19 March 1855 – 25 March 1855

A fine clear and warm day for the season. Launched my boat. P. M. — Paddled to Fair Haven Pond.

A flurry of snow at 7 a.m. I go to turn my boat up. Four or five song sparrows are flitting along amid the willows by the waterside. Probably they came yesterday with the bluebirds. From dis- tant trees and bushes I hear a faint tinkling te te te te té and at last a full strain whose rhythm is whit whit whit, ter tche, tchear tche, deliberately sung, or measuredly, while the falling snow is beginning to whiten the ground, —not discouraged by such a reception. The blue- bird, too, is in the air, and I detect its blue back for a moment upon a picket. It is remarkable by what a gradation of days which we call pleasant and warm, beginning in the last of February, we come at last to real summer warmth. At first a sunny, calm, serene winter day is pronounced spring, or reminds us of it; and even the first pleasant spring day perhaps we walk with our greatcoat buttoned up and gloves on. Trying the other day to imitate the honking of geese, I found myself flapping my sides with my elbows, as with wings, and uttering something like the syllables mow-ack with a nasal twang and twist in my head; and I produced their note so perfectly in the opinion of the hearers that I thought I might possibly draw a flock down. Pp. M. — Up Assabet. It soon cleared off in the morning, and proved a fair but windy day. I see a willow six inches in diameter which was broken down by the ice, and some birches up the Assabet, which had previously been bent over the stream, were broken off ten feet from the ground. I notice this havoc along the stream on making my first voyages on it. The ice either freezes to the alders, etc., one half to two thirds up them, and — settling, breaks them lower down, settling upon them, or else freezes to drooping limbs and so pulls them down. As I look into the low woods or swamp on each side, I see the trees, especially rough-barked ones like the black willow, swamp white oak, and elm, chafed white to the height of three or four feet, sometimes the bark worn off, and, the maples, birches, etc., being also divested of their lichens, you see exactly the height at which the water stood when it froze. ‘The lower twigs of swamp white oaks over the water are, as it were, nibbled off by the ice. Were those rocks by the shore this side the Leaning Hemlocks placed there by the ice ?

6.30 a. M.— To Swamp Bridge Brook. Clear, but a very cold westerly wind this morning. Ground frozen very hard. Yet the song sparrows are heard from the willow and alder rows. Hear a lark far off in the meadow. P. M. — To Bare Hill by railroad. Early willow and aspen catkins are very conspicu- ous now. The silvery down of the former has in some places crept forth from beneath its scales a third of an inch at least. This increased silveriness was ob- vious, I think, about the first of March, perhaps ear- lier. It appears to be a very gradual expansion, which begins in the warm days of winter. It would be well to observe them once a fortnight through the winter. It is the first decided growth I have noticed, and is probably a month old. The song sparrow is now seen dodging behind the wall, with a quirk of its tail, or flitting along the alders or other bushes by the side of the road, especially in low ground, and its pleasant strain is heard at intervals in spite of the cold and blustering wind. It is the most steady and resolute singer as yet, its strain being heard at intervals throughout the day, more than any as yet peopling the hedgerows. There is no opening in Flint’s Pond except a very little around the boat-house. The tree sparrow, flitting song-sparrow-like through the alders, utters a sharp metallic tcheep. In the hollow behind Britton’s Camp, I see seven mouse-holes — probably Mus leucopus — around an old oak stump, all within a foot of it, and many of their droppings at each hole and where they have gnawed off the grass, and indistinct galleries in the grass, extending three or four feet on every side. I see red maple sap oozing out and wetting the young trees where there is no obvious wound. Crossed Goose Pond on ice.

