15 January 1855 – 21 January 1855

P. M.—Skated to Bedford. It had just been snowing, and this lay in shallow drifts or waves on the Great Meadows, alternate snow and ice. Skated into a crack, and slid on my side twenty-five feet. The river-channel dark and rough with fragments of old ice, — polygons of various forms, — cemented together, not strong.

To Cambridge and Boston. Carried to Harris the worms — brown, light-striped — and fuzzy black caterpillars (he calls the first also caterpillars); also two black beetles; all which I have found within a week or two on ice and snow; thickest in a thaw. Showed me, in a German work, plates of the larvee of dragon-flies and ephemere, such as I see —or their cases — on rushes, etc., over water. Says the ant-lion is found at Burlington, Vermont, and may be at Concord. I can buy Indian coats in Milk Street from three and a half to six dollars, depending on the length; also leggins from $1.50 to three or more dollars, also depending on the length. Saw a Nantucket man, who said that their waters were not so good as the south side of Long Island to steer in by sounding. Off Long Island it deepened a mile every fathom for at least forty miles, as he had proved, — perhaps eighty; but at Barnegat it was not so.

7 a. M.— Yesterday it rained hard all day, washing off the little snow that was left down to the ice, the gutters being good-sized mill-brooks and the water over shoes in the middle of the road. In the night it turned to snow, which still falls, and now covers the wet ground three or four inches deep. It is a very damp snow or sleet, perhaps mixed with rain, which the strong northwest wind plasters to that side of the trees and houses. I never saw the blue in snow so bright as this damp, dark, stormy morning at 7 a. M., as I was coming down the railroad. I did not have to make a hole in it, but I saw it some rods off in the deep, narrow ravines of the drifts and under their edges or eaves, like the serenest blue of heaven, though the sky was, of course, wholly concealed by the driving snow-storm; suggesting that in darkest storms we may still have the hue of heaven in us. At noon it is still a driving snow-storm, and a little flock of redpolls is busily picking the seeds of the pig- weed, etc., in the garden. Almost all have more or less crimson; a few are very splendid, with their par- ticularly bright crimson breasts. 'The white on the edge of their wing-coverts is very conspicuous. P. M.— The damp snow still drives from the northwest nearly horizontally over the fields, while I go with C. toward the Cliffs and Walden. There is not a single fresh track on the back road, and the aspect of the road and trees and houses is very wintry. Though considerable snow has fallen, it lies chiefly in drifts under the walls. We went through the Spring Woods, over the Cliff, by the wood-path at its base to Walden, and thence by the path to Brister’s Hill, and by road home. It was worth the while to see what a burden of damp snow lay on the trees notwithstand- ing the wind. Pitch pines were bowed to the ground with it, and birches also, and white oaks. I saw one of the last, at least twenty-five feet high, splintered near the ground past recovery. All kinds of evergreens, and oaks which retain their leaves, and birches which do not, up to twenty-five feet or more in height, were bent to the earth, and these novel but graceful curves were a new feature in the woodland scenery. Young white pines often stood draped in robes of purest white, emblems of purity, like a maiden that has taken the veil, with their heads slightly bowed and their main stems slanting to one side, like travellers bend- ing to meet the storm with their heads muffled in their cloaks. The windward side of the wood, and the very tops of the trees everywhere, for the most part, were com- paratively bare, but within the woods the whole lower two thirds of the trees were laden with the snowy burden which had sifted down on to them. The snow, a little damp, had lodged not only on the oak leaves and the evergreens, but on every twig and branch, and stood in upright walls or ruffs five or six inches high, like miniature Chinese walls, zigzag over hill and dale, making more conspicuous than ever the arrangement and the multitude of the twigs and branches; and the trunks also being plastered with snow, a peculiar soft light was diffused around, very unlike the ordinary darkness of the forest, as if you were inside a drift or snow house. ‘This even when you stood on the windward side. In most directions you could not see more than four or five rods into this labyrinth or maze of white arms. This is to be in- sisted on. On every side it was like a snow-drift that lay loose to that height. They were so thick that they left no crevice through which the eye could penetrate further. The path was for the most part blocked up with the trees bent to the ground, which we were obliged to