LOOKING OVER THE FIELDS 



17 



Thoreau, the Lichenist. 



BY REGINALD IIEBER HOWE, JR., CONCORD, 



MASS. 



Few who are familiar with the Jour- 

 nals of Henry David Thoreau can have 

 failed to notice that he was a student 

 of lichens. Those realize, who read 

 him, that every side of Nature had its 

 engrossing appeal, and to all he gave a 

 share of his attention and love. 



Naturalists, no matter of how broad 

 a cast, rarely heed lichens beyond the 

 most casual acquaintanceship. It there- 

 fore seems to me quite unusual that 

 Thoreau should have paid them as 

 much attention as he did — remarkable, 

 indeed, if he had not had the ferret 

 eyes of a trained naturalist, plus the 

 painter's love for infinitesimal shades 

 of color. I have gleaned from Tho- 

 reau's Journals his observations of 

 lichens which though they show only 

 a slight knowledge of species, and no 

 technical grasp whatsoever, yet prove 

 a keen appreciation of their place in 

 Nature. There are records of the three 

 types, foliose, fruticose and crustose; 

 and the filamentous forms were not to 

 him mosses, nor did the stiped species 

 pass as minute fungi. 



The first great truth he argued was 

 the effect of moisture on the algal 

 symbiont; "A lichen day" he therefore 

 established as follows among those of 

 his calendar: "December 18, 1859. 

 Rain. It rains but little this afternoon, 

 though there is no sign of fair weather. 

 It is a lichen day. The pitch pines are 

 very inspiring to behold. Their green 

 is as much enlivened and freshened as 

 that of the lichens. It suggests a sort 

 of sunlight on them, though not even 

 a patch of clear sky is to be seen today. 

 As dry and olive or slate-colored 

 lichens are of a fresh and living green, 

 so the already green pine needles have 

 acquired a far livelier tint, as if they 

 enjoyed this moisture as much as the 

 lichens do. They seem to be lit up 

 more than when the sun falls on them. 

 Their trunks and those of trees gener- 

 ally being wet, are very black, and the 

 bright lichens on them are so much 

 the more remarkable." 



March 12, 1853, "a moist, overcast, 

 melting day" he termed "a rare lichen 



day" as was his wont, and for February 

 7, 1859, we find this entry which should 

 make the lichenologist's ears burn with 

 pride at his vocation, or the most dis- 

 sipated of nature lovers happy over 

 his titanic, moral avocation. "Going 

 along the Nut Meadow on Jimmy 

 Miles's road, when I see the sulphur 

 lichens on the rails, brightening with 

 the moisture, I feel like studying them 

 again as a relisher and tonic, to make 

 life go down and digest well, as we 

 use pepper and vinegar and salads. 

 They are a sort of winter green which 

 we gather and assimilate with our eyes. 

 That's the true use of the study of 

 lichens. I expect thus the lichenist will 

 have the keenest relish for Nature in 

 her every day mood and dress. He will 

 have the appetite of the worm that 

 never dies, of the grub. To study 

 lichens is to get a taste of the earth 

 and health, to go gnawing the rails 

 and rocks. This product of the bark is 

 the essence of all tonics. The lichenist 

 extracts nutriment from the very crust 

 of the earth. A taste for this study is 

 an evidence of titanic health, a rare 

 earthiness. It makes not so much 

 blood as soil of life. It fits a man to 

 deal with the barrenest and rockiest 

 experience. A little moisture, a fog, 

 or rain, or melted snow makes his wil- 

 derness to bloom like the rose. As 

 some strong animal appetites, not sat- 

 isfied with starch and muscle and fat, 

 are fain to eat that which eats and di- 

 gests the contents of the crop, the 

 stomach and entrails themselves, so 

 the lichenist loves the trip of the rock, 

 that which eats and digests the rocks. 

 He eats the eater. Eat— all may be 

 his name. A lichenist fattens where 

 others starve. His provender never 

 fails. . . . There is no such cellyrium 

 or salve for sore eyes as these bright- 

 ening lichens on a moist clay. Go 

 bathe and screen your eyes with them 

 in the softened light of the woods." 



Thoreau evidently felt that his wide 

 study of Nature would be a detriment 

 to the average scientific man, for he 

 wrote : "Man cannot afford to be a 

 naturalist, to look at Nature directly, 

 but only with the side of his eye. lie 

 must look through and beyond her. 



