6 September 1852 – 12 September 1852

Monday. To Peterboro. Railroad to Mason Village. Observed from cars at 7.30 a. Mm. the dew, or fog rather, on the fine grass in meadows, —a dirty white, which, one of these mornings, will be frozen to a white frost. A woman who wished to go to Nashua was left behind at Groton Junction, —to which she said, ‘“‘ Why, I was he-ar.” Girls picking hops in Townsend. Some fields are completely yellow — one mass of yellow — from the solidago. It is the prevailing flower the traveller sees. Walked from Mason Village over the mountain- tops to Peterboro. Saw, sailing over Mason Village about 10 a. M., a white-headed and white-tailed eagle with black wings, —a grand sight. The “ doubly com- pound racemed panicles” of the spikenard berries, varnish-colored berries, or color of varnished ma- hogany. Met a crazy man, probably being carried to a hospital, who must take us both by the hand and tell us how the spirit of God had descended on him and given him all the world, and he was going to make every man a present of half a million, etc., etc. High blackberries by the roadside abundant still, the long, sweet, mulberry-shaped ones, mostly con- fined to the road, and very grateful to the walker. A stone by the roadside in Temple, whitewashed, with an inscription in black, evincing the vulgarity of the Yankees, “‘ Here Jesse Spofford was killed,” etc., etc., not telling how. Thus we record only the trivial, not the important event, as the advent of a thought. Who cares whether Jesse Spofford was killed or not, if he does not know whether he was worthy to live? The tavern-keeper at Temple said the summit just south of the Peterboro road, covered with wood, was the highest (probably a mistake), —980 feet above Temple Common, which is itself very high. Went across lots from here toward this. When part way up, or on a lower part of the ridge, discovered it was not the highest, and turned northward across the road to what is apparently the highest, first having looked south to Kidder’s mountain, between New Ipswich and Temple and further west and quite near to Boundary Mountain between Sharon and Temple. Already we had had experience of a mountain-side covered with bare rocks, as if successive thunder [sic] spouts had burst over it, and bleached timber lying across the rocks, the wood- bine red as blood about a tall stump, and the strong, sweet, bracing scent of ferns between the rocks, the raspberry bushes still retaining a few berries. They usually tell you how many mountain-houses you can see from a mountain, but they are interesting to me in proportion to the number you cannot see. We went down the west side of this first mountain, from whose summit we could not see west on account of another ridge; descended far, and across the road, and up the southernmost of what I have called the Peterboro Hills. The raw edge of a forest of canoe birches on the side of this hill was remarkable on account of the wonder- ful contrast of the white stems with the ‘green leaves; the former glaringly white, as if whitewashed and var- nished or polished. You now hear that grating, creak- ing flight of the grasshopper. There is something in the aspect of the evergreens, the dwarfed forests and the bare rocks of mountain-tops, and the scent of the ferns, stern yet sweet to man. Hazy. Monadnock ‘ would probably look better toward evening. It was now two or three p. M. In the woods near the top, the Viburnum lantanoides, hobble-bush, American way- faring-tree, in fruit, mostly large and red, but the ripe dark blue or black like the V. nudum, — what I have formerly falsely called moose-berry. Probably it does not grow in Concord. Went, still across lots, to Peterboro village, which we could not see from the mountain. But first we had seen the Lyndeboro Mountain, north of these two, — partly in Greenfield, — and further Crotched Mountain, and in the northeast Uncannunue. Descended where, as usual, the forest had been burned formerly, —tall bleached. masts still standing, making a very wild and agree- ably [ste] scenery, — keeping on a westward spur or side, that we might see north and south. Saw the pond on the ‘“‘ embenchement ” between the two mountains. Some sheep ran from us in great fear. Others put their heads down and together, and stood perfectly still, re- sembling rocks, so that I did not notice them at first. Did they not do it for concealment? After we got down, the prevailing trees were hemlock, spruce, black and yellow birch, and beech, the ground very cleanly and smoothly carpeted with the old leaves of the last two especially, without weeds. Saw some ground-hem- lock with some fruit still. Had seen on the hill Poly- gonum cilinode, running polygonum, but no flower, — alias fringe-jointed false-buckwheat. A man in Peterboro told me that his father told him that Monadnock used to be covered with forest, that fires ran through it and killed the turf; then the trees were blown down, and their roots turned up and formed a dense and impenetrable thicket in which the wolves abounded. They came down at night, killed sheep, etc., and returned to their dens, whither they could not be pursued, before morning; till finally they set fire to this thicket, and it made the greatest fire they had ever had in the county, and drove out all the wolves, which have not troubled them since. He himself had seen one wolf killed there when he was a boy. They kill now raccoons, hedgehogs, and wildcats there. I thought that I did not see so great a proportion of forest from their hilltops as about Concord, to which they agreed. I should say their hills were uncommonly rocky, — more stone than soil.

