THE PASTURE IN NOVEMBER 265 



winter chippies, the goldfinches, j uncos and a 

 host of other seed-eating birds who will find them 

 bountifully spread for their delectation all the 

 winter through. On rainy days I like to bring 

 these brown stems into camp and, setting them by 

 the glow of the open fire, see them bloom as they 

 dry out. It is a most magical flowering and to 

 be one's own wizard is one of the delightful 

 privileges of being a November sojourner in the 

 pasture. 



For all the Indian winter which some nights 

 ago brought us a temperature of twenty degrees 

 and left ice a half-inch thick on shallow pools 

 many of the pasture folk hold their summer attire 

 well. The wild apple trees have hardly made a 

 change, holding plentiful leaves whose green is 

 dulled by a little, and otherwise defies the season. 

 The bayberry has leaves as glossy green and 

 unmarked by any sign of approaching winter as 

 it held in August, and though the taller wild 

 cherry trees show autumnal tints the younger 

 ones are still in fresh green. This tendency of 

 the young sprouts to hold on and deny the winter 

 I note on many young trees. The birches are in 

 the main bare but the young wood at the very 