6.30 a. mM. — To Hill. Overcast and cold. Yet there is quite a concert of birds along the river; the song sparrows are very lively and musical, and the blackbirds already sing o0-gurgle- ee-e-e from time to time on the top of a willow or elm or maple, but oftener a sharp, shrill whistle or a tchuck. I also hear a short, regular robin song, though many are flitting about with hurried note. The bluebird faintly warbles, with such ventriloquism that I thought him further off. He requires a warmer air. The jays scream. I hear the downy woodpecker’s rapid tapping and my first distinct spring note (phe-be) of the chick- adee. : The river has skimmed over a rod in breadth along the sides. Saw a heavy-flapping, bittern-like bird flying northeast. It was small for a fish hawk. Can it be the stake-driver?? or a gull? A (probably meadow) mouse nest in the low mea- dow by stone bridge, where it must have been covered with water a month ago; probably made in fall. Low in the grass, a little dome four inches in diameter, with no sign of entrance, it being very low on one side. Made of fine meadow-grass. Though there was a clear strip in the west only about three times the height of the mountains, and much less in the east, I saw the sun shining on the Peterboro mountains while we had not had a ray from him. Did the rays. at this hour (seven) pass over the clouds which shaded us? ‘They may have passed further north than the clouds reached, for there seemed a lifting in the horizon there. P. M. — Fair Haven Pond via Conantum. Caught a salamander in the spring-hole in the brook behind Hubbard’s. It was lying on the mud in water as if basking. I have not yet identified it. It has no bright spots, being uniformly dark above, except to a microscope, beneath bluish-slate, beneath and sides of tail dull-golden. Three and a quarter inches long ; tail alone one and a half plus; a dozen or more marks as of ribs on each side. Under microscope all above very finely sprinkled black and light brown, — hard to tell which the ground. Somewhat like Salamandra dorsalis, but not granulated nor ocellated with vermil- ion spots. Irides dull-golden. Last five-eighths inch of tail lighter-colored. I have noticed crows in the meadows ever since they were first partially bare, three weeks ago. I hear a song sparrow on an alder-top sing oz ozit oze-e-e | (quick) tchip tchip tchip tchip tchay | te tchip ter che ter tchay; also the same shortened and very much varied. Heard one sing uninterruptedly, 2. e. without a pause, almost a minute. I crossed Fair Haven Pond, including the river, on the ice, and probably can for three or four days yet. C. says he has already seen a little dipper. How long? Going [along] the steep side-hill on the south of the pond about 4 p. m., on the edge of the little patch of wood which the choppers have not yet levelled, — though they have felled many an acre around it this winter, —-I observed a rotten and hollow hemlock stump about two feet high and six inches in diameter, and instinctively approached with my right hand ready to cover it. I found a flying squirrel in it, which, as my left hand had covered a small hole at the bottom, ran directly into my right hand. It struggled and bit not a little, but my cotton glove protected me, and I felt its teeth only once or twice. It also uttered three or four dry shrieks at first, something like cr-r-rack er-r-r-ack cr-r-r-ack. I rolled it up in my handkerchief and, holding the ends tight, carried it home in my hand, some three miles. It struggled more or less all the way, especially when my feet made any unusual or louder noise going through leaves or bushes. I could count its claws as they appeared through the handkerchief, and once it got its head out a hole. It even bit through the handkerchief. Color, as I remember, above a chestnut ash, inclin- ing to fawn or cream color (?), slightly browned; be- neath white, the under edge of its wings (?) tinged yellow, the upper dark, perhaps black, making a dark stripe. Audubon and Bachman do not speak of any such stripe! It was a very cunning little animal, re- minding me of a mouse in the room. Its very large and prominent black eyes gave it an interesting inno- cent look. Its very neat flat, fawn-colored, distichous tail was a great ornament. Its “sails” were not very obvious when it was at rest, merely giving it a flat appearance beneath. It would leap off and upward into the air two or three feet from a table, spreading its “sails,” and fall to the floor in vain; perhaps strike the side of the room in its upward spring and endeavor to cling to it. It would run up the window by the sash, but evidently found the furniture and walls and floor too hard and smooth for it and after some falls became quiet. In a few moments it allowed me to stroke it, though far from confident. I put it in a barrel and covered it for the night. It was quite busy all the evening gnawing out, clinging for this purpose and gnawing at the upper edge of a sound oak barrel, and then dropping to rest from time to time. It had defaced the barrel considerably by morn- ing, and would probably have escaped if I had not placed a piece of iron against the gnawed part. I had left in the barrel some bread, apple, shagbarks, and cheese. It ate some of the apple and one shagbark, cutting it quite in two transversely. In the morning it was quiet, and squatted some- what curled up amid the straw, with its tail passing under it and the end curled over its head very prettily, as if to shield it from the light and keep it warm. I always found it in this position by day when I raised the lid.

