Now the springing foliage is like a sunlight on the woods

May 22.

5.30 a. m. — Up Assabet.  

May 22, 2019

Now begins the slightly sultryish morning air 

into which you awake early to hear 

the faint buzz of a fly 

or hum of other insect. 

The teeming air, deep and hollow, 

filled with some spiritus, 

pregnant as not in winter 

or spring, with room for imps, 

— good angels and bad, —

 

many chambers in it, 

infinite sounds. 

I partially awake the first time for a month at least. 

As if the cope of the sky lifted, 

the heat stretched and swelled it as a bladder, 

and it remained permanently higher 

and more infinite for the summer. Suggesting 

that the night has not been, with its incidents.

10 a. m. — To Fair Haven by boat. 

I rest in the orchard, doubtful 

whether to sit in shade or sun. 

Now the springing foliage 

is like a sunlight on the woods. 

I am first attracted 

and surprised 

when I look round and off to Conantum, 

at the smooth, lawn-like green fields. 

The air so clear 

— as not in summer — 

makes all things shine, 

as if all surfaces had been washed 

by the rains of spring 

and were not yet soiled 

or begrimed or dulled. You see 

even to the mountains clearly. 

The grass so short and fresh, 

the tender yellowish-green and silvery 

foliage of the deciduous trees 

lighting up the landscape, 

the birds now most musical, 

the sorrel beginning to redden 

the fields with ruddy health, — 

all these things make earth now a paradise. 

How many times 

I have been surprised  thus, 

on turning about on this very spot, 

at the fairness of the earth!

At Lee's Cliff. --

First observe the creak of crickets. It is quite general amid these rocks. The song suggests lateness, but only as we come to a knowledge of eternity after some acquaintance with time. It is only late for all trivial and hurried pursuits. It suggests a wisdom mature, never late, being above all temporal considerations, which possesses the coolness and maturity of autumn amidst the aspiration of spring and the heats of summer. They sit aside from the revolution of the seasons. Their strain is unvaried as Truth. 

Only in their saner moments do men hear the crickets. In their song they ignore our accidents. They are not concerned about the news. A quire has begun which pauses not for any news, for it knows only the eternal. 

I hear also pe-a-wee pe-a-wee, and then occasionally pee-yu, the first syllable in a different and higher key emphasized, — all very sweet and naive and innocent.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 22, 1854

The tender yellowish-green and silvery foliage of the deciduous trees lighting up the landscape, the birds now most musical — all these things make earth now a paradise. See May 17, 1852   (“The sun comes out and lights up the tender expanding leaves, and all nature is full of light and fragrance, and the birds sing without ceasing, and the earth is a fairyland. ”); May 18, 1852 (“this tender foliage, putting so much light and life into the landscape, is the remarkable feature at this date.”); May 18, 1851("The landscape has a new life and light infused into it. And to the eye the forest presents the tenderest green.”)

How many times I have been surprised thus, on turning about on this very spot, at the fairness of the earth! See  May 17, 1853 ("I was surprised, on turning round, to behold the serene and everlasting beauty of the world.”); October 7, 1857 ("When I turn round half-way up Fair Haven Hill, by the orchard wall, and look northwest, I am surprised for the thousandth time at the beauty of the landscape”); March 18, 1858 ("When I get two thirds up the hill, I look round and am for the hundredth time surprised by the landscape of the river valley and the horizon with its distant blue scalloped rim.”).  See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Reminiscence and Prompting

First observe the creak of crickets. See May 22, 1853 ("The crickets now first are generally heard.") See also May 24, 1857 ("Hear the first cricket as I go through a warm hollow, bringing round the summer with his everlasting strain."); June 4, 1857 (" One thing that chiefly distinguishes this season from three weeks ago is that fine serene undertone or earth-song as we go by sunny banks and hillsides, the creak of crickets, which affects our thoughts so favorably, imparting its own serenity.") andA Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Cricket in Spring

I hear also pe-a-wee pe-a-wee, and then occasionally pee-yu. See  May 22, 1853 ("The wood pewee’s warm note is heard") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Arrival of the Eastern Wood Pewee

May 22.  See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, May 22

Turning round, I am

surprised one more time by the

beauty of the world.

