This venerable chestnut2 tree, with its deeply furrowed3, shadow-haunted, lichen-covered bark of soft, lovely grays and grayish greens, is as stately and handsome as ever. How often I have stopped to admire it, summer and winter, especially in late afternoon, when the level sunlight gives it a beauty beyond the reach of words. Many a time I have gone out of my way to see it, as I would have gone to see some remembered landscape by a great painter.
There is no feeling proud in such company. Anything that can stand still and grow, filling its allotted4 place and contented5 to fill it, is enough to put our futile6 human restlessness to the blush. The wind has long ago blown away some of its branches, but it does not mind. It is busy with its year’s work. I see the young burrs, no bigger than the end of my little finger. When the nuts are ripe the tree will let them fall and think no more about them. How different from a man! When he does a good thing, if by chance he ever does, he must put his hands behind his ears in hopes to hear somebody praising him. Mountains and trees make me humble7. I feel like a poor relation.
The pitch-pines are no longer at their best estate. They are brightest when we need their brightness most, in late winter and early spring. This year, at least, the summer sun has faded them badly; but their fragrance8 is like an elixir9. It is one of the glories of pine needles, one of the things in which they excel the rest of us, that they smell sweet, not “in the dust” exactly, but after they are dead.
A nuthatch in one of the trees calls “Tut, tut, tut,” and is so near me that I hear his claws scratching over the dry bark. A busy and cheerful body. Just beyond him a scarlet10 tanager is posed on a low, leafless twig11. Like the pine leaves, he looks out of condition. I am sure I have seen brighter ones. He is silent, but his mate, somewhere in the oak branches over my head, keeps up an emphatic12 chip-cherr, chip-cherr. Yes, I see her now, and the red one has gone up to perch13 at her side. She cocks her head, looking at me first out of one eye and then out of the other, and repeats the operation two or three times, like a puzzled microscopist squinting14 at a doubtful specimen15; and all the while she continues to call, though I know nothing of what she means. Once her mate approaches too near, and she opens her bill at him in silence. He understands the sign and keeps his distance. I admire his spirit. It is better than taking a city.
The earliest of the yellow gerardias is in bloom, and a pretty desmodium, also (D. nudiflorum), with a loose raceme of small pink flowers, like miniature sweet-pea blossoms, on a slender leafless stalk. These are in the wood, amidst the underbrush. As I come out into a dry, grassy16 field I find the meadow-beauty; an odd creature, with a tangle17 of long stamens; bright-colored, showy in its intention, so to speak, but rather curious than beautiful, in spite of its name; especially because the petals18 have not the grace to fall when they are done, but hang, withered19 and discolored, to spoil the grace of later comers. The prettiest thing about it all, after the freshly opened first flower, is the urn-shaped capsule. That, to me, is of really classic elegance20.
Now I have crossed the road and am seated on a chestnut stump21, with my back against a tree, on the edge of a broad, rolling, closely cropped cattle pasture, a piece of genuine New England. Scattered22 loosely over it are young, straight, slender-waisted, shoulder-high cedars23, and on my right hand is a big patch of hardhack, growing in tufts of a dozen stalks each, every one tipped with an arrow-head of pink blossoms. The whole pasture is full of sunshine. Down at the lower end is a long, narrow, irregular-shaped pond. I cannot see it because of a natural hedge against the fence-row on my left; but somehow the landscape takes an added beauty from the water’s presence. The truth is, perhaps, that I do see it.
High overhead a few barn swallows and chimney swifts are scaling, each with happy-sounding twitters after its kind. A jay screams, but so far off as merely to emphasize the stillness. Once in a while a song sparrow pipes; a cheerful, honest voice. When there is nothing better to do I look at the hardhack. The spiræas are a fine set; many of them are honored in gardens; but few are more to my liking24, after all, than this old friend (and enemy) of my boyhood. Whether it is really useful as an herb out of which to make medicinal “tea” I feel no competency to say, though I have drunk my share of the decoction. It is not a virulent25 poison: so much I feel reasonably sure of. Hardhack, thoroughwort, and pennyroyal,—with the o left out,—these were the family herbalist’s trinity in my day. Now, in these better times of pellets and homœopathic allopathy, children hardly know what medicine-taking means. We remember, we of an older generation. “Pinch your nose and swallow it, and I will give you a cent.” Does that sound vulgar in the nice ears of modern readers? Well, we earned our money.
