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250 pages, Paperback
First published October 1, 1974
As people grow older the snow — the joyous snow of our youth — seems more and more the enemy. A barometer of our health and spirits and strength is our enjoyment of the white winter.
Charles Darwin noted that in our everyday life we rarely look higher than fifteen degrees above the horizon.
This book is my first (and likely last) sampling of the writing of naturalist Edwin Way Teale. I soon discovered that Teale’s writing style reminded me very much of his fellow naturalist and commentator Bill Bryson, whose work I find insufferably tedious.
Writing from his farmstead in New England, this account is in many ways a daily journal of chance sightings of things the author saw in the natural world which spurred his creative juices.
The book makes clear that Teale was particularly fond of rodents and of flying in hot-air balloons. This volume includes a long discourse on ballooning. He wrote extensively about beavers, and he returned several times in this volume to a discourse on his favorite woodchuck.
This is a well-written narrative. It just failed to capture my interest.
My raing: 7/10, finished 8/5/24 (3975).