrows, in the yard.  See February 9, 1855 ("Tree sparrows, two or three only at once, come into the yard, the first I have distinguished this winter.   I was so sure this storm would bring snowbirds into the yard that I went to the window at ten to look for them, and there they were."); April 10, 1854 ("How sure a rain is to bring the tree sparrows into the yard, to sing sweetly, canary-like!"); April 27, 1855 ("I hear the sweet warble of a tree sparrow in the yard."); May 4, 1855 ("See no gulls, nor F. hyemalis nor tree sparrows now."); May 5, 1854 ("Have not observed a tree sparrow for four or five days.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Tree Sparrow

At one of the holes under the stump of March 7th, caught a Mus leucopus (deer mouse). See March 7, 1855 ("Saw, about a hemlock stump on the hillside north of the largest Andromeda Pond, very abundant droppings of some kind of mice, on that common green moss . . . They must have fed very extensively on this moss the past winter."); February 20, 1855 ("It [Mus leucopus ] is a very pretty and neat little animal for a mouse, with its wholesome reddish - brown sides distinctly bounding on its pure white belly, neat white feet , large slate - colored ears which suggest circumspection and timidity, — ready to earth itself on the least sound of danger, long tail, and numerous whiskers.) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Wild Mouse

These granaries above the snow for the use of the snowbirds. See December 4, 1856 ("How many thousand acres are there now of pitchered blue-curls and ragged wormwood rising above the shallow snow?  The granary of the birds."); December 14, 1851 ("The now dry and empty but clean-washed cups of the blue-curls spot the half snow-covered grain-fields. Where lately was a delicate blue flower, now all the winter are held up these dry chalices!"); December 14, 1852 ("The dried chalices of the Rhexia Virginica stand above the snow, and the cups of the blue-curls."); See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Blue-Curls

Rice tells me that a great many young white pines in a swamp of his in Sudbury have been barked. See March 14, 1857 ("The maples, apple trees, etc., have been barked by the ice,")

March 14. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, March 14

Three inches of snow,

winter again in prospect –

sparrows in the yard.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Late snows blind us most.

 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-550314