For a long time this was a wholly unorganized, indeed all but
unconscious, pleasure, a true pattern of the childish way we take hold
of the earth; but when I began to come newly alive to all things as I
have already related--I chanced upon this curious, undeveloped instinct.

"What is it I have here?" I asked myself, for I thought this might be a
new handle for getting hold of nature.

Along one edge of my field is a natural hedge of wild cherry, young elms
and ashes, dogwood, black raspberry bushes and the like, which has long
been a pleasure to the eye, especially in the early morning when the
shadows of it lie long and cool upon the meadow. Many times I have
walked that way to admire it, or to listen for the catbirds that nest
there, or to steal upon a certain gray squirrel who comes out from his
home in the chestnut tree on a fine morning to inspect his premises.

It occurred to me one day that I would make the acquaintance of this
hedge in a new way; so I passed slowly along it where the branches of
the trees brushed my shoulder and picked a twig here and there and bit
it through. "This is cherry," I said; "this is elm, this is dogwood."
And it was a fine adventure to know old friends in new ways, for I had
never thought before to test the trees and shrubs by their taste and
smell. After that, whenever I passed that way, I closed my eyes and
tried for further identifications by taste, and was soon able to tell
quickly half a dozen other varieties of trees, shrubs, and smaller
plants along that bit of meadow.

Presently, as one who learns to navigate still water near shore longs
for more thrilling voyages, I tried the grassy old roads in the woods,
where young trees and other growths were to be found in great variety: