Pastoral Days; or, Memories of a New England YearGibson, W. Hamilton (William Hamilton)
History
Pastoral Days; or, Memories of a New England Year
Gibson, W. Hamilton (William Hamilton)
Natural history -- New England; Natural history -- Outdoor books
No one ever sees the full charm of the forest who turns his back upon it
in the winter, for its clear-cut tree-forms are an unceasing delight and
wonder. Look at the exquisite lines of that drooping birch, the
intricate interlacing tracery of the minute branching twigs! Could
anything be more graceful or more chaste? could any covering of leaves
enhance its beauty? And so the apple-tree by the old stone wall--how
different its various angles! how individual in its character! how
beautiful its silhouette against the sky! Thus every separate tree
affords a perfect study, of infinite design. See that mottled beech
trunk yonder. What! never noticed it before? That was because its
drooping leaf-clad branches concealed its beauty; but now not only does
it emerge from its wonted obscurity, but the whiteness of the snowy
ground beyond gives added value to every subtle tint upon its dappled
surface. Step nearer. With what variety of exquisite tender grays has
nature painted the clean smooth bark! See those marbled variegations,
each spot with a distinct tint of its own, and each tint composed of a
multitude of microscopic points of color. Here we see a fimbriated
blotch of dark olive moss, spreading its intertwining rootlets in all
directions, and further up a spongy tuft of rich brown lichen tipped
with snow. Who could pass by unnoticed such a refined and exquisite bit
of painting as this? And yet they abound on every side. See the shingly
shagbark, with its mottlings of pale green lichen and orange spots, its
jagged outline so perfectly relieved against the snow, and, beyond, that
group of rock-maples, with its bold contrasts of deep green moss, and
striped tints of most varied shades, from lightest drab to deepest
brown. And there is the yellow birch with its tight-wound bark, fringed
with ravellings of buff-colored satin. Here we come upon a clump of
chestnuts, their cool trunks set off in bold relief against a background
of dark hemlocks, whose outer branches, clothed in snow, like tufted
mittens, hang low upon the ground.
[Illustration: THE WINTER’S DARLING.]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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