1777: Many swifts.

1777: The missle-thrushes, that have got-out their young broods, appear in flocks.

1777: The wheat hardly begins to turn colour. Swifts still.

1777: Young swallows & martins abound. Many swifts.

1777: Reared the roof of my new building. Several swifts.

1777: Garden much torn by the wind. Only two or three swifts to be seen.

1777: Great flood at Gracious street. Several mills are damaged. Hay drowned. Pond-heads are blown-up; & roads torn up by the torrents. Finished the walls of my new parlor.

1777: The bricklayers are much interrupted by the rains. Much hay quite rotten. This morning more than 50 swifts sailed slowly over the village towards the S: there were almost double the number that belong to this place; & were probably actuated by some tendencies towards their retreat, which...

1777: A pair of martins, which began their nest June 21 have now young. Lime-trees in full bloom: on these the bees gather much honey.

1777: Notwithstanding the disadvantageous season for hatching, some considerable coveys of partridges have been seen.

1777: Some hay housed in poor order.

1777: Vast rains in the night, dark, sun, showers, great showers about.

1777: Grey, shower, sun, broken clouds, showers, dark and hazy.

1777: Much hay damaged.

1777: The lime trees being to blow.

1777: My building is interrupted to by the rain.

1777: Much wheat & barley lodged.

1777: Bees begin gathering at three o' the clock in the morning: Swallows are stirring at half hour after two.

1777: Grapes begin to grow into berry. Cut the first white cucumber. Swifts dash & frolick about, & seem to be teaching their young the use of their wings. Thatched my rick of meadow-hay with the damaged St. foin instead of straw.

1777: Ricked my meadow-hay in most delicate order without one drop of rain. A large crop: 9 jobbs. Left some grass in each mead to cut for the horses.

1777: Wheat finely blown. Hay in large cock. Hay is made most delicately.

1777: Rye, which blows early, in a bad state; no promise of a crop.

1777: The bloom of the vines now smells delicately. Continue to cut my meadow. White cucumbers grow. Hops begin to be infested with honey-dew. Hay makes well.

1777: The backward wheat is in beautiful bloom: the fields look quite white with blossoms. The forward wheat is out of bloom, & therefore from the late weather not likely to be so good.

1777: White throats sing. Ricked the St foin; it lay 12 days washed with continual showers, & yet is not quite spoiled. Began to cut my meadow-hay; a large crop.

1777: Wheat much in bloom. Young swifts not out yet. Field-crickets crie: Bees swarm by heaps. 31 swifts appear: so that if near half of them are not strangers, the young broods are out.

1777: A swarm of bees has hung-out in a torpid state for many days. Cuckow cries: white throat whistles. The rainy fit lasted just a month.

1777: The young swallows that come out are shivering, & ready to starve.

1777: Dark & cold, rain, rain, rain, gleams of sun, vast clouds. Stopped down the vines. Bees cluster round the mouth of one hive, but cannot swarm. Bees must be starved soon, having no weather fit for gathering honey no sun, or dry days. A swarm of bees, which had waited many days for an...

1777: Winter-like: we are obliged to keep fires. The brood of martins hatched June 11th seem to be flown.