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6 July 1856. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  P.M.—To Assabet Bath.

  Campanula aparinoides, roadside opposite centaurea, several days. Early low blueberries ripe.

  Crossed the river at bath place. On the sandy bank opposite, saw a wood tortoise voraciously eating sorrel leaves, under my face. In A. Hosmer’s ice-bared meadow south of Turnpike, hear the distressed or anxious peet of a peetweet . . .

(Journal, 8:401)
6 July 1857. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  Rubus triflorus well ripe. The beach plums have everywhere the crescent-shaped mark made by the curculio,—the few that remain on (Journal, 9:471).
6 July 1858. New Hampshire.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  5.35 A.M.—keep on through North Tamworth, and breakfast by shore of one of the Ossipee Lakes . . .

  We fished in vain in a small clear pond by the roadside in Madison . . .

  Saw the bones of a bear at Wentworth’s house, and camped, rather late, on right-hand side of road just beyond, or a little more than four miles from Jackson . . .

(Journal, 11:11-14)
6 July 1859. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  My English cress (Nasturtium officinale) at Depot Field Brook is in bloom, and has already begun to go to seed, turning purplish, as it withers (from white).

  P.M.—To Lee’s Cliff.

  The fields are now purplish with the anthers of herd’s-grass, which is apparently at its height . . .

  The heart-leaf flower is now very conspicuous and pretty (3 P.M.) in that pool westerly of the old Conantum house . . .

(Journal, 12:223-224)
6 July 1860. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  6 A. M., river two and seven sixteenths above summer level. 7 PM., three and five eighths above summer level . . . (Journal, 13:387).
6 July 1861. Toronto, Ont.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  Goodrich to Toronto. Towns often pretty large in the midst of stumps & no trees set out (Thoreau’s Minnesota Journey, 27).
6 June 1841. Concord, Mass.

Ralph Waldo Emerson writes in his journal:

  Then the good river-god has taken the form of my valiant Henry Thoreau here & introduced me to the riches of his shadowy, starlit, moonlit stream, a lovely new world lying as close & yet as unknown to this vulgar trite one of streets and shops as death to life, or poetry to prose. Through one field only we went to the boat & then left all time, all science, all history, behind us, and entered in Nature with one stroke of a paddle. Take care, good friend! I said, as I looked west into the sunset overhead & underneath, & he with his face toward me rowed towards it,—take care; you know not what you do, dipping your wooden oar into this enchanted liquid, painted with all reds & purples & yellows which glows under & behind you. Presently this glory faded & the stars came and said “Here we are,” & began to cast such private & ineffable beams as to stop all conversation. A holiday, a villeggiatura, a royal revel, the proudest, most magnificent, most heart rejoicing festival that valor & beauty, power & poetry ever decked & enjoyed—it is here, it is this.
(The Journals and Miscellaneous Notebooks of Ralph Waldo Emerson, 7:454-455)
6 June 1851. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  Gathered to-night the Cicuta maculata, American hemlock, the veins of the leaflets ending in the notches and the root fasciculated (Journal, 2:227-228).
6 June 1852. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  Sunday. First devil’s-needles in the air, and some smaller, bright-green ones on flowers. The earliest blueberries are now forming as greenberries . . . (Journal, 4:83).
6 June 1853. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  4.30 A.M.—To Linnæa Woods.

  Famous place for tanagers. Considerable fog on river. Few sights more exhilarating than one of these banks of fog lying along a stream. The linnæa just out. Corydalis glauca, a delicate glaucous plant rarely met with, with delicate flesh-colored and yellow flowers, covered with a glaucous bloom, on dry, rocky hills. Perhaps it suggests gentility . . .

  P.M.—To Conantum by boat.

  The Potamogeton [a blank space] out two or three days, probably. The small primrose out at Hubbard’s Swimming-Place, drooping at top like a smilacina’s leaves. Blue-eyed grass now begins to give that slatyblue tint to meadows. A breezy day, a June wind showing the under sides of leaves. The now red round white lily pads are now very numerous and conspicuous, red more or less on both sides and, with the yellow ‘lily pads, turned up by the wind. In ‘May and June we have breezes which, for the most part, are not too cold but exhilarating . . .

(Journal, 5:225-228)

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