Now an oriole’s clear August fife is heard. A short month, and he will be gone. And hark! A most exquisite26 strain by one of the best of field sparrows. I have never found an adjective quite good enough for that bit of common music. I believe there is none. Nor can I think of any at this moment with which to express the beauty of this summer afternoon. Fairer weather was never seen in any corner of the world. Four crows fly over the field in company. The hindmost of them has a hard time with a redwing, which strikes again and again. “Give it to him!” say I. Between crow and man I am for the crow; but between the crow and the smaller bird I am always for the smaller bird. Whether I am right or wrong is not the question here. This is not my day for arguing, but for feeling.
How pretty the hardhack is! Though it stands up rather stiff, it feels every breath of wind. Its beauty grows on me as I look, which is enough of itself to make this a profitable afternoon. There is no beauty so welcome as new beauty in an old friend.
A kingbird, one of two or three hereabout, comes to sit on a branch over my head. He is full of twitters, which sound as if they might be full of meaning; but there is no interpreter. He, too, like the oriole, is on his last month. I have great respect for kingbirds. A phœbe shows herself in the hedge, flirting27 her tail airily as she alights. “Pretty well, I thank you,” she might be saying. Every kind of bird has motions of its own, no doubt, if we look sharply enough. The phœbe’s may be seen of all men.
I had meant to go out and sit awhile under the spreading white oak yonder, on the upper side of the pasture, near the huckleberry patches; but why should I? Well enough is well enough, I say to myself; and it sounds like good philosophy, in weather like this. It may never set the millpond on fire; but then, I don’t wish to set it on fire.
And although I go on mentioning particulars, a flower, a bird, a bird’s note, it is none of these that I am really enjoying. It is the day—the brightness and the quiet, and the comfort of a perfect temperature. Great is weather. No man is to blame for talking about it, unless his talk is twaddle. Out-of-door people know that few things are more important. A quail’s whistle, a thought too strenuous28, perhaps, for such an hour,—a breezy quoit,—breaks my disquisition none too soon; else I might have been brought in guilty under my own ruling.
As I get over the fence, on my start homeward, I notice a thrifty29 clump30 of chokecherry shrubs31 on the other side of the way, hung with ripening32 clusters, every cherry a jewel as the sun strikes it. They may hang “for all me,” as schoolboys say. My country-bred taste is pretty catholic in matters of this kind, but it extends not to chokecherries. They should be eaten by campaign orators33 as a check upon fluency34.
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1 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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2 chestnut | |
n.栗树,栗子 | |
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3 furrowed | |
v.犁田,开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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4 allotted | |
分配,拨给,摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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5 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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6 futile | |
adj.无效的,无用的,无希望的 | |
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7 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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8 fragrance | |
n.芬芳,香味,香气 | |
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9 elixir | |
n.长生不老药,万能药 | |
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10 scarlet | |
n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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11 twig | |
n.小树枝,嫩枝;v.理解 | |
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12 emphatic | |
adj.强调的,着重的;无可置疑的,明显的 | |
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13 perch | |
n.栖木,高位,杆;v.栖息,就位,位于 | |
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14 squinting | |
斜视( squint的现在分词 ); 眯着眼睛; 瞟; 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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15 specimen | |
n.样本,标本 | |
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16 grassy | |
adj.盖满草的;长满草的 | |
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17 tangle | |
n.纠缠;缠结;混乱;v.(使)缠绕;变乱 | |
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18 petals | |
n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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19 withered | |
adj. 枯萎的,干瘪的,(人身体的部分器官)因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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20 elegance | |
n.优雅;优美,雅致;精致,巧妙 | |
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21 stump | |
n.残株,烟蒂,讲演台;v.砍断,蹒跚而走 | |
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22 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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23 cedars | |
雪松,西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
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24 liking | |
n.爱好;嗜好;喜欢 | |
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25 virulent | |
adj.有毒的,有恶意的,充满敌意的 | |
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26 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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27 flirting | |
v.调情,打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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28 strenuous | |
adj.奋发的,使劲的;紧张的;热烈的,狂热的 | |
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29 thrifty | |
adj.节俭的;兴旺的;健壮的 | |
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30 clump | |
n.树丛,草丛;vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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31 shrubs | |
灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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32 ripening | |
v.成熟,使熟( ripen的现在分词 );熟化;熟成 | |
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33 orators | |
n.演说者,演讲家( orator的名词复数 ) | |
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34 fluency | |
n.流畅,雄辩,善辩 | |
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