November 30, 1851

 in Thoreau’s Journal:

Where is my home? It is indistinct as an old cellar-hole now, a faint indentation merely in a farmer’s field, which he has plowed into, rounding off its edges, years ago, and I sit by the old site on the stump of an oak which once grew there.

Such is nature where we have lived.

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Thick birch groves stand here and there,

dark brown now, with white lines here and there.