Gyrinus

November 11.

Did Harris call the water-bug Gyrinus to-day ?

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, November 11, 1852

Harris. (Thaddeus William Harris 1795-1856: the librarian of Harvard University, and one of Thoreau's professors).See January 1, 1853 ('Sibley told me that Agassiz told him that Harris was the greatest entomologist in the world, and gave him permission to repeat his remark."); November 10, 1854 ("Got some donacia grubs for Harris, but find no chrysalids.")

The water-bug Gyrinus  Compare October 11, 1852 (" I could detect the progress of a water-bug over the smooth surface in almost any part of the pond, for they furrow the water slightly, making a conspicous ripple bounded by two diverging lines") with Walden ("You can even detect a water-bug (Gyrinus) ceaselessly progressing over the smooth surface a quarter of a mile off; for they furrow the water slightly, making a conspicuous ripple bounded by two diverging lines"). See    November 3, 1853 ("A small gyrinus in Nut Meadow Brook."). See also  A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Water-bug (Gyrinus) and Skaters (Hydrometridae)

Nature prepared for an infinity of springs.

November 10

November 10, 2023

P. M. – Sail to Ball's Hill with W. E. C. 

See where the muskrats have eaten much pontederia root. 

Got some donacia grubs for Harris, but find no chrysalids. 

The sight of the masses of yellow hastate leaves and flower-buds of the yellow lily, already four or six inches long, at the bottom of the river, reminds me that nature is prepared for an infinity of springs yet.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, November 10, 1854

Harris. Thaddeus William Harris 1795-1856: the librarian of Harvard University and one of Thoreau's professors. See  note to January 1, 1853 ("Sibley told me that Agassiz told him that Harris was the greatest entomologist in the world, and gave him permission to repeat his remark.")

Got some donacia grubs for Harris. See January 19, 1854 ("[Dr, Harris] thinks that small beetle, slightly metallic, which I saw with grubs, etc., on the yellow lily roots last fall was. . . one of the Donasia (?).")

The muskrats have eaten much pontederia root. See December 26, 1859 ("So many of these houses being broken open, — twenty or thirty I see, — I look into the open hole, and find in it, in almost every instance, many pieces of the white root with the little leaf-bud curled up which I take to be the yellow lily root . . . Also I see a little coarser, what I take to be green leaf-stalk of the pontederia.")

The sight of the masses of yellow hastate leaves and flower-buds of the yellow lily reminds me that nature is prepared for an infinity of springs yet. See October 15, 1858 ("The yellow lily in the brook by the Turnpike is still expanding fresh leaves with wrinkled edges, as in the spring. "); March 7, 1853 ("Find the yellow bud of a Nuphar advena in the ditch on the Turnpike on E. Hosmer's land, bud nearly half an inch in diameter on a very thick stem, three fourths of an inch thick at base and ten inches long, four or five inches above the mud. This may have swollen somewhat during the warmest weather in the winter, after pushing up in the fall. And I see that it may, in such a case, in favorable locations, blossom at very early but irregular periods in the spring."); March 28, 1852 ("The yellow lily leaves are pushing up in the ditch beyond Hubbard's Grove, hard-rolled and triangular, with a sharp point with which to pierce the mud; green at the tips and yellow below. The leaf is rolled in from both sides to the midrib. This is, perhaps, to be regarded as the most obvious sign of advancing spring."); June 29, 1852 ("The great yellow lily, the spatter-dock, expresses well the fertility of the river."). See also October 30, 1853 ("Now, now is the time to look at the buds.”); December 1, 1852 ("At this season I observe the form of the buds which are prepared for spring,"); December 2, 1852 ("There is a certain resonance and elasticity in the air that makes the least sound melodious as in spring. It is an anticipation, a looking through winter to spring."); January 12, 1855 (" Well may the tender buds attract us at this season, no less than partridges, for they are the hope of the year, the spring rolled up. The summer is all packed in them.") and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Reminiscence and Prompting

Nature prepared for 

an infinity of springs –

yellow lily buds.

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Nature prepared for an infinity of springs

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-541110

A thousand? acres of old oak wood.

November 9. 

November 9, 2020

12 m. – To Inches’ Woods in Boxboro.

This wood is some one and three quarters miles from West Acton, whither we went by railroad.

It is in the east part of Boxboro, on both sides of the Harvard turnpike.

We walked mostly across lots from West Acton to a part of the wood about half a mile north of the turnpike, — and the woods appeared to reach as much further north.

We then walked in the midst of the wood in a southwesterly by west direction, about three quarters of a mile, crossing the turnpike west of the maple swamp and the brook, and thence south by east nearly as much more, — all the way in the woods, and chiefly old oak wood.

The old oak wood, as we saw from the bare hill at the south end, extends a great deal further west and northwest, as well as north, than we went, and must be at least a mile and a half from north to south by a mile to a mile and a quarter  possibly from east to west.

