Journal 02, 1850-September 15, 1851: The Writings of Henry David Thoreau, Volume 08 (of 20)Thoreau, Henry David
Religion
Journal 02, 1850-September 15, 1851: The Writings of Henry David Thoreau, Volume 08 (of 20)
Thoreau, Henry David
Authors, American -- 19th century -- Diaries; Thoreau, Henry David, 1817-1862 -- Diaries
There is a little grove in a swampy place in Conantum where some
rare things grow,—several bass trees, two kinds of ash, sassafras,
maidenhair fern, the white-berried plant (ivory?), etc., etc., and the
sweet viburnum (?) in the hedge near by.
This will be called the wet year of 1850. The river is as high now,
September 9th, as in the spring, and hence the prospects and the
reflections seen from the village are something novel.
* * * * *
Roman wormwood, pigweed, amaranth, polygonum, and one or two coarse
kinds of grass reign now in the cultivated fields.
Though the potatoes have man with all his implements on their side,
these rowdy and rampant weeds completely bury them, between the last
hoeing and the digging. The potatoes hardly succeed with the utmost
care: these weeds only ask to be _let alone_ a little while. I judge
that they have not got the rot. I sympathize with all this luxuriant
growth of weeds. Such is the year. The weeds grow as if in sport and
frolic.
* * * * *
You might say green as green-briar.
I do not know whether the practice of putting indigo-weed about horses’
tackling to keep off flies is well founded, but I hope it is, for I
have been pleased to notice that wherever I have occasion to tie a
horse I am sure to find indigo-weed not far off, and therefore this,
which is so universally dispersed, would be the fittest weed for this
purpose.
The thistle is now in bloom, which every child is eager to clutch
once,—just a child’s handful.
* * * * *
The prunella, self-heal, small purplish-flowered plant of low grounds.
* * * * *
Charles[55] grew up to be a remarkably eccentric man. He was of large
frame, athletic, and celebrated for his feats of strength. His lungs
were proportionally strong. There was a man who heard him named once,
and asked if it was the same Charles Dunbar whom he remembered when he
was a little boy walking on the coast of Maine. A man came down to the
shore and hailed a vessel that was sailing by. He should never forget
that man’s name.
* * * * *
It was well grassed, and delicate flowers grew in the middle of the
road.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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