Springing foliage

lights up the landscape like a

sunlight on the woods.

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau. 

Springing foliage is like a sunlight on the woods

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-540522 

Cobwebs on the grass.

May 21

A slight fog in morning. 

May 21, 2018

Cobwebs on grass 

the first I have noticed 

 one of the late phenomena of spring 

these little dewy nets or gauze 

a faery's washing spread out in the night

 associated with the finest days of the year –

 

days long enough and fair enough

 for the worthiest deeds. 

When these begin to be seen

then is not summer come?

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 21, 1854

Cobwebs on grass . . .the finest days of the year, days long enough and fair enough for the worthiest deeds. See May 24, 1854 (“The morning came in and awakened me early, — for I slept with a window open. There are dewy cobwebs on the grass.”); July 18, 1852 {"This is a fit morning for any adventure. It is one of those everlasting mornings, with cobwebs on the grass, which are provided for long enterprises.")

Is not summer come

when we see morning fog and

 cobwebs on the grass?

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Cobwebs on the grass

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

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-540521

Now the time for washing winds -- when the choke-berry is in bloom, - bright and breezy days blowing off apple blossoms.

May 20

Very low thunder-clouds and showers far in the north at sunset, the wind of which, though not very strong, has cooled the air. See the lightning, but can not hear the thunder. 

I see in the northwest first rise, in the rose-tinted horizon sky, a dark, narrow, craggy cloud, narrow and projecting as no cloud on earth, seen against the rose-tinged sky, — the crest of a thunder-storm, beautiful and grand. 

The steadily increasing sound of toads and frogs along the river with each successive warmer night is one of the most important peculiarities of the season. Their prevalence and loudness is in proportion to the increased temperature of the day. It is the first earth-song, beginning with the croakers, (the cricket's not yet), as if the very meads at last burst into a meadowy song. 

Methinks we always have at this time those washing winds as now, when the choke-berry is in bloom, — bright and breezy days blowing off some apple blossoms.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 20, 1854

The steadily increasing sound of toads . . with each successive warmer night . . . See May 16, 1855 ("We hear these last two or three warm days the loud sound of toads borne on or amid the rippling wind.")

Methinks we always have at this time . . .  bright and breezy days blowing off some apple blossoms. See May 19, 1860 ("There is a stong southwest wind after the rain, rather novel and agreeable, blowing off some apple blossoms.”); May 27 1852 ("The road is white with the apple blossoms fallen off, as with snowflakes.”); June 1, 1855 ("A very windy day, . . . scattering the remaining apple blossoms.”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Apple Blossom Time

Now is the time for

bright and breezy days blowing

off apple blossoms.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Bright and breezy days 

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

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-540520

Nature's pace

May 19

Starflower (Trientalis borealis)

May 19, 2023

A washing day, — a strong rippling wind, and all things bright.

Now for four or five days, - though they are now for the most part large, or since the 15th came in , the young and tender oak leaves, disposed umbrella-wise about the extremities of last year's twigs , have been very attractive from their different tints of red. Those of the black and white oaks are, methinks, especially handsome, the former already showing their minute and tender bristles, and all hand somely lobed. Some of the black oak leaves are like a rich, dark-red velvet; the white oak have a paler and more delicate tint, somewhat flesh-colored  though others are more like the black, — what S. calls a maroon red.

May 19, 2016

The white pine shoots are now two or three inches long generally, — upright light marks on the body of dark green. Those of the pitch pine are less conspicuous. Hemlock does not show yet.

Butternuts, like hickories, make a show suddenly with their large buds. 

The alders are slow to expand their leaves, but now begin to show a mass of green along the river, and with the willows, afford concealment to the birds' nests. 