go round by zigzag paths in the woods, or carefully creep under at the risk of getting our necks filled with an avalanche of snow. In many places the path was shut up by as dense a labyrinth, high as the tree-tops and impermeable to vision, as if there had never been a path there. Often we touched a tree with our foot or shook it with our hand, and so relieved it of a part of its burden, and, rising a little, it made room for us to pass beneath. Often singular portals and winding passages were left between the pitch pines, through [which], stooping and grazing the touchy walls, we made our way. Where the path was open in the midst of the woods, the snow was about seven or eight inches deep. ‘The trunks of the trees so uni- formly covered on the northerly side, as happens fre- quently every winter, and sometimes continuing so for weeks, suggested that this might be a principal reason why the lichens watered by the melting snow flourished there most. The snow lay in great continu- ous masses on the pitch pines and the white, not only like napkins, but great white table-spreads and coun- terpanes, when you looked off at the wood from a little distance. Looking thus up at the Cliff, I could not tell where it lay an unbroken mass on the smooth rock, and where on the trees, it was so massed on the last also. White pines were changed into firs by it, and the limbs and twigs of some large ones were so matted together by the weight that they looked like immense solid fungi on the side of the trees, or those nests of the social grosbeak (?)? of Africa which I have seen represented. Some white pine boughs hung down like fans or the webbed feet of birds. On some pitch pines it lay in fruit-like balls as big as one’s head, like cocoanuts. Where the various oaks were bent down, the contrast of colors of the snow and oak leaves and the softened tints through the transparent snow — often a delicate fawn-color — were very agree- able. As we returned over the Walden road the damp, driving snowflakes, when we turned partly round and faced them, hurt our eyeballs as if they had been dry scales.? It may be that the linarias come into the gardens now not only because all nature is a wilderness to-day, but because the woods where the wind has not free play are so snowed up, the twigs are so deeply covered, that they cannot readily come at their food. In many ? [The sociable weaver-bird is doubtless referred to.] ? (Channing, p. 112.] places single trees, or clumps of two or three drooping and massed together by the superincumbent weight, made a sort of roof, tent-like, under which you might take shelter. Under one pitch pine, which shut down to the ground on every side, you could not see the sky at all, but sat in a gloomy light as in a tent. We saw only one indistinct, snow-covered trail of an animal. Where are the crows now? I never see them at such a time. The water of yesterday is very high now on the meadows over the ice, but the snow has mingled with it so densely that it is mere slosh now. The channel ice is lifted up by the freshet, and there is dry white snow, but on each side are broad dirty or yellowish green strips of slosh. Whence comes this green color? One of the first snows of the winter was a similar damp one which lodged on the trees and broke them down. And the sides of woodland roads were strewn with birch-tops which had obstructed the way and which travellers had been obliged to cut off. There are plenty of those shell-like drifts along the south sides of the walls now. There are countless perforations ! through which the fine snow drives and blinds you. It was surprising to see what a burden of snow had lodged on the trees, especially the pitch pines in se- cluded dells in the woods out of the way of the wind. White oaks also, six inches in diameter and twenty- five feet high, were bent to the ground and sometimes broken or splintered by it. Maybe the white oaks are more flexible than the others, or their leaves are higher up and they are more slender below. Some are split in the crotch. It lay on the smaller shrubs and bushes through which you walked, like lightest down, only the lightest part sifting down there. The houses have that peculiarly wintry aspect now on the west side, being all plastered over with snow adhering to the clapboards and half concealing the doors and windows. The trees were everywhere bent into the path like bows tautly strung, and you had only to shake them with your hand or foot, when they rose up and made way for you. You went winding between and stooping or creeping under them, fearing to touch them, lest they should relieve themselves of their burden and let fall an avalanche or shower of snow on to you. Ever and anon the wind shook down a shower from high trees. You would not have believed there were so many twigs and branches in a wood as were re- vealed by the snow resting on them; perfect walls of snow; no place for a bird to perch.'

