Red maple in bloom.

April 29

Was awakened early this morning by thunder and some rain, — the second thunder-shower of the season, —but it proved a fair day. 

At mid forenoon saw a fish hawk flying leisurely over the house northeasterly. 

April 29, 2026

P. M. — To Cedar Swamp. 

J Monroe’s larch staminate buds have now erected and separated their anthers, and they look somewhat withered, as if they had shed a part of their pollen. If so, they began yesterday. 

It was quite warm when I first came out, but about 3 P. M. I felt a fresh easterly wind, and saw quite a mist in the distance produced by it, a sea-turn. There was the same phenomenon yesterday at the same hour, and on the 24th, later in the day. Yet to-day the air was not much cooled. Your first warning of it may be the seeing a thick mist on all the hills and in the horizon. The wind is southeast. 

I see great devil’s-needles whiz by, coupled.

Do not sail well till I reach Dove Rock, then glide swiftly up the stream. I move upward against the current with a moderate but fair wind, the waves somewhat larger, probably because the wind contends with the current. 

The sun is in my face, and the waves look particularly lively and sparkling. I can steer and write at the same time. They gurgle under my stern, in haste to fill the hollow which I have created. The waves seem to leap and roll like porpoises, with a slight surging sound when their crests break, and I feel an agreeable sense that I am swiftly gliding over and through them, bound on my own errands, while their motion is chiefly but an undulation, and an apparent one. 

It is pleasant, exhilarating, to feel the boat tossed up a little by them from time to time. Perhaps a wine-drinker would say it was like the effect of wine. It is flattering to a sense of power to make the wayward wind our horse and sit with our hand on the tiller. Sailing is much like flying, and from the birth of our race men have been charmed by it. 

Near the little larch, scared a small dark-brown hawk from an apple tree, which flew off low to another apple tree beside Barrett’s Pond. Just before he flew again I saw with my glass that his tail was barred with white. Must it not be a pigeon hawk then? He looked a dark slate as he sat, with tawny-white thighs and under head, —far off. He soon started a third time, and a crow seemed to be in chase of him. I think I have not described this white—barred hawk before, but for the black-barred vide May 8, 1854, and April 16, 1855. 

The white cedar now sheds pollen abundantly. Many flowers are effete, though many are not open. Probably it began as much as three days ago. I strike a twig, and its peculiar pinkish pollen fills the air.

Sat on the knoll in the swamp, now laid bare. How pretty a red maple in bloom (they are now in prime), seen in the sun against a pine wood, like these little ones in the swamp against the neighboring wood, they are so light and ethereal, not a heavy mass of color impeding the passage of the light, and they are of so cheerful and lively a color. 

The pine warbler is heard very much now at mid day, when already most birds are quiet. It must be the female which has so much less yellow beneath. 

Do not the toads ring most on a windy day like this? I heard but few on the still 27th. 

A pigeon woodpecker alights on a dead cedar top near me. Its cackle, thus near, sounds like eh eh eh eh eh, etc., rapidly and emphatically repeated. 

Some birch sprouts in the swamp are leafed as much as any shrub or tree. 

April 29, 2016

Barn swallows and chimney, with white-bellied swallows, are flying together over the river. I thought before that I distinguished the twitter of the chimney swallow.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 29, 1856

J. Monroe’s larch staminate buds have now erected and separated their anthers. See April 29, 1855 ("A few of the cones within reach on F. Monroe’s larches shed pollen; say, then, yesterday. The
crimson female flowers are now handsome but small.");April 23, 1855 ("The anthers of the larch are conspicuous, but I see no pollen. White cedar to-morrow.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Larch in Spring

The white cedar now sheds pollen abundantly. Probably it began as much as three days ago. I strike a twig, and its peculiar pinkish pollen fills the air. See April 26, 1857 ("The white cedar is apparently just out.") ; April 26, 1856 ("The white cedar gathered the 23d does not shed pollen in house till to-day, and I doubt if it will in swamp before to-morrow."); April 24, 1855 ("The [pollen] of the white cedar is very different, being a faint salmon.”)  See also  A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Cedar Swamps

