27 September 1858 – 3 October 1858

P. M. — By boat to Fair Haven Pond. Wind northeast. Sail most of the way. The river has gone down from its height on the 20th, and is now some eighteen inches lower, or within its banks. The front- rank polygonum is uncovered and in bloom still, but its leaves generally turned a dull red. The P. hydropipe- roides is apparently past prime. The P. amphibium spikes still in prime.’ When close to the bushes you do not notice any mark of the recent high water, but at a little distance you see a perfectly level line on the button-bushes and willows, about eighteen inches above the present surface, it being all dark below and warm sunny yellow above. The leaves that have been immersed are generally fallen or withered. Though the bushes may be loose and open, this water- line is so perfectly level that it appears continuous. The farmers digging potatoes on shore pause a mo- ment to watch my sail and bending mast. It is pleasant to see your mast bend in these safe waters. It is rare that the wind is so northeast that I can sail well from the railroad bridge to Clamshell Hill, as to-day. Red maples now fairly glow along the shore. They vary from yellow to a peculiar crimson which is more red than common crimson.’ But these particular trees soon fade. It is the first blush which is the purest. See men raking cranberries now, or far away squatting in the meadows, where they are picking them. Grapes have begun to shrivel on their stems. They drop off on the slightest touch, and if they fall into the water are lost, going to the bottom. You see the grape leaves touched with frost curled up and looking crisp on their edges. The fisherman Haynes thinks that the large flock of peetweet-like birds which I'saw on the meadow one fall were what he calls “ black-backs. ” What are those little birds in flocks in the garden and on the peach trees these mornings, about size of chip- birds, without distinct chestnut crowns ??

Tuesday. P.M.— To Great Fields via Gentian Lane. The gentian (Andrewsi), now generally in prime, loves moist, shady banks, and its transcendent blue shows best in the shade and suggests coolness; contrasts there with the fresh green; —a splendid blue, light in the shade, turning to purple with age. They are particu- larly abundant under the north side of the willow-row in Merrick’s pasture. I count fifteen in a single cluster there, and afterward twenty at Gentian Lane near Flint’s Bridge, and there were other clusters below. Bluer than the bluest sky, they lurk in the moist and shady recesses of the banks.

Fine weather. P. M. — To White Pond. One or two myrtle-birds in their fall dress, with brown head and shoulders, two whitish bars on wings, and bright-yellow rump. Sit on Clamshell, looking up the smooth stream. ‘Two blue herons, or “ herns,”’ as Good- win calls them, fly sluggishly up the stream. Interesting even is a stake, with its reflection, left standing in the still river by some fisherman. Again we have smooth waters, yellow foliage, and faint warbling birds, etc., as in spring. The year thus repeats itself. Catch some of those little fuzzy gnats dancing in the air there over the shelly bank, and these are black, with black plumes, unlike those last seen over the Cassandra Pond. Brushed a spectrum, ghost-horse, off my face in a birch wood, by the J. P. Brown cold Heart-Leaf Pond. Head somewhat like a striped snake. That pond is drier than I ever saw it, perhaps,’ — all but a couple of square rods in the middle, — and now covered with cyperus, etc. The mud is cracked into large polygonal figures of four to six sides and six to twelve inches across, with cracks a half to three quarters of an inch wide. See what must be a solitary tattler feeding by the water’s edge, and it has tracked the mud all about. It cannot be the Tringa pectoralis, for it has no conspicu- ous white chin, nor black dashes on the throat, nor brown on the back and wings, and I think I see the round white spots on its wings. It has not the white on wing of the peetweet, yet utters the peetweet note! — short and faint, not protracted, and not the “sharp whistle’’ that Wilson speaks of. The lespedeza leaves are all withered and ready to fall in the frosty hollows near Nut Meadow, and [in] the swamps the ground is already strewn with the first maple leaves, concealing the springiness of the soil, and many plants are prostrate there, November-like. High up in Nut Meadow, the very brook — push aside the half-withered grass which (the farmer disdaining to cut it) conceals it — is as cool as a spring, being near its sources. Take perhaps our last bath in White Pond for the year. Half a dozen Ff. hyemalis about. Looking toward the sun, some fields reflect a light sheen from low webs of gossamer which thickly cover the stubble and grass. On our way, near the Hosmer moraine, let off some pasture thistle-down. One steadily rose from my hand, freighted with its seed, till it was several hundred feet high, and then passed out of sight eastward. Its down was particularly spreading or open. Is not here a hint to balloonists? Astronomers can calculate the orbit of that thistle-down called the comet, now in the northwest sky, conveying its nucleus, which may not be so solid as a thistle’s seed, somewhither, but what astronomer can calculate the orbit of my thistle-down and tell where it will deposit its precious freight at last? It may still be travelling when I am sleeping. Some Lobelia inflata leaves peculiar hoary-white.