Or there may be a thousand? acres of old oak wood.

The large wood is chiefly oak, and that white oak, though black, red, and scarlet oak are also common.

White pine is in considerable quantity, and large pitch pine is scattered here and there, and saw some chestnut at the south end.

Saw no hem lock or birch to speak of.

Beginning at the north end of our walk, the trees which I measured were (all at three feet from ground except when otherwise stated) : a black oak, ten feet [ in ] circumference, trunk tall and of regular form ; scarlet oak, seven feet three inches, by Guggins Brook ; white oak, eight feet ; white oak, ten feet, forks at ten feet ; white oak, fifteen feet ( at two and a half feet, bulging very much near ground ; trunk of a pyramidal form ; first branch at sixteen feet ; this just north of turnpike and near Guggins Brook ) ; white oak, nine feet four inches ( divides to two at five feet ) ; white oak, nine feet six inches ( divides to two at five feet ) ; red oak, eight feet ( south of road ) ; white pine, nine feet ; a scarlet or red oak stump cut, twenty and a half inches [ in ] diameter, one hundred and sixty rings.

I was pleased to find that the largest of the white oaks, growing thus in a dense wood, often with a pine or other tree within two or three feet, were of pasture oak size and even form, the largest commonly branching low.

Very many divide to two trunks at four or five feet only from the ground.

You see some white oaks and even some others in the midst of the wood nearly as spreading as in open land.

Looking from the high bare hill at the south end, the limits of the old oak wood ( so far as we could overlook it ) were very distinct, its tops being a mass of gray brush, — contorted and intertwisted twigs and boughs, — while the younger oak wood around it, or bounding it, though still of respectable size, was still densely clothed with the reddish - brown leaves.

This famous oak lot — like Blood’s and Wetherbee’s – is a place of resort for those who hunt the gray squirrel.

They have their leafy nests in the oak-tops.

It is an endless maze of gray oak trunks and boughs stretching far around.

The great mass of individual trunks which you stand near is very impressive.

Many sturdy trunks (they commonly stand a little aslant) are remarkably straight and round, and have so much regularity in their roughness as to suggest smooth rougher and darker bark than Wetherbee’s and Blood’s, though often betraying the same tendency to smoothness, as if a rough layer had been stripped off near the ground.

I noticed that a great many trunks (the bark) had been gnawed near the ground, — different kinds of oak and chestnut, — perhaps by squirrels.

H.D. Thoreau, Journal, November 9, 1860

At least a mile and a half from north to south by a mile to a mile and a quarter possibly from east to west. Or there may be a thousand? acres of old oak wood.  See November 10, 1860 ("I have lived so long in this neighborhood and but just heard of this noble forest, - probably as fine an oak wood as there is in New England, only eight miles west of me. Seeing this, I can realize how this country appeared when it was discovered - a full-grown oak forest stretching uninterrupted for miles, consisting of sturdy trees from one to three and even four feet in diameter, whose interlacing branches form a complete and uninterrupted canopy")

The snow begins to whiten the plowed ground.

November 8

Mayweed and shepherd’s-purse.

10 A. M. — Our first snow, the wind southerly, the air chilly and moist; a very fine snow, looking like a mist toward the woods or horizon, which at 2 o’clock has not whitened the ground. The children greet it with a shout when they come out at recess.

P. M. – To riverside as far down as near Peter’s, to look at the water-line before the snow covers it.

By Merrick’s pasture it is mainly a fine, still more or less green, thread-like weed or grass of the river bottom (?), sedges, utricularias (that coarse one especially, whose name I am not sure of, with tassels (?), yellow water ranunculus, potamogeton’s translucent leaves, a few flags and pontederia stems.

By Peter’s there was much of that coarse triangular cellular stem mentioned yesterday as sparganium (?). I would not have thought it so common.

There is not so much meadow grass or hay as I expected, for that has been raked and carried off.

The pads, too, have wasted away and the pontederias’ leaves, and the stems of the last for the most part still adhere to the bottom.

Three larks rise from the sere grass on Minott’s Hill before me, the white of their outer tail-feathers very conspicuous, reminding me of arctic snowbirds by their size and form also.

The snow begins to whiten the plowed ground now, but it has not overcome the russet of the grass ground.

November 8, 2023

Birds generally wear the russet dress of nature at this season. They have their fall no less than the plants; the bright tints depart from their foliage or feathers, and they flit past like withered leaves in rustling flocks.

The sparrow is a withered leaf.

The Stellaria media still blooms in Cheney’s garden, and the shepherd’s-purse looks even fresher. This must be near the end of the flower season.

Perchance I heard the last cricket of the season yesterday. They chirp here and there at longer and longer intervals, till the snow quenches their song.

