in Thoreau’s Journal:

Where is my home?

It is indistinct as a old cellar hole now a faint indentation merely in a farmer’s field—which he has ploughed into & rounded off its edges—years ago and I sit by the old site on the stump of an oak which once grew there.

 Such is the nature where we have lived—

Thick birch groves stand here & there dark brown? now with white lines more or less distinct.