It finally hit me that I’m “back home.” On a drive through Vermont last week, over and around the hills of brightly colored trees, I stopped in Manchester Center to pick up a few farmers’ market goodies. In between cheese samples, I pulled my jacket closed tighter and noticed my the fog of my breath in the cold air. Walking back to the car with tote bags full of cheese, eggplant, greens, and a pie, I paused to watch some kids playing soccer.
Above the field, crimson maple leaves spiraled sideways, lifted, then danced across the grass, accumulating in piles at the fence line. Something clicked inside me, as if I was waking from a daydream. I smiled, then laughed silently to myself. I flashed back to fall weekends driving through Stowe, walking along the Brewster River, picking apples, and listening to post-season Red Sox games on the car radio. I remembered walking back up to campus from sailing practice on Lake Champlain, freezing cold but feeling so alive. And I got that feeling you always get when you realize you’re suddenly surrounded by the most beautifully colored trees you have ever seen.
I forgot how bright the trees get in the Northeast. Well, it has been eight years! I thought the golden aspens in Hope Valley were gorgeous – and the pink trees near the duck pond in Corvallis. But the foliage I have enjoyed this fall is not broken up by large patches of evergreen. The colors are warm, glowing, and intense.
While in Connecticut with my family this weekend, I spent time outside and photographed as much as I could. We kayaked around Lake Waramaug, visted Hopkin’s Vineyard, picked apples, ate cider donuts fresh from the oven, and hit up a few tag sales on the way home.
The day was warm and the sky deep blue.
The wine was crisp and the apples too.
