In New England Fields and Woods

Born in rural Vermont in 1833, and nearly unknown to today's readers, Rowland Evans Robinson was once one of Vermont's best-known writers. A talented artist, he drew cartoons in New York City for the “funny papers" before returning to Vermont, where he authored nearly a dozen widely-read books on nature and rural farm life. Poor vision progressed to blindness between the ages of 44 and 60, yet he continued to write with the aid of his wife, Anna. This collection of short essays follows New England's changing seasons and moods in all its natural beauty.


By : Rowland E. Robinson (1833 - 1900)

01 - The Nameless Season



02 - March Days



03 - The Home Fireside



04 - The Crow



05 - The Mink



06 - April Days



07 - The Woodchuck



08 - The Chipmunk



09 - Spring Shooting



10 - The Garter-Snake



11 - The Toad



12 - May Days



13 - The Bobolink



14 - The Golden-Winged Woodpecker



15 - June Days



16 - The Bullfrog



17 - The Angler



18 - Farmers and Field Sports



19 - To a Trespass Sign



20 - A Gentle Sportsman



21 - July Days



22 - Camping Out



23 - The Camp-Fire



24 - A Rainy Day in Camp



25 - August Days



26 - A Voyage in the Dark



27 - The Summer Camp-Fire



28 - The Raccoon



29 - The Reluctant Camp-Fire



30 - September Days



31 - A Plea for the Unprotected



32 - The Skunk



33 - A Camp-Fire Run Wild



34 - The Dead Camp-Fire



35 - October Days



36 - A Common Experience



37 - The Red Squirrel



38 - The Ruffed Grouse



39 - Two Shots



40 - November Days



41 - The Muskrat



42 - November Voices



43 - Thanksgiving



44 - December Days



45 - Winter Voices



46 - The Varying Hare



47 - The Winter Camp-Fire



48 - January Days



49 - A New England Woodpile



50 - A Century of Extermination



51 - The Persistency of Pests



52 - The Weasel



53 - February Days



54 - The Fox



55 - An Ice-Storm



56 - Spare the Trees



57 - The Chickadee


The weather and the changes of the seasons are such common and convenient topics that one need not apologize for talking about them, though he says nothing new.

Still less need one make an apology if he becomes garrulous in relation to scenes which are now hidden from him by a curtain of darkness, or concerning some humble acquaintances with whom he was once on familiar terms, but who now and hereafter can only be memories, though they are yet near him and he may still hear their voices.

So without excuse I offer this collection of sketches, which with a few exceptions were first published in the columns of "Forest and Stream."

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