Spring is already upon us.

March 30.

Spring is already upon us. 

I see the tortoises, or rather I hear them drop from the bank into the brooks at my approach. 

The catkins of the alders have blossomed. 

The pads are springing at the bottom of the water. 

The pewee [phoebe] is heard, and the lark.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal,  March 30, 1851

The catkins of the alders have blossomed.  See March 22, 1853 ("The very earliest alder is in bloom and sheds its pollen. I detect a few catkins at a distance by their distinct yellowish color. This the first native flower"). See also  A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Alders.

The pewee is heard. See  March 30, 1852 ("Saw a pewee from the rail road causeway."). See aslo  March 16, 1854 ("The first phoebe near the water is heard"); March 29, 1858 ("Hear a phoebe early in the morning over the street.") and  A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Eastern Phoebe

The tenacity of life

March 22.

Every organism, whether animal or vegetable, is contending for the possession of the planet. This suggests an immense and wonderful greediness and tenacity of life  as if each species is bent on taking entire possession of the globe wherever the climate and soil will permit.

Nature opposes to this many obstacles, as climate, myriads of brute and also human foes, and of competitors which may preoccupy the ground. And each species prevails as much as it does, because of the ample preparations it has made for the contest,- it has secured a myriad chances.

It is true we do not know whether one or many plants of a given kind were originally created, but I think it is the most reasonable and simple to suppose that only one was, -- to suppose as little departure as possible from the existing order of things. They spread themselves by whatever means they possessed as far as they could, and they are still doing so, naturalizing themselves in one or the other country. This is more philosophical than to suppose that they were independently created in each.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 22, 1861

There is an immense and wonderful tenacity of life.

Consider how soon some plants that spread rapidly by seeds or roots would cover an area equal to the surface of the globe, how soon some species of trees would equal in mass the earth itself, if all their seeds became full grown trees; and how soon some fishes would fill the ocean, if all their ova became full-grown fishes,.

We are tempted to say that every organism, whether animal or vegetable, is contending for the possession of the planet, and, if any one were sufficiently favored it would at length convert the entire mass of the globe into its own substance.

When we consider how soon some plants which spread rapidly, by seeds or roots, would cover an area equal to the surface of the globe, how soon some species of trees, as the white willow, for instance, would equal in mass the earth itself, if all their seeds became full- grown trees, how soon some fishes would fill the ocean if all their ova became full-grown fishes, we are tempted to say that every organism, whether animal or vegetable, is contending for the possession of the planet, and, if any one were sufficiently favored, supposing it still possible to grow, as at first, it would at length convert the entire mass of the globe into its own substance. 

Nature opposes to this many obstacles, as climate, myriads of brute and also human foes, and of competitors which may preoccupy the ground. Each suggests an immense and wonderful greediness and tenacity of life ( I speak of the species, not individual ), as if bent on taking entire possession of the globe wherever the climate and soil will permit. And each prevails as much as it does, because of the ample preparations it has made for the contest,  – it has secured a myriad chances, – because it never depends on spontaneous generation to save it .

A driving northeast snow-storm

March 22.

A driving northeast snow-storm yesterday and last night. To-day the drifts are high over the fences and the trains stopped.  The Boston train due at 8.30 A.M. does not reach here till five this afternoon. One side of all the houses this morning is white with moist snow plastered over them.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 22, 1861

The Boston train due at 8.30 A..M. does not reach here till five this afternoon. See December 29, 1853 ("All day a driving snow-storm, imprisoning most, stopping the cars, blocking up the roads."); March 9, 1856 ("The train which should have got down last night did not arrive till this afternoon (Sunday), having stuck in a drift."); December 14, 1859 ("Snow-storms might be classified.This is a fine, dry snow, drifting nearly horizontally from the north, so that it is quite blinding to face,") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Snow-storms might be classified

The Boston train due 

at 8.30 A.M. does not 

reach here till five.

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, A driving northeast snow-storm
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

tinyurl.com/hdt-610322

The frost is out of the ground

March 3

It is an exceedingly warm and pleasant day. The snow is suddenly all gone except heels, and -- what is more remarkable -- the frost is generally out of the ground, e.g. in our garden, for the reason that it has not been in it.

The snow came December 4th, before the ground was frozen to any depth, has been unusually deep, and the ground has not been again exposed till now. Hence, though we have had a little very cold weather and a good deal of steady cold, the ground generally has not been frozen.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 3, 1861

It is an exceedingly warm and pleasant day. The snow is suddenly all gone except heels, and -- what is more remarkable -- the frost is generally out of the ground. See March 9, 1852 ("When the frost comes out of the ground, there is a corresponding thawing of the man.”) Compare March 30, 1852 ("Though the frost is nearly out of the ground, the winter has not broken up in me." )

March 3.  See A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau March 3

Snow suddenly gone

and frost is out of the ground

not exposed till now.

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The frost is out of the ground

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

Lighting up of the mist by the sun.

February 27. 

