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| It was the brightest of days, it was the darkest of days |
A week ago––no, only days ago, it was warm, really warm. Indian summer it
would have been called, if there had been a frost later followed by warmth, but there
has been no frost. Not much rain
either. But something, some
mysterious condition, lack of condition, or arcane conflation of temperature/light/moisture produced an
enhanced red/crimson/orange hue in the foliage this year that critics (we rate
fall colors up here, and we’re all critics) say are outstanding. Red, in other words, is outshining yellow.
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| In past years this sugar maple's colors went more toward the yellow-orange spectrum |
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| Fiery colors reach for the sky |
Sunsets have been striking too. The combination of immense lumbering clouds over the
Adirondacks with gaps in between where the orange sun shoots rays in unexpected
designs and then sets, suddenly now, in an entirely difference place than
where it used to vanish in the summertime.
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| The sun will be setting to the right of Snake Mountain before long |
Wood is
stacked, plants moved indoors.
Local hikes, school visits––now is the time to do everything.
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| On the Middlebury College Campus |
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| Atop Buck Mountain (L to R) Audrey, Hans, Ben, Olin (in a customary eccentric pose. Stop doing that, Olin!) |
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| View from the two-story window of the Middlebury Science Building |
Our meadow, given a second mowing in late August, is ankle
high and bright green again. The
owner of woodland behind our land has been logging for firewood. I hated hearing the chainsaw, but the
result so far is not unpleasant: A
new opening to the forest from the field and an easier walk once inside. To say “inside” is precisely what it
feels like. You leave the bright
light as you walk through the opening and then everything changes. The sounds are different––birds,
chipmunks, other rustlings––and the light is suddenly heavily filtered. Emerging,
the sun low and shining right at you, is like coming out of a theater in
mid-afternoon. You may have to
shade your eyes. I don’t know how
much more he’s going to be cutting, but the great “room” he has so far
created––one bounded by a rocky ridge on one side, a steep hill on the other, meadow
on the third side––is a grand space.
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| New entrance to the forest, the trees then just beginning to change |
Speaking of
that woodpile…we haven’t burned a stick of wood yet. That will
change almost immediately. No more
days like this one below. It
seems like yesterday that I reclined under the apple trees (trees that produced
a decent crop of excellent, if misshapen, apples this year for the very first time!), reading in the dappled light with a soft breeze. (The book, if you want to know: Kate Atkinson’s “A God in Ruins.” Very fine. Companion to her acclaimed “Life
After Life.”)
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| I am called away from my book. (Perhaps to take this photo?) Skyler at left. There'll be no more of this in the weeks to come. |
One of the
things people do this time of year when you’re preparing for winter is schedule stuff for winter to keep everyone occupied. I’ve had to schedule two speakers from the Vermont
Humanities Council to speak here in New Haven. One, Rebecca Rupp, whose topic relates not to winter but spring* wrote me back:
“Nice to think about spring, sitting as we are on the wrong side of
winter. Propane truck showed
up here last week, which we always take as a Sign of Doom. I'll
see you after we're all plowed out.”
Our propane truck showed up last week. too.
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| Just another great sunset! |
