From Cliffs I see snow on the mountains.

December 12. 

Cold at last. 

December 12, 2015

Saw a violet on the C. Miles road where the bank had been burned in the fall. 

Baeomyces roseus also. 

Tansy still fresh yellow by the Corner Bridge. 

From Cliffs I see snow on the mountains. 

Last night's rain was snow there, then. They now have a parti-colored look, like the skin of a pard, as if they were spread with a saddle-cloth for Boreas to ride.

I hear of a cultivated rose blossoming in a garden in Cambridge within a day or two. 

The buds of the aspen are large and show wool in the fall.

H. D Thoreau, Journal, December 12, 1852

Baeomyces roseus. See April 3, 1859 ("We need a popular name for the baeomyces. C. suggests "pink mould" Perhaps "pink shot" or "eggs" would do.")

Saw a violet on the C. Miles road where the bank had been burned in the fall. See December 9, 1852 ("A man tells me he saw a violet to-day.") See also November 9, 1850 ("I found many fresh violets (Viola pedata) to-day (November 9th) in the woods.”);  November 16, 1850 (Violets, dandelions, and some other flowers blossom again, and mulleins and in numerable other plants begin again to spring and are only checked by the increasing cold. There is a slight uncertainty whether there will be any winter this year.")

Tansy still fresh yellow by the Corner Bridge. See November 18, 1855 ("Tansy still shows its yellow disks, but yarrow is particularly fresh and perfect, cold and chaste, with its pretty little dry-looking rounded white petals and green leaves."); November 23, 1852 ("Among the flowers which may be put down as lasting thus far, as I remember, in the order of their hardiness: yarrow, tansy (these very fresh and common) . . . and perhaps tall buttercup, etc."); December 6, 1852 ("Tansy still fresh.")

From Cliffs I see snow on the mountains. See December 12, 1859 ("I got a new view of the mountains . . .very grand in their snowy mantle, which had a slight tinge of purple . . . It is now that these mountains, in color as well as form, most resemble the clouds.") See also December 8, 1854 ("Why do the mountains never look so fair as from my native fields?")

.

The buds of the aspen are large and show wool. See February 6, 1856 ("The down is just peeping out from some of the aspen buds. "); February 27. 1852 ("The buds of the aspen show a part of their down or silky catkins."); March 4, 1860 ("Aspen down a quarter of an inch out.")

A Book of the Seasons: The season of two twilights.

 

December 11

By mid-afternoon 

I will see the sun setting 

far through the woods.

That peculiar

clear greenish sky in the west

like a molten gem.

The day is short and 

we now have these early still 

clear winter sunsets. 

Two twilights merely --

the morning and the evening

now make the whole day.

December 11, 1854 

Winter sky; winter sunsets

December 8, 1854 (“There is a glorious clear sunset sky, soft and delicate and warm”)

 

December 9, 1856 ("The worker who would accomplish much these short days must shear a dusky slice off both ends of the night”)

 December 9, 1859 (" I observe at mid-afternoon, the air being very quiet and serene, that peculiarly softened western sky, which perhaps is seen commonly after the first snow has covered the earth. . . .[T]here is just enough invisible vapor, perhaps from the snow, to soften the blue, giving it a slight greenish tinge. Thus, methinks, it often happens that as the weather is harder the sky seems softer")

 Decenber 10 1856 ("I see the sun set from the side of Nawshawtuct, and make haste to the post-office with the red sky over my shoulder. . . .on my return, the apparently full moon has fairly commenced her reign, and I go home by her light."")

 December 12, 1859 ("The night comes on early these days, and I soon see the pine tree tops distinctly outlined against the dun (or amber) but cold western sky. )

 December 18, 1853 ("The western hills, these bordering it, seen through the clear, cold air, have a hard, distinct edge against the sunset sky. ")

December 20, 1854 ("The sky in the eastern horizon has that same greenish-vitreous, gem-like appearance which it has at sundown, as if it were of perfectly clear glass, —with the green tint of a large mass of glass.")

December 21, 1851 ("How swiftly the earth appears to revolve at sunset, which at midday appears to rest on its axle!")

December 23, 1851 ("I see that there is to be a fine, clear sunset, and make myself a seat in the snow on the Cliff to witness it.")

 December 25, 1851 (“I go forth to see the sun set. Who knows how it will set, even half an hour beforehand ?”)

December 25, 1858 ("How full of soft, pure light the western sky now, after sunset! . . . In a pensive mood I enjoy the complexion of the winter sky at this hour.")

December 27, 1853 ("It is a true winter sunset, almost cloudless, clear, cold indigo-y along the horizon.")