Saw to-day on Pine Hill behind Mr. Joseph Merriam's house a Norway pine, the first I have seen in Concord. Mr. Gleason pointed it out to me as a singular pine which he did not know the name of. It was a very handsome tree, about twenty-five feet high.

E. Wood thinks that he has lost the surface of two acres of his meadow by the ice. Got fifteen cartloads out of a hummock left on another meadow. Blue-joint was introduced into the first meadow where it did not grow before. 

Of two men, one of whom knows nothing about a subject, and, what is extremely rare  knows that he knows nothing, and the other really knows something about it, but thinks that he knows all, — what great advantage has the latter over the former ? which is the best to deal with? 

I do not know that knowledge amounts to anything more definite than a novel and grand surprise, or a sudden revelation of the insufficiency of all that we had called knowledge before; an indefinite sense of the grandeur and glory of the universe. It is the lighting up of the mist by the sun. But man cannot be said to know in any higher sense, than he can look serenely and with impunity in the face of the sun. 

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, February 27, 1851

Blue-joint was introduced into the first meadow where it did not grow before. See February 25, 1851 ("The crust of the meadow afloat. . . .When the ice melts or the soil thaws, of course it falls to the bottom, wherever it may be. Here is another agent employed in the distribution of plants.")

It is the lighting up of the mist by the sun. See Walking

Red-wings

February 26

Wednesday. Examined the floating meadow again to-day. It is more than a foot thick, the under part much mixed with ice, — ice and muck. 

It appeared to me that the meadow surface had been heaved by the frost, and then the water had run down and under it, and finally, when the ice rose, lifted it up, wherever there was ice enough mixed with it to float it. 

I saw large cakes of ice with other large cakes, the latter as big as a table, on top of them. Probably the former rose while the latter were already floating about. The plants scattered about were bulrushes and lily-pad stems.

See five red-wings and a song sparrow(?) this afternoon.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, February 26, 1851

Five red-wings. See March 6, 1854 ("Hear and see the first blackbird, flying east over the Deep Cut, with a tchuck, tchuck, and finally a split whistle") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring: The Red-wing Arrives

A song sparrow. See February 24, 1857 (“I am surprised to hear the strain of a song sparrow from the riverside.”); March 11, 1854 ("On Tuesday, the 7th, I heard the first song sparrow chirp, and saw it flit silently from alder to alder. This pleasant morning after three days' rain and mist, 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.”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring: The Song Sparrow Sings

A floating meadow

February 25.

A very windy day. A slight snow which fell last night was melted at noon. A strong, gusty wind; the waves on the meadows make a fine show. 

I saw at Hubbard's Bridge that all the ice had been blown up-stream from the meadows, and was collected over the channel against the bridge in large cakes. These were covered and intermingled with a remarkable quantity of the meadow's crust. There was no ice to be seen up-stream and no more down stream.

The meadows have been flooded for a fortnight, and this water has been frozen barely thick enough to bear once only. The old ice on the meadows was covered several feet deep. 

I observed from the bridge, a few rods off northward, what looked like an island directly over the channel. It was the crust of the meadow afloat. I reached it with a little risk and found it to be four rods long by one broad, — the surface of the meadow with cranberry vines , etc., all connected and in their natural position, and no ice visible but around its edges. 

It appeared to be the frozen crust (which was separated from the unfrozen soil as ice is from the water beneath), buoyed up (?), perchance, by the ice around its edges frozen to the stubble. 

Was there any pure ice under it? Had there been any above it? Will frozen meadow float? Had ice which originally supported it from above melted except about the edges? 

When the ice melts or the soil thaws, of course it falls to the bottom, wherever it may be. 

Here is another agent employed in the distribution of plants. 

I have seen where a smooth shore which I frequented for bathing was in one season strewn with these hummocks, bearing the button-bush with them, which have now changed the character of the shore.

There were many rushes and lily-pad stems on the ice. Had the ice formed about them as they grew, broken them off when it floated away, and so they were strewn about on it?

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, February 25, 1851

... the crust of the meadow afloat, . . .another agent employed in the distribution of plants. See February 27, 1851("Blue-joint was introduced into the first meadow where it did not grow before.");.February 28, 1855 (" This is a powerful agent at work.”); June 22, 1859 ("One who is not almost daily on the river will not perceive the revolution constantly going on.”)

A strong, gusty wind; the waves on the meadows make a fine show. See February 25, 1860 ("It is pleasant to see high dark-blue waves half a mile off running incessantly along the edge of white ice.")

Very windy day; strong, gusty wind. The waves on the meadows make a fine show.

All the ice blown up-stream from the meadows collects against Hubbard's Bridge in large cakes, covered and intermingled with the meadow's crust.

I see from the bridge, a few rods off northward, what looks like an island directly over the channel. I reach it with a little risk.

It is the crust of the meadow afloat, four rods long by one broad, - the surface of the meadow with cranberry vines, etc., all connected and in their natural position, and no ice visible but around its edges.

Here is another agent employed in the distribution of plants.