A large flock of grackles amid the willows by the riverside, or chiefly concealed low in the button- bushes beneath them, though quite near me. There they keep up their spluttering notes, though somewhat less loud, methinks, than in spring. These are the first I have seen, and now for some time, I think, the red- wings have been gone. These are the first arrivers from the north where they breed. TI observe the peculiar steel-bluish purple of the night- shade, 2. e. the tips of the twigs, while all beneath is green, dotted with bright ber- ries, over the water. Perhaps this is the most singular color of any autumnal tint. It is almost black in some lights, distinctly steel-blue in the shade and contrasting with the green beneath, but, seen against the sun, it is a rich purple, its veins full of fire. The form of the leaf, too, is peculiar. The pearly everlasting is an interesting white at present. Though the stem and leaves are still green, it is dry and unwithering like an artificial flower. Its white flexuous stem and branches, too, like wire wound with cotton. Its amaranthine quality is instead of high color. Neither is there any scent to betray it. Its very brown centre now affects us as a fresh and original color. It monopo- lizes a small circle, in the midst of sweet-fern perchance, on a dry hillside. I see undoubtedly the little dipper by the edge of the pads this afternoon, and I think I have not seen it be- fore this season. It is much smaller than I have seen this season, and is hard to detect even within four or five rods. It warily dives and comes up a rod or two further off amid the pads, scarcely disturbing the sur- face. The wind is northerly these afternoons, blowing pretty strong early in the afternoon, so that I can sail up the stream; but later it goes down, leaving the river glassy smooth, and only a leaping fish or an insect dimples it or makes a sparkle on it. Some young black cherry leaves are completely changed some time to their deep cherry-red. Also they are rather dull, but beneath quite lively, like the juice of a freshly crushed cherry. In our late walk on the Cape, we entered Gloucester each time in the dark at mid-evening, travelling partly across lots till we fell into a road, and as we were simply seeking a bed, inquiring the way of villagers whom we could not see, the town seemed far more homelike to us than when we made our way out of it in the morning. It was comparatively still, and the inhabitants were sensibly or poetically employed, too, and then we went straight to our chamber and saw the moonlight reflected from the smooth harbor and lighting up the fishing ves- sels, as if it had been the harbor of Venice. By day we went remarking on the peculiar angles of the bevelled roofs, of which there is a remarkable variety there. There are also many large, square, three-story houses with short windows in the upper story, as if the third story were as good as a gig for respectability. When en- tering the town in the moonlight we could not always tell whether the road skirted the back yards or the front yards of the houses, and the houses did not so imperti- nently stare after the traveller and watch his coming as by day. Walking early in the day and approaching the rocky shore from the north, the shadows of the cliffs were very distinct and grateful and our spirits were buoyant. Though we walked all day, it seemed the days were not long enough to get tired in. Some villages we went through or by without communicating with any inhab- itant, but saw them as quietly and distantly as in a picture.

P. M.— To Hubbard’s Close. Clintonia Maple Swamp is very fair now, especially a quarter of a mile off, where you get the effect of the light colors without detecting the imperfections of the leaves. Look now at such a swamp, of maples mixed with the ever- green pines, at the base of a pine-clad hill, and see their yellow and scarlet and crimson fires of all tints, mingled and contrasted with the green. Some maples are yet green, only yellow-tipped on the edges of their flakes, as the edges of a hazelnut bur. Some are wholly bril- liant scarlet, raying out regularly and finely every way. Others, of more regular form, seem to rest heavily, flake on flake, like yellow or scarlet snow-drifts.' The cinnamon ferns are crisp and sour [?] in open grounds. The fringed gentians are now in prime. These are closed in the afternoon,” but I saw them open at 12 M. a day or two ago, and they were exceedingly beautiful, especially when there was a single one on a stem. They who see them closed, or in the afternoon only, do not suspect their beauty. Viola lanceolata again. See larks in small flocks. Was overtaken by a sudden gust and rain from the west. It broke off some limbs and brought down many leaves. Took refuge in Minott’s house at last. He told me his last duck-shooting exploit for the fifth or sixth time. Says that Jake Potter, who died over eighty some dozen years since, told him that when he was a boy and used to drive his father Ephraim’s cows to pasture in the meadows near Fair Haven, after they were mown in the fall, returning with them at evening, he used to hear the wildcats yell in the Fair Haven woods. Minott tells of a great rise of the river once in August, when a great many “marsh-birds,”’ as peeps, killdees, yellow-legs, etc., came inland, and he saw a flock of them reaching from Flint’s Bridge a mile down-stream over the meadows, and making a great noise. Says the “killdees”” used to be common here, and the yellow- legs, called “humilities,”” used commonly to breed here on the tussocks in the meadows. He has often found their nests. Let a full-grown but young cock stand near you. How full of life he is, from the tip of his bill through his trem- bling wattles and comb and his bright eye to the extremity of his clean toes! How alert and restless, listening to every sound and watching every motion! How various his notes, from the finest and shrillest alarum as a hawk sails over, surpassing the most accomplished violinist on the short strings, to a hoarse and terrene voice or cluck! He has a word for every occasion; for the dog that rushes past, and partlet cackling in the barn. And then how, elevating himself and flapping his wings, he gathers impetus and air and launches forth that world-renowned ear-piercing strain! not a vulgar note of defiance, but the mere effervescence of life, like the bursting of a bubble in a wine-cup. Is any gem so bright as his eye? The elms are now great brownish-yellow masses hang- ing over the street. Their leaves are perfectly ripe. I wonder if there is any answering ripeness in the lives of those who live beneath them.’ The harvest of elm leaves is come, or at hand. The cat sleeps on her head! What does this portend ? It is more alarming than a dozen comets. How long prejudice survives! The big-bodied fisherman asks me doubtingly about the comet seen these nights in the northwest, — if there is any danger to be apprehended from that side! I would fain suggest that only he is dangerous to himself.