The birds appear to be waiting for this screen. 

The robin's nest and eggs are the earliest I see. Saw one in the midst of a green-briar over the water the other day, before the briar had put out at all, which shows some foresight, for it will be perfectly invisible, if not inaccessible, soon. 

The great poplar is quite late to leaf, especially those that blossom; not yet do they show much, - a silvery leaf. 

The common swamp-pink is earlier to leaf but later to blossom than the nudiflora. The rhodora is late, and is naked flowering. 

With what unobserved secure dispatch nature advances! The amelanchiers have bloomed, and already both kinds have shed their blossoms and show minute green fruit. There is not an instant's pause! 

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 19, 1854

Butternuts, like hickories, make a show suddenly with their large buds. See May 15 1854 ("Hickories make a show suddenly; their buds are so large.")

The common swamp-pink is earlier to leaf but later to blossom than the nudiflora.  See May 15, 1854 ("Swamp-pink leafing, say yesterday."); May 17, 1854 ("Azalea nudiflora in woods begins to leaf now."); May 19, 1859 (“Our Azalea nudiflora flowers.”); May 26, 1855 ("Swamp-pink leaf before lambkill. "); May 31, 1853 ("Azalea nudiflora, -purple azalea, pinxter-flower . . . It is a conspicuously beautiful flowering shrub, with the sweet fragrance of the common swamp-pink, but the flowers are larger and, in this case, a fine lively rosy pink . . . With a broader, somewhat downy pale-green leaf."); June 15, 1854 ("The swamp-pink apparently two or even three days in one place. ") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Swamp-pink

The rhodora is late, and is naked flowering. See May 17, 1853 (“The rhodora is peculiar for being, like the peach, a profusion of pink blossoms on a leafless stem. This shrub is, then, a late one to leaf out.”); May 17, 1858 ("Rhodora at Clamshell well out.”); May 18, 1853 ("The rhodora is one of the very latest leafing shrubs, for its leaf-buds are but just expanding, making scarcely any show yet, but quite leafless amid the blossoms.")

The robin's nest and eggs are the earliest I see. See May 6, 1853 ("Four large robin's eggs in an apple tree.") May 6. 1855 ("A robin’s nest with two eggs, betrayed by peeping.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Robins in Spring

The great poplar is quite late to leaf. See May 18, 1851 ("I think that I have made out two kinds of poplar, — the Populus tremuloides, or American aspen, and the P. grandidentata, or large American aspen, whose young leaves are downy. ") May 26, 1854 ("Why is the downy Populus grandidentata so much later than the other? The lint now begins to come off the young leaves.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Big-toothed Aspen (Populus grandidentata)

The alders are slow to expand their leaves, but now begin to show a mass of green along the river. See April 21, 1854 ("These are those early times when the rich golden-brown tassels of the alders tremble over the brooks — and not a leaf on their twigs.")

The amelanchiers . . . have shed their blossoms and show minute green fruit. See May 19, 1860 (" Now, sitting on the bank at White Pond, I do not see a single shad-bush in bloom across the pond, where they had just fairly begun on the 6th. ") See also May 10, 1854:

Shad-bush in blossom

seen afar amid gray twigs

before its own leaves.

 

May 13, 1852 ("The amelanchiers are now the prevailing flowers in the woods and swamps and sprout-lands, a very beautiful flower, with its purplish stipules and delicate drooping white blossoms. The shad-blossom days in the woods."); May 15, 1858 (" The shad-bush in bloom is now conspicuous, its white flags on all sides. Is it not the most massy and conspicuous of any wild plant now in bloom? "); May 17, 1853 ("The petals have already fallen from the Amelanchier Botryapium, and young berries are plainly forming"); June 7, 1854 ("I am surprised at the size of green berries, -- shad-bush, low blueberries, choke-cherries, etc., etc. It is but a step from flowers to fruit. ")

