The　Bean…Field
  Meanwhile　my　beans；　the　length　of　whose　rows；　added　together；
  was　seven　miles　already　planted；　were　impatient　to　be　hoed；　for　the
  earliest　had　grown　considerably　before　the　latest　were　in　the
  ground；　indeed　they　were　not　easily　to　be　put　off。　　What　was　the
  meaning　of　this　so　steady　and　self…respecting；　this　small　Herculean
  labor；　I　knew　not。　　I　came　to　love　my　rows；　my　beans；　though　so　many
  more　than　I　wanted。　　They　attached　me　to　the　earth；　and　so　I　got
  strength　like　Antaeus。　　But　why　should　I　raise　them？　　Only　Heaven
  knows。　　This　was　my　curious　labor　all　summer　　to　make　this　portion
  of　the　earth's　surface；　which　had　yielded　only　cinquefoil；
  blackberries；　johnswort；　and　the　like；　before；　sweet　wild　fruits　and
  pleasant　flowers；　produce　instead　this　pulse。　　What　shall　I　learn　of
  beans　or　beans　of　me？　　I　cherish　them；　I　hoe　them；　early　and　late　I
  have　an　eye　to　them；　and　this　is　my　day's　work。　　It　is　a　fine　broad
  leaf　to　look　on。　　My　auxiliaries　are　the　dews　and　rains　which　water
  this　dry　soil；　and　what　fertility　is　in　the　soil　itself；　which　for
  the　most　part　is　lean　and　effete。　　My　enemies　are　worms；　cool　days；
  and　most　of　all　woodchucks。　　The　last　have　nibbled　for　me　a　quarter
  of　an　acre　clean。　　But　what　right　had　I　to　oust　johnswort　and　the
  rest；　and　break　up　their　ancient　herb　garden？　　Soon；　however；　the
  remaining　beans　will　be　too　tough　for　them；　and　go　forward　to　meet
  new　foes。
  When　I　was　four　years　old；　as　I　well　remember；　I　was　brought
  from　Boston　to　this　my　native　town；　through　these　very　woods　and
  this　field；　to　the　pond。　　It　is　one　of　the　oldest　scenes　stamped　on
  my　memory。　　And　now　to…night　my　flute　has　waked　the　echoes　over　that
  very　water。　　The　pines　still　stand　here　older　than　I；　or；　if　some
  have　fallen；　I　have　cooked　my　supper　with　their　stumps；　and　a　new
  growth　is　rising　all　around；　preparing　another　aspect　for　new　infant
  eyes。　　Almost　the　same　johnswort　springs　from　the　same　perennial
  root　in　this　pasture；　and　even　I　have　at　length　helped　to　clothe
  that　fabulous　landscape　of　my　infant　dreams；　and　one　of　the　results
  of　my　presence　and　influence　is　seen　in　these　bean　leaves；　corn
  blades；　and　potato　vines。
  I　planted　about　two　acres　and　a　half　of　upland；　and　as　it　was
  only　about　fifteen　years　since　the　land　was　cleared；　and　I　myself
  had　got　out　two　or　three　cords　of　stumps；　I　did　not　give　it　any
  manure；　but　in　the　course　of　the　summer　it　appeared　by　the
  arrowheads　which　I　turned　up　in　hoeing；　that　an　extinct　nation　had
  anciently　dwelt　here　and　planted　corn　and　beans　ere　white　men　came
  to　clear　the　land；　and　so；　to　some　extent；　had　exhausted　the　soil
  for　this　very　crop。
  Before　yet　any　woodchuck　or　squirrel　had　run　across　the　road；　or
  the　sun　had　got　above　the　shrub　oaks；　while　all　the　dew　was　on；
  though　the　farmers　warned　me　against　it　　I　would　advise　you　to　do
  all　your　work　if　possible　while　the　dew　is　on　　I　began　to　level
  the　ranks　of　haughty　weeds　in　my　bean…field　and　throw　dust　upon