January 11, 1852 ("The glory of these afternoons, though the sky may be mostly overcast, is in the ineffably clear blue, or else pale greenish-yellow, patches of sky in the west just before sunset.")

 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. . . .As the skies appear to a man, so is his mind.")

January 26, 1852. ("Would you see your mind, look at the sky. Would you know your own moods, be weather-wise.")

Long after the sun has set,

and downy clouds have turned dark,

and the shades of night

have taken possession of the east, 

some rosy clouds will be seen

in the upper sky

over the portals 

of the darkening west. 

December 21, 1851

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,  The Season of Two Twilights

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 ©  2009-2023

The recent water-line at Walden is quite distinct.

December 8. 

Another Indian-summer day. 

Saw some puffballs in the woods, wonderfully full of sulphur-like dust, which yellowed my shoes, greenish-yellow. 

The recent water-line at Walden is quite distinct, though like the limit of a shadow, on the alders about eighteen inches above the present level.

One cannot burn or bury even his old shoes without a feeling of sadness and compassion; much more his old body, without a slight sense of guilt.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, December 8, 1852

Wonderfully full of sulphur-like dust, which yellowed my shoes, greenish-yellow. Compare June 29, 1858 ("Walking in the white pine wood there, I find that my shoes and, indeed, my hat are covered with the greenish-yellow pollen of the white pines,. . .My shoes are green-yellow, or yellow-green, even the next day with it.")

The recent water-line at Walden is quite distinct, See December 5, 1852 ("This great rise of the pond after an interval of many years, and the water standing at this great height for a year or more, kills the shrubs and trees about its edge")

Burn or bury old shoes.  See December 3, 1856 ("The man who has bought his boots feels like him who has got in his winter's wood.”); December 6, 1859 ("That is an era, when, in the beginning of the winter, you change from the shoes of summer to the boots of winter.")

The great rise and fall of the pond.

December 5. 

P. M. — Rowed over Walden! 

A dark, but warm, misty day, completely overcast. 

This great rise of the pond after an interval of many years, and the water standing at this great height for a year or more, kills the shrubs and trees about its edge, — pitch pines, birches, alders, aspens, etc., — and, falling again, leaves an unobstructed shore. 

The rise and fall of the pond serves this use at least. 

This fluctuation, though it makes it difficult to walk round it when the water is highest, by killing the trees makes it so much the easier and more agreeable when the water is low. 

By this fluctuation, this rise of its waters after long intervals, it asserts its title to a shore, and the trees can not hold it by right of possession. 

But unlike those waters which are subject to a daily tide, its shore is cleanest when the water is lowest. 

I have been surprised to observe how surely the water standing for a few months about such trees would kill them. 

On the side of the pond next my house a row of pitch pines fifteen feet high was killed and tipped over as if by a lever, and thus a stop put to their encroachments; and their size may indicate how many years had elapsed since the last rise.

I have been surprised to see what a rampart has been formed about many ponds, — in one place at Walden, but especially at Flint's Pond, where it occurs between the pond and a swamp, as if it were the remains of an Indian swamp fort, — apparently by the action of the waves and the ice, several feet in height and containing large stones and trees. 

These lips of the lake, on which no beard grows. It licks its chaps from time to time.

I saw some dimples on the surface, and, thinking it was going to rain hard immediately, the air being full of mist, I made haste to take my place at the oars to row homeward. Already the rain seemed rapidly increasing, though I felt none on my cheek, and I anticipated a thorough soaking; but suddenly the dimples ceased, for they were produced by the perch which the noise of my oars had scared into the depths. I saw their schools dimly disappearing.

I have said that Walden has no visible inlet nor outlet, but it is on the one hand distantly and indirectly related to Flint's Pond, which is more elevated, by a chain of small ponds coming from that quarter, and on the other hand directly and manifestly related to Concord River, which is lower, by a similar chain of ponds, through which in some other geological period it may have flowed thither, and by a little digging, which God forbid, could probably be made to flow thither again. 

If, by living thus "reserved and austere" like a hermit in the woods so long, it has acquired such wonderful depth and purity, who would not regret that the impure waters of Flint's Pond should be mingled with it, or itself should go waste its sweetness in the ocean wave? 