About 3 P. M. I felt a fresh easterly wind, and saw quite a mist in the distance produced by it, a sea-turn, See  April 28, 1856 ("On our return the wind changed to easterly, and I felt the cool, fresh sea-breeze."); April 30, 1856 ("The regularity of the recurrence of this phenomenon is remarkable . . . between one and four, the wind changes . . . and a fresh cool wind from the sea produces a mist in the air.") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Sea-turn

Must it not be a pigeon hawk then?  I think I have not described this white-barred hawk before. See April 27, 1860 ("Saw yesterday, and see to-day, a small hawk which I take to be a pigeon hawk. This one skims low along over Grindstone Meadow, close to the edge of the water, and I see the blackbirds rise hurriedly from the button bushes and willows before him. I am decided by his size (as well as color) and his low, level skimming.") See also A Book of the Seasons by Henry Thoreau, The Pigeon Hawk (Merlin)

To make the wayward wind our horse and sit with our hand on the tiller. Sailing is much like flying, and from the birth of our race men have been charmed by it. See July 29, 1851 ("The sailboat is an admirable invention, by which you compel the wind to transport you even against itself. It is easier to guide than a horse; the slightest pressure on the tiller suffices. I think the inventor must have been greatly surprised, as well as delighted, at the success of his experiment.”)

How pretty a red maple in bloom (they are now in prime), seen in the sun against a pine wood. See April 23, 1856 ("The red maple did not shed pollen on the 19th and could not on the 20th, 21st, or 22d, on account of rain; so this must be the first day, — the 23d."); April 26, 1855 ("The blossoms of the red maple (some a yellowish green) are now most generally conspicuous and handsome scarlet crescents over the swamps. "); April 26, 1860 (" Red maples are past prime. . . .They are especially handsome when seen between you and the sunlit trees. "); April 28, 1855  ("The red maples, now in bloom, are quite handsome at a distance over the flooded meadow. "); May 1, 1856 ("It is the red maple’s reign now,. . . Looking over the swamps a quarter of a mile distant, you see dimly defined crescents of bright brick red above and amid a maze of ash-colored branches. ") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The Red Maple

 Barn swallows and chimney, with white-bellied swallows, are flying together over the river.   See April 28, 1855 ("The chimney swallow, with the white-bellied and barn swallows, over the river. "); 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,"); 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 . . .There were a thousand or more of swallows, and I think that they had recently arrived together on their migration."); May 11, 1856 (" There are many swallows circling low over the river behind Monroe’s, — bank swallows, barn, republican, chimney, and white-bellied. These are all circling together a foot or two over the water, passing within ten or twelve feet of me in my boat. It is remarkable how social the different species of swallow are one with another. They recognize their affinity more than usual."); May 20, 1858 (“Hundreds of swallows are now skimming close over the river. . .. There are bank, barn, cliff, and chimney swallows, all mingled together.”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The White-bellied Swallow

April 29. See A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, April 29

Red maple in bloom

now in prime seen in the sun

against a pine wood. 

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau,  Red maple in bloom

 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 © 2009-2026

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-560429 

A Book of the Seasons: April 28

April 28.

Circular patches

of snow in the shadow of

the still leafless trees.

April 28, 1858

Spring flowers flash out,

the blossom precedes the leaf.

So with poetry.

April 28, 1852

I hear first to-day

the seezer seezer of the

black and white creeper.

April 28, 1856

Willows now in bloom 

resound with the hum of bees 

this warm afternoon. 

April 28, 1860

The hum of insects

like noise of one's own thinking,

voiceful, significant. 

April 28, 1860

April 28, 2017

***

Perhaps the greenness of the landscape may be said to begin fairly now. See April 4, 1859 ("Brown Season of the spring lasts from the time the snow generally begins to go off. . .through the first week of April this year. Ordinary years it must be somewhat later.")