A dark and windy night the last. It is a new value when darkness amounts to something positive. Each morning now, after rain and wind, is fresher and cooler, and leaves still green reflect a brighter sheen. Minott told me yesterday that he had never seen the seashore but once, and that was Noddle’s Island in the War of 1812. The garden is alive with migrating sparrows these mornings. The cat comes in from an early walk amid the weeds. She is full of sparrows and wants no more breakfast this morning, unless it be a saucer of milk, the dear creature. I saw her studying ornithology between the corn-rows.’

One brings me this morning a Carolina rail alive, this year’s bird evidently from its marks. He saved it from a cat in the road near the Battle-Ground. On being taken up, it pecked a little at first, but was soon quiet. It staggers about as if weak on my window- sill and pecks at the glass, or stands with its eyes shut, half asleep, and its back feathers hunched up. Possibly itis wounded. I suspect it may have been hatched here. Its feet are large and spreading, qualifying it to run on mud or pads. Its crown is black, but chin white, and its back feathers are distinctly edged with white in streaks. I compare my hazelnuts gathered some time ago. ‘The beaked are pointed nuts, while the com- mon are blunt; and the former are a much paler brown, also have a yellower and much sweeter meat. A fringed gentian, plucked day before yesterday, at length, this forenoon, untwists and turns its petals par- tially, in my chamber. Have noticed a very brilliant scarlet blackberry patch within a week. The red maples which Satpal first, along the river, are now faded and partly fallen. They look more pink. But others are lit, and so there is more color than before. Some particular maple among a hundred will be of a peculiarly bright and pure scarlet, and, by its difference of tint and intenser color, attract our eyes even at a distance in the midst of the crowd.’ Looking all around Fair Haven Pond yesterday, where the maples were glow- ing amid the evergreens, my eyes invariably rested on a particular small maple of the purest and intensest scarlet. P. M. — Paddle about Walden. As I go through the Cut, I discover a new locality for the crotalaria, being attracted by the pretty blue-black pods, now ripe and dangling in profusion from these low plants, on the bare sandy and gravelly slope of the Cut. The vines or plants are but half a dozen times longer (or higher) than the pods. It was the contrast of these black pods with the yellowish sand which betrayed them. How many men have a fatal excess of manner! There was one came to our house the other evening, and be- haved very simply and well till the moment he was pass- ing out the door. He then suddenly put on the airs of a well-bred man, and consciously described some arc of beauty or other with his head or hand. It was but a slight flourish, but it has put me on the alert. It is interesting to consider how that crotalaria spreads itself, sure to find out the suitable soil. One year I find it on the Great Fields and think it rare; the next I find it in a new and unexpected place. It flits about like a flock of sparrows, from field to field. The maples about Walden are quite handsome now. Standing on the railroad, I look across the pond to Pine Hill, where the outside trees and the shrubs scattered generally through the wood glow through the green, yellow, and scarlet, like fires just kindled at the base of the trees, — a general conflagration just fairly under way, soon to envelop every tree. The hillside forest is all aglow along its edge and in all its cracks and fissures, and soon the flames will leap upward to the tops of the tallest trees. About the pond I see maples of all their tints, and black birches (on the southwest side) elear pale yellow; and on the peak young chestnut clumps and walnuts are considerably yellowed. I hear, out toward the middle, or a dozen rods from me, the plashing made apparently by the shiners, — for - they look and shine like them, — leaping in schools on the surface. Many lift themselves quite out for a foot or two, but most rise only part way out, — twenty black points at once. There are several schools indulging in this sport from time to time as they swim slowly along. This I ascertain by paddling out to them. Perhaps they leap and dance in the water just as gnats dance in the air at present. I have seen it before in the fall. Is it peculiar to this season ? Hear a hylodes peeping on shore. A general reddening now of young and scrub oaks. Some chinquapin bright-red. White pines fairly begin to change. The large leaves of some black oak sprouts are dark-purple, almost blackish, above, but greenish beneath. See locust leaves all crisped by frost in Laurel Glen Hollow, but only part way up the bank, as on the shore of a lake.