H. D Thoreau, Journal, December 5, 1852

The rise and fall of the pond. See Walden ("The pond rises and falls, but whether regularly or not, and within what period, nobody knows, though, as usual, many pretend to know. It is commonly higher in the winter and lower in the summer, though not corresponding to the general wet and dryness. I can remember when it was a foot or two lower, and also when it was at least five feet higher, than when I lived by it. . . . This makes a difference of level, at the outside, of six or seven feet; . . . It is remarkable that this fluctuation, whether periodical or not, appears thus to require many years for its accomplishment. I have observed one rise and a part of two falls, and I expect that a dozen or fifteen years hence the water will again be as low as I have ever known it. Flint's Pond, a mile eastward, allowing for the disturbance occasioned by its inlets and outlets, and the smaller intermediate ponds also, sympathize with Walden, and recently attained their greatest height at the same time with the latter. The same is true, as far as my observation goes, of White Pond."). See also December 8, 1852 ("The recent water-line at Walden is quite distinct, though like the limit of a shadow, on the alders about eighteen inches above the present level."); December 13, 1852 ("I judge from [Mr. Weston's] account of the rise and fall of Flint's Pond that, allowing for the disturbance occasioned by its inlets and outlet, it sympathizes with Walden."); November 26, 1858 (“Walden is very low, compared with itself for some years. . . ., and what is remarkable, I find that not only Goose Pond also has fallen correspondingly within a month, but even the smaller pond-holes only four or five rods over, such as Little Goose Pond, shallow as they are. I begin to suspect, therefore, that this rise and fall extending through a long series of years is not peculiar to the Walden system of ponds, but is true of ponds generally, and perhaps of rivers”); April 3, 1859 ("The pond [White Pond] is quite high (like Walden, which, as I noticed the 30th ult., had risen about two feet since January, and perhaps within a shorter period), and the white sand beach is covered.") Compare August 19, 1854 ("Flint's Pond has fallen very much since I was here. The shore is so exposed that you can walk round, which I have not known possible for several years, and the outlet is dry. But Walden is not affected by the drought.") And see R. Primack,racing Water Levels at Walden Pond. (2016); Walden Pond - Water Level Changes (2018)

These lips of the lake See Walden ("On the side of the pond next my house, a row of pitch pines fifteen feet high has been killed and tipped over as if by a lever, and thus a stop put to their encroachments; and their size indicates how many years have elapsed since the last rise to this height. By this fluctuation the pond asserts its title to a shore, and thus the shore is shorn, and the trees cannot hold it by right of possession. These are the lips of the lake on which no beard grows.By this fluctuation the pond asserts its title to a shore, and thus the shore is shorn, and the trees cannot hold it by right of possession. These are the lips of the lake on which no beard-grows. It licks its chaps from time to time.")

I saw some dimples on the surface. See November 9, 1858 ("As I stood upon Heywood’s Peak, I observed in the very middle of the pond, which was smooth and reflected the sky there, what at first I took to be a sheet of very thin, dark ice two yards wide drifting there,. . .But, suspecting what it was, I looked through my glass and could plainly see the dimples made by a school of little fishes continually coming to the surface there together.")

I have said that Walden has no visible inlet nor outlet. See August 24, 1860 ("As it has no outlet, Walden is a well, rather. It is not a superficial pond, not in the mere skin of the earth. It goes deeper. It reaches down to where the temperature of the earth is unchanging.")

A similar chain of ponds, through which in some other geological period it may have flowed. see April 19 1852 ("Crossed by the chain of ponds to Walden. The first, looking back, appears elevated high above Fair Haven between the hills above the swamp, and the next higher yet. Each is distinct, a wild and interesting pond with its musquash house.")

The first snow.

December 4.

The first snow, four or five inches, this evening.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, December 4, 1860

See December 4, 1859 ("Awake to winter, and snow two or three inches deep, the first of any consequence.") See also December 26, 1853 ("The first snow of any consequence thus far. It is about three inches deep.”); December 26, 1857 ("Snows all day, — first snow of any consequence, three or four inches in all."); January 13, 1853 ("A drifting snow-storm last night and to day, the first of consequence; and the first sleighing this winter.") and note to November 29, 1856 ("This is the first snow.”)

See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, December 4

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 ©  2009-2022

To relieve and ventilate the tree and, as well, to destroy its enemies.

December 2. 

The woodpeckers' holes in the apple trees are about a fifth of an inch deep or just through the bark and half an inch apart. 

They must be the decaying trees that are most frequented by them, and probably their work serves to relieve and ventilate the tree and, as well, to destroy its enemies.

