It seems that summer wants to hang around but the trees are telling another story. Our front yard’s sugar maple has already transitioned from green to crimsons and golds and is now dropping its leaves far too quickly, much to the delight of ever-curious Bramble, my littlest cocker.
The oaks in the windbreak are trimmed with a tinge of scarlet, hosting busy fox squirrels gathering acorns and blue jays bouncing from branch to branch as they mimic the farm’s old, rusty handpump.
Autumn, I love to see it come, but I dread the first cold winds and rains that strip the last vestiges of color from the canopies. That’s when I know that we have begun that slow creep through a sometimes bleak winter with only dreams of an awaiting spring of blooming trillium and singing warblers.
Oh well, that’s the nature and the beauty of the seasons. We teach ourselves to make the most of each, so now it’s autumn. Best not to let the foliage fall without an audience. One project I remember so well as a kid was gathering up leaves, but not for the ritualistic burning in the driveway gathering — although those aromas also hold memories only rivaled by my father’s cherry-blend pipe. I’m referring to the careful selection of the most colorful.
I can’t remember if the leaf collecting was a scout or a school project but I found the effort particularly amazing. I’ll bet many of you remember the same fun. First, you gathered those perfectly colored and shaped leaves, flattened them in a book, then sandwiched them between sheets of wax paper. Next, a clothes iron was carefully used to seal the wax. Of course, you learned pretty quickly not to apply the iron directly to the wax paper and to use an old towel. Parents could become pretty picky about such things.
As for my collection, I’d taken the time to carefully look up the identity of each leaf and included the notes within the colorful artifacts of autumn. I even included sketches of the different nuts and the whirly seeds of maple trees. I was quite proud of my creation. I remember actually having that old book until my move from home. It’s funny what you hang onto. I wonder if kids still collect leaves or if they’re too busy with less worthwhile interests?
There was another memorable fall day during another lifetime when our family owned a 1965 Nash Rambler station wagon. Just like B.B. King had his famous guitar Lucille and Davey Crocket with his beloved long rifle Old Betsy, Dad had several names that he called that old car. Unfortunately, I repeated them in front of Mom and she quickly corrected my grammar with a bar of Ivory that seemed to be reserved just for me. There was room for a cooler, fishing rods, the occasional dog and enough space that two boys wouldn’t accidentally touch each other while sharing the back seat.
Autumn was a favorite time for that old Nash to slowly glide along the back roads, especially around Beaver Creek State Park and the traces of the Sandy Beaver Canal, which once traversed 73 miles from the Ohio-Erie Canal at Bolivar to the Ohio River at Glasgow, Pennsylvania.
During another excursion, this one many autumns later, I was wading the Pere Marquette near Baldwin, Michigan. The leaves were in their final days before they would contribute to the camouflaging of woodcock and grouse.
On that day, it wasn’t the birds that captured my interest. Lurking underneath the river’s ornamental aspen, oak and maples leaves was a run of king salmon accompanied by red-robbing steelhead trout. I’d never fished for those bruisers and, as is my nature, I didn’t want to be taught. I was there to discover what I needed to know. I understand that it may not be the most efficient way to learn, but the self-taught lessons and accompanying mistakes and memories become as vivid as the most brilliant maple in its height of red and golden glory. A strike and a hard set with my fly rod, and I caught my first salmon.
On another fall day, once again separated only by time, I was walking through a crisp mid-season woodlot that was still recovering from logging a decade prior. It had been a wet few days, and most of the leaves had floated earthward with the drizzle.
The walk was silent, thanks to that pungent dampness, and my Gordon Setter, Gus, was on his first hunt for woodcock. The recent growth of young trees provided plenty of obstacles for a swinging double. Gus didn’t seem impressed by my lack of marksmanship. He’d been with me during several favorable pheasant hunts and I’m sure he felt like I’d lost my touch. During the last fading hour of the day, a final woodcock leaped from its hide, pitching straight up then ducking hard right toward the leeward side of a scarred beach. That was when I finally lived up to my dog’s expectations. He refused to retrieve that bird or any other woodcock during his life. I still believe it was in punishment for my lack of shooting skills and the waste of his time.
It’s the memory of those experiences that have made autumn so refreshing, so memory evoking and such an emotionally fulfilling time of the year for me. The season’s crispness is like giving your soul a big bite of a Red Delicious apple.
Autumn officially kicks off in September and its changes are ready to be noticed. Redwings are flocking for their trek south, hummingbirds are making their last visits to area feeders, whitetails are feeling the pull of the coming rut and squirrels are scrambling to secure their winter’s stores for a harsher season. Sunlight, temperature, rainfall and wind are the conditions used to predict autumn changes and the length of time we enjoy the seasonal bursts of color. We’re each gifted with an unknown number, so it’s time to get outside.
One more thing: if you start feeling a little down about the approaching winter, I suggest taking along a soundtrack for your weekend excursion to help cheer you up a little. Buckeye Battle Cry, Hang on Sloopy and Carmen Ohio always bring a smile to an autumn Saturday’s afternoon.
“It’s the first day of autumn! A time of hot chocolatey mornings and toasty marshmallow evenings and, best of all, leaping into leaves!”
— Winnie the Pooh, “Pooh’s Grand Adventure”
