This one is an alder3 branch. Along its whole length, spirally disposed at intervals4 of an inch or two, are fat, purplish leaf-buds, each on its stalk. As I look at them I can see, only four months away, the tender, richly green, newly unfolded, partly grown leaves. How daintily they are crinkled! And how prettily5 the edges are cut! It is like the work of fairy fingers. And what perfection of veining6 and texture7! I have never heard any one praise them; but half the things that bring a price in florists’ shops are many degrees less beautiful.
Still more to the purpose, perhaps, more conspicuous8, at all events, as well as nearer to maturity9, and so more distinctly prophetic of spring, are the two kinds of flower-buds that adorn10 the ends of the twigs12. These also are of a deep purplish tint13, which in the case of the larger (staminate) catkins turns to a lovely green on the shaded under side. Flower-buds, I call them; but they are rather packages of bud-stuff wrapped tightly against the weather, cover overlapping14 cover. The best shingling15 of the most expert carpenter could not be more absolutely rain-proof. “Now do your worst,” says the alder. The mud freezes about its roots and the water about the base of its stem, but it keeps its banners flying. Why it should be at such pains to anticipate the season is more than I can tell. Perhaps it is none of my business. Enough that it is the alder’s way. There is no swamp in New England but has a shorter and brighter winter because of it.
This smooth, freckled16, reddish-barked twig11 is black birch (or sweet birch), taken from a sapling, and therefore bearing no aments, which on adult trees are already things of grace and promise. I broke it (it invites breaking by its extreme fragility) for its leaf-buds, pointed17, parti-colored,—brown and yellowish green,—tender-looking, but hardy18 enough to withstand all the rigors19 of New England frost. The broken end of the branch, where I get the spicy20 fragrance21 of the inner bark, brings back a sense of half-forgotten boyish pleasures. I used to nibble22 the bark in spring. A little dry it was, as I remember it, but it had the spicy taste of wintergreen (checkerberry), without the latter’s almost excessive pungency23, or bite. Some of my country-bred readers must have been accustomed to eat the tender reddish young checkerberry leaves, and will understand perfectly24 what I mean by that word “bite.” I wonder if they had our curious Old Colony name for those vernal dainties. It sounds like cannibalism25, but we gathered them and ate them in all innocence26 (the taste is on my tongue now) as “youngsters.” No doubt the tree gets its name, “sweet birch,” from this savoriness of its green inner bark, rather than from the pedagogic employment of its branches in schoolrooms as a means of promoting the sweet uses of adversity.
Now I take up another freckled, easily broken twig, with noticeably short branchlets, some of them less than an inch in length. Every one, even the shortest, is set with brown globular buds of the size of pin-heads. Toward the tip the main stem also bears clusters of such tiny spheres. If you do not know the branch by sight, I must ask you to smell or taste the bark. “Sassafras?” No, though the guess is not surprising. It is spice-bush. The buds are flower-buds. The shrub27 is one of our very early bloomers, and makes its preparations accordingly. While flowers are still scarce enough to attract universal attention, it is thickly covered with sessile or almost sessile yellow rosettes, till it looks for all the world like the early-flowering cornel (Cornus Mas), which blossoms about the same time in gardens. Seeing these spice-bush buds, though January is still young, I can almost see May-day; and when I snap the brittle28 stem and sniff29 the fresh wood, I can almost believe that I have snapped off half a century from my life. What a good and wholesome30 smell it is! Among the best of nature’s own.
Here is a poplar twig, with well-developed, shapely buds. I pull off the outer coverings and lay bare a mass of woolly fibres, fine and soft, within which the tender blossoms lie in germ. And next is a willow31 stem. Already, though winter is no more than a fortnight old, the “pussy” has begun to push off its dark coverlid, as if it were in haste to be up and feel the sun. Yes, spring will soon be here, and the willow proposes not to be caught napping.
These long, slender, cinnamon-colored, silky buds, like shoemakers’ awls for shape, are from a beech32 tree. The package is done up so tightly and skillfully that my clumsy human fingers cannot undo33 it without tearing it in pieces. Layer after layer I remove, taking all pains, and here at the heart is the softest of vegetable silk. How did the wood learn to secrete34 such delicacies35, and to wrap them with such miraculous36 security? Why could it not wait till spring, and save the need of all this caution? I do not know. How should I? But I am glad of every such vernal prophecy, as well as of every such proof of vegetable intelligence. It[164] would be strange if a beech tree could not do some things better than you and I can. Every dog knows his own trick.
