Autumn Glory

 

 

“Man's progress through nature should have an accompaniment of music. It relieves the scenery, which is seen through it as a subtler element, like a very clear morning air in autumn.” — Henry David Thoreau, Journal, 8 January 1842

It’s officially fall now and it looks it. The leaves on the trees are changing quickly now. The colors on the hills seemed to pop in a day. Because of our dry summer, the experts said the colors were going to be dull this year. They were wrong. The trees are more beautiful now than they’ve been in years. The changing of the trees is the best thing about this transition to cold weather. I get a feeling of urgency during these days of fall color. They are so glorious and fleeting. I feel a need akin to panic to be out with my camera driving the back roads, drinking it all in. On a beautiful day, if I’m prevented from doing that, I get anxious.

In Ulysses Township.

The weather was exceptionally cold for the first part of the week. We had frost every night. One morning it was 19°, which is way too cold for September. The latter half of the week it warmed up and gave us a bit of classic Indian Summer.

Indian Summer is an interesting term. It seems no one agrees on its origin. One theory speculates that it is called that because it was first described to settlers by Native Americans. Another theory says it is because it was when Native Americans hunted, although I’m pretty sure they hunted all the time ,so I don’t think that’s right. Another more sinister theory says that Indian Summer means “false summer” like “Indian giver,” a person who gives a gift and then takes it back, which is now considered a slur and is Politically Incorrect. Whatever. I’m still calling it Indian Summer. The Almanac says that in order to be a real Indian Summer, the weather must meet some specific criteria – it must be warm, the atmosphere must be hazy or smoky with no wind, the nights must be clear and chilly. It has to come after a spell of cold weather or a hard frost, but also be before the first snowfall, and it must occur between St. Martin’s Day (November 11) and November 20. Last week we met some of those qualifications – we had hard frost and then warm hazy days and clear chilly nights. But there’s not much chance of us getting Indian Summer in November here. By then we’re usually looking at snow. I’ll take mine now, thank you.

On Friday on our way home from school, Miriam and I couldn’t resist taking a circuitous scenic route home. We stopped at the Ulysses Cemetery. We drove to the top of the Gazdag Road. Everywhere we looked we saw bright, beautiful trees. 

Ulysses Cemetery.

Up on the Gazdag Road.

On the Gazdag Road.

On the Gazdag Road.

Later, when Stacey and Hannah got home from work, we drove up to the Losey Overlook. We drive up there every year to see the fall leaves, but for the past several years, we went too late. Not this time. The view was spectacular. It was one of those happy occasions when the sunlight was at the right angle. The drive up the mountain and back down again was just as beautiful.

Driving up to the Overlook.

At the Overlook.

Driving down again.

At the Overlook.

I read an article last week about Seasonal Affective Disorder, which goes by the appropriate acronym of SAD, and I realized that I probably suffer from a very mild version of it. Officially, SAD is “a type of recurrent depressive disorder in which episodes of depression occur during the same season each year. The most common seasonal pattern is for depressive episodes to appear in the fall or winter and remit in the spring.” I don’t know if I actually feel depressed, at least not seriously, but for as long as I can remember, the arrival of fall stirs up feelings of melancholy in me. It isn’t debilitating. In fact, I’ve grown to expect it and actually rather enjoy it. It manifests itself in various ways – feelings of nostalgia as I described in last week’s journal, or a sort of sweet sadness inspired by the transient beauty of the season, and always cravings for certain things. There are certain foods I yearn for in the fall, most of them related to apples like fresh cider, apple pie, apple dumplings, applesauce cake, and warm spicy delights like pumpkin pie and gingerbread.

Apples soon to become cider.

 

I also crave music – even more than I always do. In the fall I can’t get enough Brahms. I don’t know why his music is so much more appealing to me in autumn, but it is. I find myself listening to his symphonies and especially his violin concerto over and over. Some years other composers join the autumn mix, usually Vaughan Williams or Mahler. Some years I binge on Chopin. This year my passion is for Bach. I listen to Bach all year long. He is my favorite composer. I consider his music to be my brain food. It nourishes my spirit and my body. It invigorates me. This fall my brain is hungry for specific works, his brilliant keyboard pieces – The Well-Tempered Clavier, the Two and Three Part Inventions, the Goldberg Variations, and the Harpsichord Concertos. As I type this, I’m listening to the Harpsichord Concerto Nos. 1- 7 (BWV 1052-1058). I can’t describe how happy this music makes me. Perhaps this craving is my antidote to my SAD.

[If you want a sample of Bach, here is a link to the Aria from the Goldberg Variations. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=64NWDOzDtIY ]

The season has progressed (or declined?) to the point where there isn’t much happening out in the garden. I’m just about done pulling out the plants that must go. The only things blooming are the colchicum and they are at their peak now. The single and double flowers are in full bloom. When they are done, there will be no flowers again until some day in March when the snowdrops appear. For now the biggest job outdoors will be leaf control. I will be raking, mowing, burning, and composting leaves from now until the snow comes.

My little patch of colchicums.

My double colchicums.

There’s a lot of drama down at the barn right now. Most of the hens are moulting. They get moody when they moult. They stop laying eggs. They seem grumpy and they look a mess. I’ll be glad when their new feathers grow in.

Yesterday was another busy Saturday. The day started out chilly and I began the day with a walk down to the beaver pond. There was ground fog and misty clouds swirling around as the sun came up. There was a lot of wildlife activity at the pond. I saw a kingfisher perched and looking for its breakfast. There was a great blue heron patrolling one end of the pond. I saw three beavers. One was working on the dam, one was towing a leafy branch across the water, and one was working on the lodge. I continued up the road to Burrell’s and startled a flock of ducks on the pond there. As I walked back home, the sky started to clear and the colors on the hills brightened. When I got back to the house, it was time to get busy.

Down to the beaver pond.

The kingfisher.

The great blue heron.

The beaver is on the right side of the lodge.

Burell's pond.

Home again.

There was a lot going on at our house all day. I cleaned the woodshed and tidied the back porch. I swept out the upper part of the barn. I burned part of the garden that was full of weeds. In the house there was laundry going all day long. Hannah pulled up the rug in her bedroom and took it out for a beating. Stacey got very ambitious and cleaned the cellar. She was down there most of the day. By the end of day we were all grubby and I reeked of smoke. But the house, the barn, the woodshed, the back porch, and the cellar looked pretty good. We are glad to have a Sabbath today to rest from our labors.

Saturday evening.

We are home from church. The drive to and from church was spectacular. We had burritos for lunch. It’s been a pretty good day. The week ahead should be exciting. Tomorrow work begins on building our new front porch. The leaves will continue to dazzle us. I will continue to revel in the brief glory of the season.