Thoreau writes in his journal:
Tapped several white maples with my knife, but find no sap flowing; but, just above Pinxter Swamp, one red maple limb was moistened by sap trickling along the bark . . . As I return by the old Merrick Bath Place, on the river,—for I still travel everywhere on the middle of the river,—the setting sun falls on the osier row toward the road and attracts my attention . . .