Nature advances without an instant's pause. See September 17, 1839 ("Nature never makes haste; her systems revolve at an even pace. The bud swells imperceptibly, without hurry or confusion, as though the short spring days were an eternity.");  May 23, 1841 ("All nature is a new impression every instant"); August 19, 1851 ("Nature rests no longer at her culminating point than at any other.");   September 13, 1852 ("Nature never lost a day, nor a moment . . .The plant waits a whole year, and then blossoms the instant it is ready and the earth is ready for it, without the conception of delay.");  September 24, 1859 ("Great works of art have endless leisure for a background, as the universe has space. Time stands still while they are created. The artist cannot be in [a] hurry. The earth moves round the sun with inconceivable rapidity, and yet the surface of the lake is not ruffled by it."); November 8, 1860 ("Consider how persevering Nature is, and how much time she has to work in, though she works slowly."); January 14, 1861 ("Nature is slow but sure; she works no faster than need be.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Nature and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, There was an artist in the City of Kouroo

May 19. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, May 19

Nature advances

with such unobserved dispatch –

not an instant's pause.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Nature's Pace

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

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-540519

Oak catkins

May 18.

To Pedrick's meadow. 

Viola lanceolata, two days at least. 

Celandine yesterday.

The V. pedata beginning to be abundant. 


Chinquapin was probably a little later to leaf, and will be to flower, than the shrub oak. Its catkins, light green, remind me of those of the swamp white oak.  

Now for the tassels of the shrub oak; I can find no pollen yet about them, but, as the oak catkins in my pitcher, plucked yesterday, shed pollen to-day, I think I may say that the bear shrub oak, red and black oaks open to-morrow.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 18, 1854

Viola lanceolata, two days at least. V. pedata beginning to be abundant. See May 5, 1859 (V. pedata and lanceolata rarer yet, or not seen. ”); May 6, 1855 (“Viola lanceolata,yesterday at least. ”); May 6, 1859 ("Viola pedata begins to be common about white pine woods there.”) May 13, 1858 ( Viola lanceolata, how long?”); May 17, 1853 ("tV. pedata there [by the Corner Spring] presents the greatest array of blue of any flower as yet.“);

The wooded shore is all lit up with the tender bright green of birches.

May 17. 

The water is now tepid in the morning to the hands, as I slip my hands down the paddle. 

Hear the wood pewee, the warm weather sound. 

I sail up the stream, but the wind is hardly powerful enough to overcome the current, and sometimes I am almost at a standstill where the stream is most contracted and swiftest, and there I sit carelessly waiting for the struggle between wind and current to decide itself. 

It is a pleasing delay, to be referred to the elements, and meanwhile I survey the shrubs on shore.

The large green keys of the white maples are now conspicuous, looking like the wings of insects. 

Azalea nudiflora in woods begins to leaf now.

May 17, 2016

There is a surprising change since I last passed up the Assabet; the fields are now clothed with so dark and rich a green, and the wooded shore is all lit up with the tender, bright green of birches fluttering in the wind and shining in the light, and red maple keys are seen at a distance against the tender green of birches and other trees.

The birches burst out suddenly into leaf and make a great show. It is the first to clothe large tracts of deciduous woodlands with green, and perchance it marks an epoch in the season, the transition decidedly and generally from bare twigs to leaves. When the birches have put on their green sacks, then a new season has come. The light reflected from their tender yellowish green is like sunlight.

A rill empties in above the stone-heaps, and I see where it ran out of June-berry Meadow, and I am impressed as it were by the intelligence of the brook, which for ages in the wildest regions, before science is born, knows so well the level of the ground and through whatever woods or other obstacles finds its way. 

Who shall distinguish between the law by which a brook finds its river, the instinct by which a bird performs its migrations, and the knowledge by which a man steers his ship round the globe? 