• .grass blades in favorable localities. See April 1, 1855 ("When I look out the window I see that the grass on the bank on the south side of the house is already much greener than it was yesterday)

• a distinct tinge of green, which finally prevails over the russet. See April 25, 1859 ( "I got to-day and yesterday the first decided impression of greenness beginning to prevail")

• the decided greenness and floweriness of the earth, in May. See May 18, 1852 ("I doubt if the landscape will be any greener.")

• the decided leafiness in June. See May 26, 1854 (At sight of this deep and dense field all vibrating with motion and light, winter recedes many degrees in my memory. . . . The season of grass, now everywhere green and luxuriant."); June 9, 1852 ("The general leafiness, shadiness, and waving of grass and boughs in the breeze characterize the season.")

Icy cold northwest wind, and snow whitening the mountains. See April 28, 1858 ("Blustering northwest wind and wintry aspect. "); April 28, 1855 ("The wind is strong from the northwest"); See also April 26, 1860 ("the cold weather of yesterday; the chilling wind came from a snow-clad country.")

This year, at least, one flower hardly precedes another, but as soon as the storms are over and pleasant weather comes, all blossom at once. See April 9, 1854 ("The flowers have blossomed very suddenly this year as soon as the long cold spell was over, and almost all together.")

We have in the spring of the year the spring of the world represented. See April 27, 1852 ("I find to-day for the first time the early saxifrage (Saxifraga vernalis) in blossom, growing high and dry in the narrow seams, where there is no soil for it but a little green moss. Following thus early after the bare rock, it is one of the first flowers, not only in the spring of the year, but in the spring of the world.”); February 11, 1854 (“[T]hey must have preceded other trees in the order of creation, as they precede them annually in their blossoming and leafing."); May 22, 1858 ("So was it also in a former geological age, when water and water-plants prevailed and before man was here to behold them. The sun was then reflected from the lily pad after the May storm as brightly as now.”); June 6, 1853 ("The spring, that early age of the world, following hard on the reign of water and the barren rocks yet dripping with it, is past.”)

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 slso A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Red Maple

A bird suggesting still warmer weather, —that the season has revolved so much further.  See April 27, 1855 ("The black and white creepers running over the trunks or main limbs of red maples and uttering their fainter oven-bird—like notes."); See also August 19, 1851 ("The seasons do not cease a moment to revolve, and therefore Nature rests no longer at her culminating point than at any other.”); September 17, 1857 (“How perfectly each plant has its turn! – as if the seasons revolved for it alone.!”); March 23, 1856 ("By their various movements and migrations they fetch the year about to me.") See also A Book of the Seasons,   by Henry Thoreau, The Black and White Creeper

The wind is strong from the northwest. Land at Ball’s Hill / waves run quite high. See March 16, 1859 (“As we look over the lively, tossing blue waves for a mile or more eastward and northward, our eyes fall on these shining russet hills, and Ball's Hill appears in this strong light at the verge of this undulating blue plain, like some glorious newly created island of the spring, just sprung up from the bottom in the midst of the blue waters.”)

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")

Thus are the earliest seen each spring in some warm and calm place by the waterside, when it is cool and blustering elsewhere. See April 28, 1855 ("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.”)

See, but not yet hear, the familiar chewink amid the dry leaves amid the underwood on the meadow’s edge. See April 26, 1854  ("Hear the first chewink hopping and chewinking among the shrub oaks."); April 26, 1855 ("See and hear chewinks, — all their strains; the same date with last year, by accident"): April 26, 1858 (" See a chewink (male) in the Kettell place woods."). See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Chewink  (Rufous-sided Towhee)

See a shad-fly, one only, on water. See April 24, 1857 (“Sail to Ball's Hill. The water is at its height, higher than before this year. I see a few shad-flies on its surface.”). Compare May 1, 1854 ("The water is strewn with myriads of wrecked shad-flies, erect on the surface, with their wings up like so many schooners all headed one way.”)