Next comes a dry, homely37, crooked38, blackish, dead-looking twig, the slender divisions of which are tipped with short clusters of very fine purplish buds, rich in color, but so small as readily to escape notice. This I broke from a bush in a swampy39 place. It is Leucothoë, a plant of special interest to me for personal reasons. Year after year, as I turned the leaves of Gray’s Manual on one errand and another, I read this romantic-sounding Greek name, and wondered what kind of plant it stood for. Then, during a May visit to the mountains of North Carolina, I came upon a shrub growing mile after mile along roadsides and brooksides, loaded down, literally40, with enormous crops of sickishly sweet, white flower-clusters. At first I took it for some species of Andromeda, but on bringing it to book found it to be Leucothoë. I was delighted to see it. It is a satisfaction to have a familiar name begin to mean something. Finally, a year or two later, passing in winter through a bit of swamp where I had been accustomed to wander as a child, with no thought of finding anything new (as if there were not something new everywhere), I stopped before a bush bearing purple buds and clusters of dry capsules. The capsules might have been those of Andromeda, for aught I should have noticed, but the buds had a novel appearance and told a different story. Again I betook myself to the Manual, and lo! this bush, growing in the swamp that I should have thought I knew better than any other in the world, turned out to be another species—our only northern one—of Leucothoë. So I might have fitted name and thing together long ago, if I had kept my eyes open. As Hamlet said, “There’s the rub.” Keeping one’s eyes open isn’t half so easy as it sounds. Really, the bush is one that nobody except a botanist41 ever sees (which is the reason, doubtless, why it has no vernacular42 name); or if here and there a man does see it, it is sure to be in flowering time (in middle June), when he passes it by without a second glance as “high-bush blueberry.” I am pleased to have it growing on my present beat, and to give it a place here in my collection of Minor Prophets.
How little the two (Leucothoë and blueberry) resemble each other at this time of the year may be seen by comparing the stem I have been talking about with the one lying next to it—a short twig, every branchlet of which ends in a very bright, extremely handsome (if one stops to regard it) pinkish globe. This is the high-bush blueberry in its best winter estate. Every bud is like a jewel.
Only one branch remains43 to be spoken of, for I took but a small handful: a dark-green—blackish-green—tarnished stem, the two branches of which bear each a terminal bud of the size of a pea. This specimen44 you will know at once by its odor, if you were ever happy enough to dig sassafras roots, or to eat sassafras lozenges, such as used to come—perhaps they do still—rolled up in paper, as bankers roll up coins. “Sassafras lossengers,” we called them, and the shopkeeper (who is living yet, and still “tending store” at ninety-odd) seemed never in doubt as to what we meant. Each kind of lozenge, peppermint45, cayenne, checkerberry, and the rest, came always in paper of a certain color. Can I be wrong in my recollection of the sassafras tint? I would soon find out if I could go into the old store. I would lay five cents upon the counter (the price used to be less than that, but it may have gone up since my last purchase), and say, “A roll of sassafras lossengers.” And I miss my guess, or the wrapper would be yellow.
点击收听单词发音
1 tangible | |
adj.有形的,可触摸的,确凿的,实际的 | |
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2 minor | |
adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
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3 alder | |
n.赤杨树 | |
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4 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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5 prettily | |
adv.优美地;可爱地 | |
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6 veining | |
n.脉络分布;矿脉 | |
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7 texture | |
n.(织物)质地;(材料)构造;结构;肌理 | |
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8 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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9 maturity | |
n.成熟;完成;(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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10 adorn | |
vt.使美化,装饰 | |
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11 twig | |
n.小树枝,嫩枝;v.理解 | |
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12 twigs | |
细枝,嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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13 tint | |
n.淡色,浅色;染发剂;vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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14 overlapping | |
adj./n.交迭(的) | |
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15 shingling | |
压挤熟铁块,叠瓦作用 | |
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16 freckled | |
adj.雀斑;斑点;晒斑;(使)生雀斑v.雀斑,斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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18 hardy | |
adj.勇敢的,果断的,吃苦的;耐寒的 | |
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19 rigors | |
严格( rigor的名词复数 ); 严酷; 严密; (由惊吓或中毒等导致的身体)僵直 | |
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20 spicy | |
adj.加香料的;辛辣的,有风味的 | |
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21 fragrance | |
n.芬芳,香味,香气 | |
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22 nibble | |
n.轻咬,啃;v.一点点地咬,慢慢啃,吹毛求疵 | |
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23 pungency | |
n.(气味等的)刺激性;辣;(言语等的)辛辣;尖刻 | |
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24 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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25 cannibalism | |
n.同类相食;吃人肉 | |
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26 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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27 shrub | |
n.灌木,灌木丛 | |
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28 brittle | |
adj.易碎的;脆弱的;冷淡的;(声音)尖利的 | |
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29 sniff | |
vi.嗅…味道;抽鼻涕;对嗤之以鼻,蔑视 | |
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30 wholesome | |
adj.适合;卫生的;有益健康的;显示身心健康的 | |
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31 willow | |
n.柳树 | |
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32 beech | |
n.山毛榉;adj.山毛榉的 | |
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33 undo | |
vt.解开,松开;取消,撤销 | |
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34 secrete | |
vt.分泌;隐匿,使隐秘 | |
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35 delicacies | |
n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 );精致;精美的食物;周到 | |
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36 miraculous | |
adj.像奇迹一样的,不可思议的 | |
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37 homely | |
adj.家常的,简朴的;不漂亮的 | |
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38 crooked | |
adj.弯曲的;不诚实的,狡猾的,不正当的 | |
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39 swampy | |
adj.沼泽的,湿地的 | |
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40 literally | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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41 botanist | |
n.植物学家 | |
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42 vernacular | |
adj.地方的,用地方语写成的;n.白话;行话;本国语;动植物的俗名 | |
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43 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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44 specimen | |
n.样本,标本 | |
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45 peppermint | |
n.薄荷,薄荷油,薄荷糖 | |
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