Thoreau writes in his journal:
Walking through Ebby Hubbard’s wood this afternoon, with Minott, who was actually taking a walk for amusement and exercise, he said, on seeing some white pines blown down, that you might know that ground had been cultivated, by the trees being torn up so, for otherwise they would have rooted themselves more strongly . . . Minott has a story for every woodland path. He has hunted in them all. Where we walked last, he had once caught a partridge by the wing!
7 P. M.—To Conantum.
A still, cold night. The light of the rising moon in the east . . . To-day I heard for the first time this season the crackling, vibrating sound which resounds from thin ice when a stone is cast upon it . . .