A little snake, size of little brown snake, on pine hill, but uniformly grayish above. See October 29, 1857 (“I see evidently what Storer calls the little brown snake (Coluber ordinatus). . . . Above it is pale-brown, with a still lighter brown stripe running down the middle of the back”)

E. Emerson's Salamandra dorsalis has just lost its skin. See April 18, 1859 (“Ed. Emerson shows me his aquarium.. . .Two salamanders, . . . One some four inches long, with a carinated and waved (crenated) edged tail as well as light-vermilion spots on the back, evidently the Salamandra dorsalis. (This I suspect is what I called S. symmetrica last fall.) (This is pale-brown above.)”); December 5, 1858 (“How singularly ornamented is that salamander! Its brightest side, its yellow belly, sprinkled with fine dark spots, is turned downward. Its back is indeed ornamented with two rows of bright vermilion spots, but these can only be detected on the very closest inspection.”); December 3, 1858 ("brown (not dark-brown) above and yellow with small dark spots beneath, and the same spots on the sides of the tail; a row of very minute vermilion spots, not detected but on a close examination, on each side of the back; the tail is waved on the edge (upper edge, at least); has a pretty, bright eye. Its tail, though narrower, reminds me of the pollywog.")

This boisterous weather is the time to see it. See April 28, 1860 ("Sitting on Mt. Misery, I see a very large bird of the hawk family, blackish with a partly white head but no white tail, - probably a fish hawk; sail quite near, looking very large. "); April 14, 1852 (“The streams break up; the ice goes to the sea. Then sails the fish hawk overhead, looking for his prey.”) See also A Book of Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Osprey (Fish Hawk)

The spotted tortoise is spotted on shell, head, tail, and legs. See April 27, 1852 ("Bright-yellow spots on both shell and head, yet not regularly disposed, but as if, when they were finished in other respects, the maker had sprinkled them with a brush. This fact, that the yellow spots are common to the shell and the head, affected me considerably, as evincing the action of an artist from without; spotted with reference to my eyes. ") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Yellow-Spotted Turtle (Emys guttata)

A fine little blue-slate butterfly fluttered over the chain. Even its feeble strength was required to fetch the year about. See April 24, 1855 ("That fine slaty-blue butterfly, bigger than the small red, in wood-paths."); March 23, 1856 ("By their various movements and migrations they fetch the year about to me."); March 10, 1855; ("You are always surprised by the sight of the first spring bird or insect; they seem premature, and there is no such evidence of spring as themselves, so that they literally fetch the year about. . . . But you think, They have come, and Nature cannot recede.")

Pursuing from time to time some other business than his chosen one, —seeing with the side of the eye. See April 28, 1858 ("While standing by my compass over the supposed town bound . . ., I saw with the side of my eye some black creature crossing the road,"); See also, e.g. September 13, 1852 ("Go not to the object; let it come to you. What I need is not to look at all, but a true sauntering of the eye.”); March 23, 1853 ("Man cannot afford to be a naturalist, to look at Nature directly, but only with the side of his eye.”); June 14, 1853 (". . . you are in that favorable frame of mind described by De Quincey, open to great impressions, and you see those rare sights with the unconscious side of the eye, which you could not see by a direct gaze before.”); December 11, 1855 (" It is only necessary to behold thus the least fact or phenomenon, however familiar, from a point a hair’s breadth aside from our habitual path or routine, to be overcome, enchanted by its beauty and significance. To perceive freshly, with fresh senses, is to be inspired.”); April 13, 1860 ("It distinctly occurred to me that, perhaps, if I came . . .to look at the sweet-gale as a matter of business, I might discover something else interesting.")

April 28.

A Book of the Seasons

by Henry Thoreau

"A book, each page written in its own season,

out-of-doors, in its own locality.”

~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2021

How daring, even rash, Nature appears, who sends out butterflies so early!