The barberries are shrivelled and dried. I find yet cranberries hard and not touched by the frost.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, December 2, 1850


The woodpeckers' holes in the apple trees. See December 5, 1853 ("See and hear a downy woodpecker on an apple tree. Have not many winter birds, like this and the chickadee, a sharp note like tinkling glass or icicles?"); December 14, 1855 ("I heard the sound of a downy woodpecker tapping . . . Frequently, when I pause to listen, I hear this sound in the orchards or streets."); January 5, 1860 ("I see where the downy woodpecker has worked lately by the chips of bark and rotten wood scattered over the snow, though I rarely see him in the winter. Once to-day, however, I hear his sharp voice.") see also  Walter Harding, Walden’s Man of Science, VQR (Winter 1981) ("He mistook the distinctive hole-drilling of the yellow-bellied sapsucker for the work of the downy woodpecker,")

I find yet cranberries hard and not touched by the frost. See August 23, 1859 ("The cranberries (not vines) are extensively frost-bitten and spoiled.");  August 29, 1858 ("We saw where many cranberries had been frost-bitten, F. thinks the night of the 23d. They are much injured."); September 20, 1851 ("The cranberries, too, are touched."); September 24, 1855 ("Some still raking, others picking, cranberries. "); December 7 , 1853 ("I sent two and a half bushels of my cranberries to Boston and got four dollars for them.")

A Book of the Seasons: The Shrub Oak

I love the shrub oak,

its scanty garment of leaves

whispering to me.

December 1, 1856

The shrub oak, lowly, loving the earth and spreading over it, tough, thick-leaved; leaves firm and sound in winter and rustling like leather shields; leaves fair and wholesome to the eye, clean and smooth to the touch.  December 1. 1856

August 28, 1853 ("The acorns show now on the shrub oaks.")

September 13, 1859 ("I see some shrub oak acorns turned dark on the bushes and showing their meridian lines, but generally acorns of all kinds are green yet. ")

September 21, 1859 ("Acorns have been falling very sparingly ever since September 1, but are mostly wormy. They are as interesting now on the shrub oak (green) as ever.")

September 25, 1854 ("On the shrub oak plain, as seen from Cliffs, the red at least balances the green. It looks like a rich, shaggy rug now, before the woods are changed.")

September 28, 1858 ("The small shrub oak . . . with its pretty acorns striped dark and light alternately.");

September 30, 1859 ("Most shrub oak acorns browned.")

October 1, 1859 ("The shrub oaks on this hill are now at their height, both with respect to their tints and their fruit. The . . .pretty fruit, varying in size, pointedness, and downiness, being now generally turned brown, with light, converging meridional lines. . . .Now is the time for shrub oak acorns.")
October 2, 1851 ("The shrub oaks on the terraced plain are now almost uniformly of a deep red")
October 7, 1857 ("Some shrub oaks are yellow, others reddish.")
October 9, 1851 ("The hills and plain on the opposite side of the river are covered with deep warm red leaves of shrub oaks.")
October 13, 1852 ("The shrub oak plain is now a deep red,")
October 14, 1859 ("The shrub oak acorns are now all fallen, — only one or two left on,")
October 22, 1858 ("I see, from the Cliffs, that color has run through the shrub oak plain like a fire or a wave, not omitting a single tree")

November 2, 1853 ("The shrub oak cups which I notice to-day have lost their acorns.")

November 16, 1850 ("It is singular that the shrub oaks retain their leaves through the winter. Why do they? ")

November 21, 1850 ("Seeing the sun falling . . .in an angle where this forest meets a hill covered with shrub oaks, affects me singularly, reinspiring me with all the dreams of my youth. It is a place far away, yet actual and where I have been. It is like looking into dreamland. It is one of the avenues to my future.”)

November 25, 1858 ("Most shrub oaks there have lost their leaves (Quercus ilicifolia), which, very fair and perfect, cover the ground. ")

November 29, 1857 ("Again I am struck by the singularly wholesome colors of the withered oak leaves, especially the shrub oak, so thick and firm and unworn, without speck or fret, clear reddish-brown (sometimes paler or yellowish brown), its whitish under sides contrasting with it in a very cheerful manner. So strong and cheerful, as if it rejoiced at the advent of winter, and exclaimed, “Winter, come on!”")

December 4, 1850 ("The shrub oak fire burns briskly as seen from the Cliffs")

December 7, 1857 ("It is a fair, sunny, and warm day in the woods for the season. We eat our dinners . . .amid the young oaks in a sheltered and very unfrequented place. I cut some leafy shrub oaks and cast them down for a dry and springy seat. ")

January 7, 1857 ("I should not be ashamed to have a shrub oak for my coat-of-arms.")
January 30, 1853 (''The shrub oak leaf is the firmest and best preserved")

January 30, 1853 (" What I have called the Shrub Oak Plain contains comparatively few shrub oaks, — rather, young red and white and, it may be, some scarlet (?).")

 A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,  The Shrub Oak.

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 ©  2009-2023