Tuesday, Went, across lots still, to Monad- nock, the base some half-dozen miles in a straight line from Peterboro,— six or seven miles. (It had been eleven miles (by road) from Mason Village to Peter- boro.) My clothes sprinkled with ambrosia pollen. Saw near the mountain a field of turnips whose leaves, all but the midribs, were eaten up by grasshoppers and looked white over the field, and sometimes the tur- nips were eaten also. Joe Eavely’s, the house nearest the top, that we saw under the east side, a small red house a little way up. The summit hardly more than a mile distant in a straight line, but about two miles as they go. Bunch-berries everywhere now. Acer Pennsyl- vanicum, striped maple or moosewood or striped dog- wood, but no keys to be seen, —a very large-leaved, three-lobed maple with a handsome striped bark. This, I believe, the Indians smoke. Also Acer spicatum, mountain maple, with upright racemes in fruit. Be- tween the rocks on the summit, an abundance of large and fresh blueberries still, apparently Vaccintwm Penn- sylvanicum, very large, fresh and cooling to eat, supply- ing the place of water. They said they did not get ripe so early as below, but at any rate they last much longer; both, perhaps, because of the greater coolness of the atmosphere. Though this vegetation was very humble, yet it was very productive of fruit. In one little hol- low between the rocks grew blueberries, choke-berries, bunch-berries, red cherries, wild currants (Izbes pro- stratum, with the berry the odor of skunk-cabbage, but a not quite disagreeable wild flavor), a few rasp- berries still, holly berries, mountain cranberries (Vac- cintum Vitis-I[dea), all close together. The little soil on the summit between the rocks was covered with the Potentilla tridentata, now out of bloom, the prevailing plant at the extreme summit. Mountain-ash berries also. Descending toward Troy, a little after 1 P. m., plucked the Trillium erythrocarpum with the large red berry, painted trilium. The Aster acuminatus, with its leaves in a whorl, white; methinks we may have it. When we had got down, we could see that the moun- tain had spurs or buttresses on every side, by whose ridge you might ascend. It is an interesting feature in a mountain. I have noticed that they will send out these buttresses every way from their centre. Were on the top of the mountain at 1 p.m. The cars left Troy, four or five miles off, at three. We reached the depot, by running at last, at the same in- stant the cars did, and reached Concord at a quarter after five, 7. e. four hours from the time we were pick- ing blueberries on the mountain, with the plants of the mountain fresh in my hat.

Grapes ripe on the Assabet for some days. Gentiana saponaria out. Carrion-flower berries ripe for some days. Polygala verticillata still, on left side of road beyond Lee place. I put it with the other poly- galas in July. Do I perceive the shadows ‘lengthen already ?

There are enough who will flatter me with sweet words, and anon use bitter ones to balance them, but they are not my friends. Simple sincerity and truth are rare indeed. One acquaintance criticises me to my face, expecting every moment that I will be- come his friend to pay for it. I hear my acquaintance thinking his criticism aloud. We love to talk with those who can make a good guess at us, not with those who talk to us as if we were somebody else all the while. Our neighbors invite us to be amiable toward their vices. How simple is the law of love! One who loves us acts accordingly, and anon we come together and succeed together without let or hindrance. Yesterday and to-day have felt about as hot as any weather this year. The potato-balls lie ripe in the fields. ‘The groundsel down is in the air. The last day of August I saw a sharp-nosed green grasshopper. The goldenrods resound with the hum of bees and other in- sects. Methinks the little leaves now springing, which I have called mullein, must be fragrant everlasting (?). I believe that I occasionally hear a hylodes within a day or two. In front of Ceesar’s, the Crotalaria sagittalis, rattle-pod, still in bloom, though the seeds are ripe; probably began in July. Also by Ceesar’s well, Lnatris scariosa, handsome rose-purple, with the aspect of a Canada thistle at a distance, or a single vernonia. Re- ferred to August. Ah! the beauty of the liatris bud just bursting into bloom, the rich fiery rose-purple, like that of the sun at his rising. Some call it button snake- root. Those crotalaria pods would make pretty play- things for children.

Genius is like the snapping-turtle born with a great developed head. They say our brain at birth is one sixth the weight of the body. Cranberries are being raked for fear of frosts. These fall rains are a peculiarity of the season. How much fresher some flowers look in rainy weather! When I thought they were about done, they appear to revive, and moreover their beauty is enhanced, as if by the contrast of the louring atmosphere with their bright colors. Such are the purple gerardia and the Bidens cernua. The purple gerardia and blue-curls are inter- esting for their petals strewn about, beaten down by the rain. Many a brook I look into is strewn with the purple petals of the gerardia, whose stalk is not obvi- ous in the bank. Again the Potentilla Canadensis var. pumila, and dandelions occasionally.