  their　heads。　　Early　in　the　morning　I　worked　barefooted；　dabbling
  like　a　plastic　artist　in　the　dewy　and　crumbling　sand；　but　later　in
  the　day　the　sun　blistered　my　feet。　　There　the　sun　lighted　me　to　hoe
  beans；　pacing　slowly　backward　and　forward　over　that　yellow　gravelly
  upland；　between　the　long　green　rows；　fifteen　rods；　the　one　end
  terminating　in　a　shrub　oak　copse　where　I　could　rest　in　the　shade；
  the　other　in　a　blackberry　field　where　the　green　berries　deepened
  their　tints　by　the　time　I　had　made　another　bout。　　Removing　the
  weeds；　putting　fresh　soil　about　the　bean　stems；　and　encouraging　this
  weed　which　I　had　sown；　making　the　yellow　soil　express　its　summer
  thought　in　bean　leaves　and　blossoms　rather　than　in　wormwood　and
  piper　and　millet　grass；　making　the　earth　say　beans　instead　of　grass
  this　was　my　daily　work。　　As　I　had　little　aid　from　horses　or
  cattle；　or　hired　men　or　boys；　or　improved　implements　of　husbandry；　I
  was　much　slower；　and　became　much　more　intimate　with　my　beans　than
  usual。　　But　labor　of　the　hands；　even　when　pursued　to　the　verge　of
  drudgery；　is　perhaps　never　the　worst　form　of　idleness。　　It　has　a
  constant　and　imperishable　moral；　and　to　the　scholar　it　yields　a
  classic　result。　　A　very　agricola　laboriosus　was　I　to　travellers
  bound　westward　through　Lincoln　and　Wayland　to　nobody　knows　where；
  they　sitting　at　their　ease　in　gigs；　with　elbows　on　knees；　and　reins
  loosely　hanging　in　festoons；　I　the　home…staying；　laborious　native　of
  the　soil。　　But　soon　my　homestead　was　out　of　their　sight　and　thought。
  It　was　the　only　open　and　cultivated　field　for　a　great　distance　on
  either　side　of　the　road；　so　they　made　the　most　of　it；　and　sometimes
  the　man　in　the　field　heard　more　of　travellers'　gossip　and　comment
  than　was　meant　for　his　ear：　〃Beans　so　late！　peas　so　late！〃　　for　I
  continued　to　plant　when　others　had　begun　to　hoe　　the　ministerial
  husbandman　had　not　suspected　it。　　〃Corn；　my　boy；　for　fodder；　corn
  for　fodder。〃　　〃Does　he　live　there？〃　asks　the　black　bonnet　of　the
  gray　coat；　and　the　hard…featured　farmer　reins　up　his　grateful　dobbin
  to　inquire　what　you　are　doing　where　he　sees　no　manure　in　the　furrow；
  and　recommends　a　little　chip　dirt；　or　any　little　waste　stuff；　or　it
  may　be　ashes　or　plaster。　　But　here　were　two　acres　and　a　half　of
  furrows；　and　only　a　hoe　for　cart　and　two　hands　to　draw　it　　there
  being　an　aversion　to　other　carts　and　horses　　and　chip　dirt　far
  away。　　Fellow…travellers　as　they　rattled　by　compared　it　aloud　with
  the　fields　which　they　had　passed；　so　that　I　came　to　know　how　I　stood
  in　the　agricultural　world。　　This　was　one　field　not　in　Mr。　Coleman's
  report。　　And；　by　the　way；　who　estimates　the　value　of　the　crop　which
  nature　yields　in　the　still　wilder　fields　unimproved　by　man？　　The
  crop　of　English　hay　is　carefully　weighed；　the　moisture　calculated；
  the　silicates　and　the　potash；　but　in　all　dells　and　pond…holes　in　the
  woods　and　pastures　and　swamps　grows　a　rich　and　various　crop　only
