In New England Fields and WoodsRobinson, Rowland Evans
History
In New England Fields and Woods
Robinson, Rowland Evans
Natural history -- New England; Natural history -- Outdoor books
When the crust has invited you forth, you cannot retrace your way upon
it, and the wild snow walkers make no record now of their recent
wanderings. But of those who fared abroad before this solid pavement was
laid upon the snow, fabulous tales are now inscribed upon it. Reading
them without question, you might believe that the well-tamed country
had lapsed into the possession of its ancient savage tenants, for the
track of the fox is as big as a wolf's, the raccoon's as large as a
bear's, the house cat's as broad as the panther's, and those of the
muskrat and mink persuade you to believe that the beaver and otter,
departed a hundred years ago, have come to their own again. Till the
next thaw or snowfall, they are set as indelibly as primeval footprints
in the rocks, and for any scent that tickles the hounds' keen nose,
might be as old. He sniffs them curiously and contemptuously passes on,
yet finds little more promising on footing that retains but for an
instant the subtle trace of reynard's unmarked passage.
The delicate curves and circles that the bent weeds etched on the soft
snow are widened and deepened in rigid grooves, wherein the point that
the fingers of the wind traced them with is frozen fast. Far and wide
from where they fall, all manner of seeds drift across miles of smooth
fields, to spring to life and bloom, by and by, in strange,
unaccustomed places, and brown leaves voyage to where their like was
never grown. The icy knolls shine in the sunlight with dazzling
splendor, like golden islands in a white sea that the north wind stirs
not, and athwart it the low sun and the waning moon cast their long
unrippled glades of gold and silver. Over all winter again holds sway,
but we have once more heard the sound of rain and running brooks and
have been given a promise of spring.
LIV
THE FOX
Among the few survivals of the old untamed world there are left us two
that retain all the raciness of their ancestral wildness.
Their wits have been sharpened by the attrition of civilization, but it
has not smoothed their characteristics down to the level of the
commonplace, nor contaminated them with acquired vices as it has their
ancient contemporary, the Indian. But they are held in widely different
esteem, for while the partridge is in a manner encouraged in
continuance, the fox is an outlaw, with a price set upon his head to
tempt all but his few contemned friends to compass his extermination.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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