Our lesser redpoll is said to be the same with the European, which is called Le Sazerin by Buffon. (This in Bewick.) I heard its mew about the house early this morning before sunrise. In many instances the snow had lodged on trees yesterday in just such forms as a white napkin or counterpane dropped on them would take, — pro- tuberant in the middle, with many folds and dimples. An ordinary leafless bush supported so much snow ! Vide 20th and 26th inet. | on its twigs — a perfect maze like a whirligig, though not in one solid mass — that you could not see through it. We heard only a few chic-a-dees. Sometimes the snow on the bent pitch pines made me think of rams’ or elephants’ heads, ready to butt you. In particu- lar places, standing on their snowiest side, the woods were incredibly fair, white as alabaster. Indeed the young pines reminded you of the purest statuary, and the stately full-grown ones towering around affected you as if you stood in a titanic sculptor’s studio, so purely and delicately white, transmitting the lght, their dark trunks all concealed. And in many places, where the snow lay on withered oak leaves between you and the light, various delicate fawn-colored and cinnamon tints, blending with the white, still enhanced the beauty. A fine, clear day, not very cold. P. M.— To Conantum and C. Miles place with Tappan. There was a high wind last night, which reheved the trees of their burden almost entirely, but I may still see the drifts. The surface of the snow everywhere in the fields, where it is hard blown, has a fine grain with low shelves, like a slate stone that does not split well. We cross the fields behind Hubbard’s and sud- denly slump into dry ditches concealed by the snow, up to the middle, and flounder out again. How new all things seem! Here is a broad, shallow pool in the fields, which yesterday was slosh, now converted into a soft, white, fleecy snow ice, like bread that has spewed. out and baked outside the pan. It is like the beginning of the world. There is nothing hackneyed where a new snow can come and cover all the land- scape. The snow lies chiefly behind the walls. It is surprising how much a straggling rail fence detains it, and it forms a broad, low swell beyond it, two or three rods wide, also just beyond the brow of a hill where it begins to slope to the south. You can tell by the ridges of the drifts on the south side of the walls which way the wind was. They all run from north to south; 2. e., the common drift is divided into ridges or plaits in this direction, frequently down to the ground between; which separate drifts are of graceful out- lines somewhat like fishes, with a sharp ridge or fin gracefully curved, both as you look from one side and down on them, their sides curving like waves about to break. The thin edge of some of these drifts at the wall end, where the air has come through the wall and made an eddy, are remarkably curved, like some shells, even thus, more than once round:’ I would not have believed it. The world is not only new to the eye, but is still as at creation; every blade and leaf is hushed: not a bird or insect is heard: only, perchance, a faint tinkling sleigh-bell in the dis- tance. As there was water on the ice of the river, which the snow converted into slosh, now, frozen, it looks like fleece. The snow still adheres conspicuously to the north- west sides of the stems of the trees quite up to their summits, with a remarkably sharp edge in that direc- 1855 | A PLEASING STRUCTURE 125 tion, — in a horizontal section like this: It would be about as good as a compass to steer fe by in a cloudy day or by night. You see where the trees have deposited their load on the snow beneath, making it uneven. Saw suddenly, directly overhead, a remarkable mackerel sky, with peculiarly soft, large flakes, — poly- hedrons, — showing the celestial blue between them, soft and duskyish, like new steam. This covered the greater part of the sky. In the zenith, a more leaden blue; in the crevices on the sides, a more celestial. This was just beyond the Holden Swamp. We ad- mired the C. Miles elms, their strong branches now more conspicuous, zigzag or gracefully curved. We came upon the tracks of a man and dog, which I guessed to be Channing’s. Further still, a mile and a half from home, as I was showing to T. under a bank the single flesh-colored or pink apothecium of a bseomyces which was not covered by the snow, I saw the print of C.’s foot by its side and knew that his eyes had rested on it that afternoon. It was about the size of a pin’s head. Saw also where he had exam- ined the lichens on the rails. Now the mackerel sky was gone and all was clear again, and I could hardly realize that low, dark stratum far in the east was it, still delighting, perchance, some sailor on the Atlantic, in whose zenith it was, whose sky it occupied. T. admired much the addition to the red house, with its steep bevelled roof. Thought he should send Mr. Upjohn to see it. The whole house, methought, was well planted, rested solidly on the earth, with its great bank (green in summer) and few stately elms before, it [was] so much simpler and more attractive than a front yard with its knickknacks. To contrast