P. M. —'To Fair Haven Pond. Carried my flying squirrel back to the woods in my handkerchief. I placed it, about 3.30 Pp. M., on the very stump I had taken it from. It immediately ran about a rod over the leaves and up a slender maple sapling about ten feet, then after a moment’s pause sprang off and skimmed downward toward a large maple nine feet distant, whose trunk it struck three or four feet from the ground. This it rapidly ascended, on the opposite side from me, nearly thirty feet, and there clung to the main stem with its head downward, eying me. After two or three minutes’ pause I saw that it Was preparing for another spring by raising its head and looking off, and away it went in admirable style, more like a bird than any quadruped I had dreamed of and far surpassing the impression I had received from naturalists’ accounts.!. I marked the spot it started from and the place where it struck, and mea- sured the height and distance carefully. It sprang off from the maple at the height of twenty-eight and a half feet, and struck the ground at the foot of a tree fifty and a half feet distant, measured horizontally. Its flight was not a regular descent; it varied from a direct line both horizontally and vertically. Indeed it skimmed much like a hawk and part of its flight was nearly honzontal, and it diverged from a right line eight or ten feet to the right, making a curve in that direction. There were six trees from six inches to a foot in diameter, one a hemlock, in a direct line be- tween the two termini, and these it skimmed partly round, and passed through their thinner limbs; did not as I could perceive touch a twig. It skimmed its way like a hawk between and around the trees. Though it was a windy day, this was on a steep hillside away from the wind and covered with wood, so it was not aided by that. As the ground rose about two feet, the distance was to the absolute height as fifty and a half to twenty-six and a half, or it advanced about two feet for every one foot of descent. After its vain attempts in the house, I was not prepared for this exhibition. It did not fall heavily as in the house, but struck the ground gently enough, and I cannot believe that the mere extension of the skin enabled it to skim so far. It must be still further aided by its organization. Perhaps it fills itself with air first. Per- haps I had a fairer view than common of its flight, now at 3.30 p.m. Audubon and Bachman say he saw it skim “about fifty yards,” curving upwards at the end and alighting on the trunk of a tree. This in a meadow in which were scattered oaks and beeches. ‘This near Philadelphia. Wesson [?] says he has seen them fly five or six rods. Kicking over the hemlock stump, which was a mere shell with holes below, and a poor refuge, I was sur- prised to find a little nest at the bottom, open above just like a bird’s nest, a mere bed. It was composed of leaves, shreds of bark, and dead pine-needles. As { remember, it was not more than an inch and a half broad when at rest, but when skimming through the air I should say it was four inches broad. This is the impression I now have. Captain John Smith says it is said to fly thirty or forty yards. Audubon and Bachman quote one Gideon B. Smith, M. D., of Baltimore, who has had much to do with these squirrels and speaks of their curving upward at the end of their flight to alight on a tree-trunk and of their “flying” into his windows. In order to perform all these flights, — to strike a tree at such a distance, etc., etc., —it is evident it must be able to steer. I should say that mine steered as a hawk that moves without flapping its wings, never being able, however, to get a new impetus after the first spring. C. saw geese to-night.

I think that the celandine started as early as the 10th of March and has since been nibbled off by hens, etc., for it shows more green but [is] not longer. P. M. — Up Assabet by boat.