April 28. 

Surveying the Tommy Wheeler farm.

April 28, 2017

Again, as so many times, I am reminded of the advantage to the poet, and philosopher, and naturalist, and whomsoever, of pursuing from time to time some other business than his chosen one, — seeing with the side of the eye. 

The poet will so get visions which no deliberate abandonment can secure. The philosopher is so forced to recognize principles which long study might not detect. And the naturalist even will stumble upon some new and unexpected flower or animal. 

Mr. Newton, with whom I rode, thought that there was a peculiar kind of sugar maple which he called the white; knew of a few in the middle of Framingham and said that there was one on our Common. 

How promising a simple, unpretending, quiet, some what reserved man, whether among generals or scholars or farmers! How rare an equanimity and serenity which are an encouragement to all observers! Some youthfulness, some manliness, some goodness. Like Tarbell, a man apparently made a deacon on account of some goodness, and not on account of some hypocrisy and badness as usual. 

Is not the Hubbard Ditch plant the same I see in a Nut Meadow pool, and a remarkable evergreen? with much slime and many young snails on it? 

I hear to-day frequently the seezer seezer seezer of the black and white creeper, or what I have referred to that, from J. P. Brown’s wood bounding on Dugan. It is not a note, nor a bird, to attract attention; only suggesting still warmer weather, —that the season has revolved so much further. 

See, but not yet hear, the familiar chewink amid the dry leaves amid the underwood on the meadow’s edge.  

Many Anemone nemorosa in full bloom at the further end of Yellow Thistle Meadow, in that warm nook by the brook, some probably a day or two there. I think that they are thus early on account of Miles’s dam having broken away and washed off all the snow for some distance there, in the latter part of the winter, long before it melted elsewhere. - It is a warm corner under the south side of a wooded hill, where they are not often, if ever before, flooded. 

As I was measuring along the Marlborough road, a fine little blue-slate butterfly fluttered over the chain. Even its feeble strength was required to fetch the year about. How daring, even rash, Nature appears, who sends out butterflies so early! Sardanapalus-like, she loves extremes and contrasts.

I began to survey the meadow there early, before Miles’s new mill had been running long this Monday morning and flooded it, but a great stream of water was already rushing down the brook, and it almost rose over our boots in the meadow before we had done. 

Observing the young pitch pines by the road south of Loring’s lot that was so heavily wooded, George Hubbard remarked that if they were cut down oaks would spring up, and sure enough, looking across the road to where Loring’s white pines recently stood so densely, the ground was all covered with young oaks. 

Mem. — Let me look at the site of some thick pine woods which I remember, and see what has sprung up; e. g. pitch pines on Thrush Alley and the white pines on Cliffs, also at Baker’s chestnuts, and the chestnut lot on the Tim. Brooks farm. 

This was a very pleasant or rather warm day, looking a little rainy, but on our return the wind changed to easterly, and I felt the cool, fresh sea-breeze. 

This has been'a remarkably pleasant, and I think warm, spring. We have not had the usual sprinklings of snow, having had so much in the winter, — none since I can remember. There is none to come down out of the air.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 28, 1856

Pursuing from time to time some other business than his chosen one, —seeing with the side of the eye. See April 28, 1858 ("While standing by my compass over the supposed town bound . . ., I saw with the side of my eye some black creature crossing the road,"); See also, e.g. September 13, 1852 ("Go not to the object; let it come to you. What I need is not to look at all, but a true sauntering of the eye.”); March 23, 1853 ("Man cannot afford to be a naturalist, to look at Nature directly, but only with the side of his eye.”); June 14, 1853 (". . . you are in that favorable frame of mind described by De Quincey, open to great impressions, and you see those rare sights with the unconscious side of the eye, which you could not see by a direct gaze before.”); December 11, 1855 (" It is only necessary to behold thus the least fact or phenomenon, however familiar, from a point a hair’s breadth aside from our habitual path or routine, to be overcome, enchanted by its beauty and significance. To perceive freshly, with fresh senses, is to be inspired.”); April 13, 1860 ("It distinctly occurred to me that, perhaps, if I came . . .to look at the sweet-gale as a matter of business, I might discover something else interesting.")

A fine little blue-slate butterfly fluttered over the chain. Even its feeble strength was required to fetch the year about. See April 24, 1855 ("That fine slaty-blue butterfly, bigger than the small red, in wood-paths."); See April 30, 1859 ("That interesting small blue butterfly (size of small red) is apparently just out, fluttering over the warm dry oak leaves within the wood in the sun."); See also March 23, 1856 ("By their various movements and migrations they fetch the year about to me."); March 10, 1855; ("You are always surprised by the sight of the first spring bird or insect; they seem premature, and there is no such evidence of spring as themselves, so that they literally fetch the year about. . . . But you think, They have come, and Nature cannot recede.") and A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The  Blue Butterfly in Spring

A bird suggesting still warmer weather, —that the season has revolved so much further.  See  April 27, 1854  ("I hear the black and white creeper's note, — seeser seeser seeser se.  . . . Hear a faint sort of oven-bird's note"); April 27, 1855 ("The black and white creepers running over the trunks or main limbs of red maples and uttering their fainter oven-bird—like notes.");  See also August 19, 1851 ("The seasons do not cease a moment to revolve, and therefore Nature rests no longer at her culminating point than at any other.”); September 17, 1857 (“How perfectly each plant has its turn! – as if the seasons revolved for it alone.!”); March 23, 1856 ("By their various movements and migrations they fetch the year about to me.") See also A Book of the Seasons,   by Henry Thoreau, The Black and White Creeper

See, but not yet hear, the familiar chewink amid the dry leaves amid the underwood on the meadow’s edge. See April 26, 1854  ("Hear the first chewink hopping and chewinking among the shrub oaks."); April 26, 1855 ("See and hear chewinks, — all their strains; the same date with last year, by accident"): April 26, 1858 (" See a chewink (male) in the Kettell place woods."). See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Chewink  (Rufous-sided Towhee)

Let me look at the site of some thick pine woods. . .and see what has sprung up. . . . See October 27, 1860 ("I have now examined many dense pine woods, both pitch and white, and several oak woods, and I do not hesitate to say that oak seedlings under one foot high are very much more abundant under the pines than under the oaks. They prevail and are countless under the pines, while they are hard to find under the oaks.")

I hear first to-day

the seezer seezer of the

black and white creeper.

A Book of the Seasons: April 27.

April 27.

The spring of the world

flowers first followed bare rock –

so too spring this year.

April 27, 1852

Through warm mistiness  --

waters with their reflections

in the morning sun.  

April 27, 1854

I hear the partridge

and the spring hoot of an owl 

now at 7 a.m.

April 27, 1854

Hear a partridge drum

before 6 A. M., also

golden-crested wren.

April 27, 1855

True April morning–

  east wind, the sky overcast 

with wet-looking clouds.

 April 27, 1857

It has been so cold

I have not been able to

catch a single frog.

April 27, 1858

Little brown snake with 

the light line along the back 

just killed in the road. 

April 27, 1859

There is a certain

summeriness in the air

under this warm cliff.

April 27, 1860

April 27, 2021

Spring hoot of an owl

and beat of a partridge, now

at 7 a.m. –

an unprofaned hour

waters with their reflections

in the morning sun.

April 27, 2014

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau

"A book, each page written in its own season,

out-of-doors, in its own locality.”

~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2021

At the Hemlocks I see a rock which has been moved into the river.

April 27. 

P. M. -- Up Assabet. 

I find none of Monroe’s larch buds shedding pollen, but the anthers look crimson and yellow, and the female flowers are now fully expanded and very pretty, but small. I think it will first scatter pollen to-morrow.