  unreaped　by　man。　　Mine　was；　as　it　were；　the　connecting　link　between
  wild　and　cultivated　fields；　as　some　states　are　civilized；　and　others
  half…civilized；　and　others　savage　or　barbarous；　so　my　field　was；
  though　not　in　a　bad　sense；　a　half…cultivated　field。　　They　were　beans
  cheerfully　returning　to　their　wild　and　primitive　state　that　I
  cultivated；　and　my　hoe　played　the　Rans　des　Vaches　for　them。
  Near　at　hand；　upon　the　topmost　spray　of　a　birch；　sings　the　brown
  thrasher　　or　red　mavis；　as　some　love　to　call　him　　all　the
  morning；　glad　of　your　society；　that　would　find　out　another　farmer's
  field　if　yours　were　not　here。　　While　you　are　planting　the　seed；　he
  cries　　〃Drop　it；　drop　it　　cover　it　up；　cover　it　up　　pull　it
  up；　pull　it　up；　pull　it　up。〃　　But　this　was　not　corn；　and　so　it　was
  safe　from　such　enemies　as　he。　　You　may　wonder　what　his　rigmarole；
  his　amateur　Paganini　performances　on　one　string　or　on　twenty；　have
  to　do　with　your　planting；　and　yet　prefer　it　to　leached　ashes　or
  plaster。　　It　was　a　cheap　sort　of　top　dressing　in　which　I　had　entire
  faith。
  As　I　drew　a　still　fresher　soil　about　the　rows　with　my　hoe；　I
  disturbed　the　ashes　of　unchronicled　nations　who　in　primeval　years
  lived　under　these　heavens；　and　their　small　implements　of　war　and
  hunting　were　brought　to　the　light　of　this　modern　day。　　They　lay
  mingled　with　other　natural　stones；　some　of　which　bore　the　marks　of
  having　been　burned　by　Indian　fires；　and　some　by　the　sun；　and　also
  bits　of　pottery　and　glass　brought　hither　by　the　recent　cultivators
  of　the　soil。　　When　my　hoe　tinkled　against　the　stones；　that　music
  echoed　to　the　woods　and　the　sky；　and　was　an　accompaniment　to　my
  labor　which　yielded　an　instant　and　immeasurable　crop。　　It　was　no
  longer　beans　that　I　hoed；　nor　I　that　hoed　beans；　and　I　remembered
  with　as　much　pity　as　pride；　if　I　remembered　at　all；　my　acquaintances
  who　had　gone　to　the　city　to　attend　the　oratorios。　　The　nighthawk
  circled　overhead　in　the　sunny　afternoons　　for　I　sometimes　made　a
  day　of　it　　like　a　mote　in　the　eye；　or　in　heaven's　eye；　falling
  from　time　to　time　with　a　swoop　and　a　sound　as　if　the　heavens　were
  rent；　torn　at　last　to　very　rags　and　tatters；　and　yet　a　seamless　cope
  remained；　small　imps　that　fill　the　air　and　lay　their　eggs　on　the
  ground　on　bare　sand　or　rocks　on　the　tops　of　hills；　where　few　have
  found　them；　graceful　and　slender　like　ripples　caught　up　from　the
  pond；　as　leaves　are　raised　by　the　wind　to　float　in　the　heavens；　such
  kindredship　is　in　nature。　　The　hawk　is　aerial　brother　of　the　wave
  which　he　sails　over　and　surveys；　those　his　perfect　air…inflated
  wings　answering　to　the　elemental　unfledged　pinions　of　the　sea。　　Or
  sometimes　I　watched　a　pair　of　hen…hawks　circling　high　in　the　sky；
  alternately　soaring　and　descending；　approaching；　and　leaving　one
  another；　as　if　they　were　the　embodiment　of　my　own　thoughts。　　Or　I
  was　attracted　by　the　passage　of　wild　pigeons　from　this　wood　to　that；
  with　a　slight　quivering　winnowing　sound　and　carrier　haste；　or　from