The last of that stirp, sole survivor of the family. Little did the dusky children think that the puny slip with its two eyes only, which they stuck in the ground of the shadow of the house and daily watered, would root itself so, and outlive them and house itself in the rear that shaded it, and a grown man’s garden and orchard, and tell their story faintly to the lone wanderer a half century after they had grown up and died (Thoreau 286).

This passage from Thoreau made me think of Nick’s earlier post in which he considered the age of the trees he was picking leaves from on the day of our leaf snap ramble. In this chapter Thoreau discusses all the neighbors who once lived there, and the nature near them seems to tell a story.

For a long time he stood still and listened to their music, so sweet to a hunter’s ear, when suddenly the fox appeared, threading the solemn aisles with an easy coursing pace, whose sound was concealed by a sympathetic rustle of leaves, swift and still, keeping the ground, leaving his pursuers far behind; and leaping upon a rock amid the woods, he sat erect and listening, with his back to the hunter. For a moment compassion restrained the latter’s arm; but that was a short-lived mood, and as quick as thought can follow thought his piece was leveled, and whang!- the fox rolling over the rock lay dead on the ground (Thoreau 302).

I found this passage interesting as I feel we have discussed regret following the hunting of animal such as in Leopold’s “Thinking Like a Mountain”. This passage stood out to me as this instance seems strange as the hunter hesistates briefly due to compassion prior to shooting the fox.