Apparently a small bullfrog by riverside, though it looks somewhat like a Rana fontinalis; also two or three (apparently) R. palustris in that well of Monroe’s, which have jumped in over the curb, perhaps. 

I see quite a number of tortoises out sunning, just on the edge of the Hosmer meadow, which is rapidly becoming bare. Their backs shine from afar in the sun. Also one Emys insculpta out higher up. 

From close by I hear a red-wing’s clear, loud whistle, — not squeak (which I think may be confined to the grackle). It is like pte'-a pte’-a, or perhaps without the p.

The tapping of a woodpecker is made a more remarkable and emphatic sound by the hollowness of the trunk, the expanse of water which conducts the sound, and the morning hour at which I commonly hear it. I think that the pigeon woodpeckers must be building, they frequent the old aspen now so much.

At the Hemlocks I see a rock which has been moved since last fall seven or eight feet into the river, though the ground is but little descending. The rock is about five and a half feet by three by one. 

I see a rather large devil’s-needle coursing over the low osiers in Pinxter Swamp. Is it not early for one?

The white birch which I tapped in V. palmata Swamp still runs; and the holes are full of, and the base of the tree covered with, a singular sour-tasted, rather hard—crusted white (not pink) froth, and a great many of those flat beetles (?), lightning-bug—like, and flies, etc., are sucking it.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 27, 1856

I find none of Monroe’s larch buds shedding pollen, but the anthers look crimson and yellow, and the female flowers are now fully expanded and very pretty, but small. See April 22, 1856 ("Monroe’s larches by river will apparently shed pollen soon. The staminate flowers look forward, but the pistil late scarcely show any red"); April 29, 1855 (“A few of the cones within reach on F. Monroe’s larches shed pollen; say, then, yesterday The crimson female flowers are now handsome but small); April 29, 1856 ("Monroe’s larch staminate buds have now erected and separated their anthers, and they look somewhat withered, as if they had shed a part of their pollen. If so, they began yesterday. ”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Larch

Apparently a small bullfrog by riverside, though it looks somewhat like a Rana fontinalis. See May 1, 1858 (“I find many apparent young bullfrogs in the shaded pools on the Island Neck. Probably R. fontinalis.”) and note to May 6, 1858 (Frogs of Massachusetts)

From close by I hear a red-wing’s clear, loud whistle. See March 19, 1858 ("By the river, see distinctly red-wings and hear their conqueree. They are not associated with grackles. They are an age before their cousins, have attained to clearness and liquidity. They are officers, epauletted; the others are rank and file. I distinguish one even by its flight, hovering slowly from tree-top to tree-top, as if ready to utter its liquid notes. Their whistle is very clear and sharp, while the grackle's is ragged and split."). See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Red-wing in Spring

The tapping of a woodpecker is made a more remarkable and emphatic sound by the hollowness of the trunk, the expanse of water which conducts the sound, and the morning hour at which I commonly hear it.  See. March 15, 1854 ("I hear that peculiar, interesting loud hollow tapping of a woodpecker from over the water"); March 29, 1853 ("On approaching the Island, I am surprised to hear the scolding, cackle-like note of the pigeon woodpecker, a prolonged loud sound somewhat like one note of the robin. This was the tapper, on the old hollow aspen which the small woodpeckers so much frequent. Unless the latter make exactly the same sound with the former, then the pigeon woodpecker has come!! ");   March 30, 1854  ("At the Island I see and hear this morning the cackle of a pigeon woodpecker at the hollow poplar; had heard him tapping distinctly from my boat's place, 1/4+ of a mile");  April 14, 1856  ("Hear the flicker’s cackle on the old aspen, and his tapping sounds afar over the water. Their tapping resounds thus far, with this peculiar ring and distinctness, because it is a hollow tree they select to play on, as a drum or tambour. It is a hollow sound which rings distinct to a great distance, especially over water.");  May 9, 1860 ("The tapping of a woodpecker sounds distinct and hollow this still cloudy day.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Pigeon Woodpecker (flicker) and A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Signs of Spring, the tapping of the woodpecker