with this pleasing structure, which is painted a whole- some red, was a modern addition in the rear, * perhaps no uglier than usual, only by contrast, — @¥} such an outline alone as our carpenters have learned to produce. I see that I cannot draw anything so bad as the reality. So you will often see an ugly new barn beside a pleasing old house. Causeways are no sooner made than the swamp white oak springs up by their sides, its acorns prob- ably washed there by the freshets. © In Sagard’s History I read, “The villager did not wish to hear the Huguenot minister, saying that there was not yet any ivy on the walls of his church, and that ours were all gray with age” (chenues de vieil- lesse). The walls of the Protestant church in their turn have now got some ivy on them, and the villager does not wish to hear the preacher of any new church which has not. In Bewick’s Birds it is said of the night-jar (also called goat-sucker, dor-hawk, or fern owl) (Capri- mulgus Europeus), — E’Engoulevent (Buffon): “When perched the Night-Jar sits usually on a bare twig, its head lower than its tail, and in this attitude utters its jarring note [“by which,” he says elsewhere, “it is peculiarly distinguished ’’].' It is likewise distinguished by a sort of buzzing which it makes while on the wing, and which has been compared to the noise caused by the quick rotation of a spinning-wheel, from which, in some places, it is called the Wheel Bird.” “It is seldom seen in the daytime.” This last sound is apparently the same which I hear our whip-poor-will make, and which I do not remember to have heard described.’ On the sides of dry hills the dried heads of the hard- hack, rising above the snow, are very perfect and handsome now. I think it may be owing to the drought of the last summer, which caused them to dry up pre- maturely, but before they began to be brittle and to crumble. This on the first cladonia pasture of Conan- tum. I sit there looking up at the mackerel sky and also at the neighboring wood so suddenly relieved of its snowy burden. The pines — mostly white — have at this season a warm brown or yellowish tinge, and the oaks — chiefly young white ones — are compara- tively red. ‘The black oak I see is more yellowish. You have these colors of the evergreens and oaks in winter for warmth and contrast with the snow. Seeds are still left on the birches, which, after each new snow, are sprinkled over its surface, apparently to keep the birds supplied with food. You see where yesterday’s snowy billows have broken at last in the sun or by their own weight, their curling edges fallen and crumbled on the snow beneath. I see the tracks of countless little birds, probably redpolls, where these have run over broad pastures and visited every weed, —johnswort and coarse grasses, — whose oat-like seed-scales or hulls they have scattered about. It is surprising they did not sink deeper in the light snow. Often the impression is so faint that they seem to have been supported by their wings. The pines and oaks in the deepest hollows in the woods still support some snow, but especially the low swamps are half filled with snow to the height of ten feet, resting on the bent underwood, as if affording covert to wolves. Very musical and even sweet now, like a horn, is the hounding of a foxhound heard now in some dis- tant wood, while I stand listening in some far solitary and silent field. T doubt if I can convey an idea of the appearance of the woods yesterday, as you stood in their midst and looked round on their boughs and twigs laden with snow. It seemed as if there could have been none left to reach the ground. These countless zigzag white arms crossing each other at every possible angle com- pletely closed up the view, hke a light drift within three or four rods on every side. The wintriest prospect imaginable. That snow which sifted down into the wood-path was much drier and lighter than elsewhere.

2.30 p. m.— The sky has gradually become overcast, and now it is just beginning to snow. Looking against a dark roof, I detect a single flake from time to time, but when I look at the dark side of the woods two miles off in the horizon, there already is seen a slight thickness or mistiness in the air. In this way, perhaps, may it first be detected. P. M.— To Andromeda Ponds via railroad; re- turn by base of Cliffs. The snow is turning to rain through a fine hail. Pines and oaks seen at a distance — say two miles off — are considerably blended and make one har- monious impression. ‘The former, if you attend, are seen to be of a blue or misty black, and the latter form commonly a reddish-brown ground out of which the former rise.. These colors are no longer in strong contrast with each other. Few twigs are conspicuous at a distance like those of the golden willow. The tree is easily distinguished at a distance by its color. Saw in an old white pine stump, about fifteen inches from the ground, a hole pecked about an inch and a half in diameter. It was about six inches deep down- ward in the rotten stump and was bottomed with hyp- num, rabbit’s fur, and hair, and a little dry grass. Was it a mouse-nest? or a nuthatch’s, creeper’s, or chicka- dee’s nest ?? It has a slight musky smell.