And the last striped squirrel, too, perchance, yesterday. They, then, do not go into winter quarters till the ground is covered with snow.

The partridges go off with a whir, and then sail a long way level and low through the woods with that impetus they have got, displaying their neat forms perfectly.

The yellow larch leaves still hold on, — later than those of any of our pines.

I noticed the other day a great tangled and netted mass of an old white pine root lying upon the surface, nearly a rod across and two feet or more high, too large even to be turned up for a fence. 

It suggested that the roots of trees would be an interesting study. There are the small thickly interwoven roots of the swamp white oaks on the Assabet.

At evening the snow turned to rain, and the sugaring soon disappeared. 

H.D. Thoreau, Journal, November 8, 1853 

Our first snow. The children greet it with a shout. See November 24, 1860 ("Though a slight touch, this was the first wintry scene of the season. The rabbits in the swamps enjoy it, as well as you.”) See also note to November 29, 1856 ("This the first snow I have seen")

The snow begins to whiten the plowed ground now, but it has not overcome the russet of the grass ground.  See December 3, 1856 ("The sight of the sedgy meadows that are not yet snowed up while the cultivated fields and pastures are a uniform white.") See also November 24, 1858 ("Plowed ground is quite white.); November 24, 1860 (“The plowed fields were for a short time whitened”);  October 19, 1854 (“The country above Littleton (plowed ground) more or less sugared with snow,”); December 16, 1857 ("Plowed grounds show white first.”)

Perchance I heard the last cricket of the season. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Cricket in November

And the last striped squirrel, too, perchance, yesterday. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Striped Squirrel

Three larks rise from the sere grass on Minott’s Hill before me, the white of their outer tail-feathers very conspicuous. See October 13, 1855 ("Larks in flocks in the meadows, showing the white in their tails as they fly, sing sweetly as in spring."); October 18, 1858 ("See larks, with their white tail-feathers, fluttering low over the meadows these days"); November 1, 1853  ("I see and hear a flock of larks in Wheeler's meadow on left of the Corner road, singing exactly as in spring and twittering also, but rather faintly or suppressedly.");  See also June 30, 1851 ("The lark sings a note which belongs to a New England summer evening."); August 4, 1852 ("I must make a list of those birds which, like the lark and the robin, if they do not stay all the year, are heard to sing longest of those that migrate."); October 6, 1851 ("I hear a lark singing this morn (October 7th ), and yesterday saw them in the meadows. Both larks and blackbirds are heard again now occasionally, seemingly after a short absence, as if come to bid farewell")

Birds generally wear the russet dress of nature at this season. . . and they flit past like withered leaves in rustling flocks. The sparrow is a withered leaf. See January 24, 1860 ("These birds, though they have bright brown and buff backs, hop about amid the little inequalities of the pasture almost unnoticed, such is their color and so humble are they.")

Birds too wear russet

and they flit past like withered

leaves in rustling flocks.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau,  The snow begins to whiten the plowed 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 © 2009-2024

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-531108

To Cambridge and Boston.

November 7.

To Cambridge and Boston.

H. D Thoreau, Journal, November 7, 1860

See July 26, 1852 ("Went to Cambridge and Boston to-day. Dr. Harris says that my great moth is the Attacus luna"); January 26, 1857 ("At Cambridge and Boston. Saw Boston Harbor frozen over"); May 3, 1860 ("To Cambridge and Boston. I see at the Aquarium many of my little striped or barred breams,")

An old pitch pine stump at Tommy Wheeler's hollow.

November 6. 

Sawed off half of an old pitch pine stump at Tommy Wheeler's hollow. I found that, though the surface was entire and apparently sound except one or two small worm-holes, and the sap was evidently decaying, yet within or just under the surface, it was extensively hơneycombed by worms, which did not eat out to the surface. Those rings included in the outmost four or five inches were the most decayed  — including the sap wood.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, November 6, 1860

An old pitch pine stump. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Pitch Pine.

Sat at the end of Long Wharf.

November 5.

In Boston. — The first Indian-summer day, after an unusually cold October. 

November 5, 2020

Sat at the end of Long Wharf for coolness, but it was very warm, with scarcely a breath of wind, and so thick a haze that I could see but little way down the harbor.


H. D. Thoreau, Journal, November 5, 1859

The first Indian-summer day, See November 1, 2015 ("A beautiful Indian-summer day, the most remarkable hitherto and equal to any of the kind. "); November 1, 1860 ("A perfect Indian-summer day, and wonderfully warm. 72+ at 1 P. M. and probably warmer at two.");November 6, 1857 ("Thermometer on north of the house 70° at 12 M. Indian summer.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The world can never be more beautiful than now.

Sat at the end of Long Wharf . See December 25, 1853 ("When I go to Boston, I go naturally straight through the city down to the end of Long Wharf and look off")