At the Hemlocks I see a rock which has been moved. See  Aprll 1, 1852  ("There are many larger hemlocks covering the steep side-hill forming the bank of the Assabet, where they are successively undermined by the water, . . . and almost every year one falls in and is washed away. The place is known as the " Leaning Hemlocks.”); March 24, 1855 ("Passing up the Assabet, by the Hemlocks, where there has been a slide and some rocks have slid down into the river, I think I see how rocks come to be found in the midst of rivers."): See also  A Book of the Seasons, at the Leaning Hemlocks

I see a rather large devil’s-needle . . . Is it not early for one? See April 29, 1856 ("I see great devil’s-needles whiz by, coupled. "); May 18, 1855 ("See  Large devil’s-needle.");  May 23, 1856 ("A large devil’s—needle goes by after sundown."); May 30, 1860 ("Saw some devil’s-needles (the first) about the 25th.");  June 6, 1852  ( First devil's-needles in the air,."); See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Devil's-needle

A Book of the Seasons: April 26.

April 26.

A subdued landscape

quite soothing to the feelings –

no glaring colors. 

April 26,1852

Hear the first chewink

now hopping and chewinking

among the shrub oaks.

April 26, 1854 

How pleasant in spring
a still overcast day like this
when water is smooth.
April 26, 1854


And the robin sings
with more vigor and promise
this mizzling still day.
April 26, 1855

What we should have called

a warm day in March is a

cold one at this date.

April 26, 1860

As the saying is

the cold was in the air and

had got to come down.

April 26, 1860

April 26, 2021

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau
"A book, each page written in its own season,
out-of-doors, in its own locality.”

~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2021

Breaking the Sabbath.

April 26

Worm-piles about the door-step this morning; how long? 

The white cedar gathered the 23d does not shed pollen in house till to-day, and I doubt if it will in swamp before to-morrow.

Monroe’s larch will, apparently, by day after to-morrow. 

April 26, 2026

The white birch at Clamshell, which I tapped long ago, still runs and is partly covered with a pink froth. Is not this the only birch which shows this colored froth, as its sap is the most tinged and most inclined to ferment? —a sort of mother which is left on the bark and in the hole. 

Looked over hastily the first two hundred lines of Lucretius, but was struck only with the lines:  

 “But the custom of our ancestors also permitted these things on holidays: to pound wheat, cut torches, make candles, cultivate a hired vineyard, clear out and purge fish-ponds, ponds, and old ditches, mow grass ground a second time, spread dung, store up hay on scaffolds, gather the fruit of a hired olive yard, spread apples, pears, and figs, make cheese, bring home trees for the sake of planting on our shoulders or on a pack mule, but not with one harnessed to a cart, nor to plant them when brought home, nor to open the ground, nor prune a tree, not even to attend to sowing seed, unless you have first sacrificed a puppy.” 

This reminds me of my bringing home an apple tree on my shoulder one Sunday and meeting the stream of meeting-goers, who seemed greatly outraged; but they did not know whether I set it out or not that day, or but that I sacrificed a puppy if I did.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 26, 1856

Worm-piles about the door-step this morning; how long? See March 20, 1860 ("Worm-piles in dooryard this morning"); April 9, 1861 ("Worm-piles in grass."); April 14, 1859 (“There are many worm holes or  piles in the door-yard this forenoon. How long?”)

The white cedar gathered the 23d does not shed pollen in house till to-day, and I doubt if it will in swamp before to-morrow. See April 26, 1857 ("The white cedar is apparently just out. The higher up the tree, the earlier.") See also  April 23, 1856 ("Up Assabet to white cedars . . . The white cedar swamp consists of hummocks, now surrounded by water, where you go jumping from one to another. The fans are now dotted with the minute reddish staminate flowers, ready to open."); April 29, 1856 ("The white cedar now sheds pollen abundantly."); and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Cedar Swamps