The globe is the richer for the variety of its inhabitants.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 17, 1854

Hear the wood pewee, the warm weather sound. See May 17, 1853 ("I hear the wood pewee, — pe-a-wai. The heat of yesterday has brought him on. "); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Arrival of the Eastern Wood Pewee

The large green keys of the white maples are now conspicuous, looking like the wings of insects. See . May 29, 1854 ("The white maple keys have begun to fall and float down the stream like the wings of great insects")See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Maple Keys

Azalea nudiflora in woods begins to leaf now.  See note to May 31, 1853 ("We went on down the brook, – Melvin and I and his dog, – and crossed the river in his boat, and he conducted me to where the Azalea nudiflora grew,")

A new season has come. The light reflected from their tender yellowish green is like sunlight. See May 17, 1852 ("The sun on the young foliage of birches, alders, etc., on the opposite side of the pond has an enchanting effect. The sunshine has a double effect . . . The birch leaves are so small that you see the landscape through the tree, and they are like silvery and green spangles in the sun . . . The woods putting forth new leaves; it is a memorable season. So hopeful! These young leaves have the beauty of flowers."); May 17, 1857 ("Brches are among the handsomest trees when in bloom. The bunches of numerous rich golden catkins, hanging straight down on all sides and trembling in the breeze, contrast agreeably with the graceful attitude of the tree, commonly more or less inclined, the leaves not being enough expanded to conceal them in the least. They should be seen against evergreens on a hillside, — something so light and airy, so graceful. What nymphs are they? ")

The wooded shore is

all lit up with the tender

bright green of birches 

fluttering in the wind and

shining in the light. 

The light reflected 

from their tender yellowish 

green is like sunlight. 

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau,  The tender bright green of birches

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-540517

The earth is all fragrant as one flower, genial to man

May 16.

The rich crimson leaf-buds of the grape are rapidly unfolding, scattered along the vine; and the various leaves unfolding are flower-like, and taken together are more interesting than any flower.

Quite warm; cows already stand in water in the shade of the bridge.

Look into several red-wing blackbirds' nests which are now being built, but no eggs yet. They are generally hung between two twigs, say of button-bush. I notice at one nest what looks like a tow string securely tied about a twig at each end about six inches apart, left loose in the middle. It was not a string, but I think a strip of milkweed pod, etc., maybe a foot long and very strong. How remarkable that this bird should have found out the strength of this, which I was so slow to find out!

Land at Conantum by the red cherry grove above Arrowhead Field. 

It is a splendid day, so clear and bright and fresh; the warmth of the air and the bright tender verdure putting forth on all sides make an impression of luxuriance and genialness, so perfectly fresh. 

A sweet scent fills the air from the expanding leafets or some other source. 

The sessile-leaved bellwort, with three or four delicate pale-green leaves with reflexed edges, on a tender-looking stalk, the single modest-colored flower gracefully drooping, neat, with a fugacious, richly spiced fragrance, facing the ground . . . When you turn up the drooping flower, its petals make a perfect geometrical figure, a six-pointed star. 

May 16, 1852

The earth is all fragrant as one flower. And bobolinks tinkle in the air. Nature now is perfectly genial to man.

I notice the dark shadow of Conantum Cliff from the water. Why do I notice it at this season particularly? Is it because a shadow is more grateful to the sight now that warm weather has come? Or is there anything in the contrast between the rich green of the grass and the cool dark shade?

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 16, 1854

The earth is all fragrant as one flower . . .  See May 16, 1852 ("The whole earth is fragrant as a bouquet held to your nose. A fine, delicious fragrance, which will come to the senses only when it will.")

Nature now is perfectly genial to man. See  November 23, 1852 ("There is something genial even in the first snow, and. . . Men, too, are disposed to give thanks for the bounties of the year all over the land.");  November 22, 1860 ("Summer is gone with all its infinite wealth, and still nature is genial to man. Still he beholds the same inaccessible beauty around him."); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Nature is genial to man (the anthropic principle)

So clear bright and fresh

the whole earth is one flower

genial to man.

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The earth is all fragrant as one flower, genial to man

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

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-540516