Our temperatures have been dropping at night causing the sloughs and lakes to begin their ice-over. It isn’t thick by any means, but it is the start of our shift from fall to winter. I’ve always enjoyed the reflections of trees and horizons in water, and the change over to ice gives these same reflections a much different look. The lines are softer and more muted, and until our lakes are snow-covered the reflections can sometimes be almost mirror-like. On this morning two days ago, the sun was burning through the cold temperatures and the heavy frost causing the landscape to glow in the early light.
landscapes
A final look at autumn
November is a transition month in Minnesota; our weather can be anywhere from warm and sunny to gray and cold, rain or snow to wind or calm. It seems like we’ve covered all these bases in the past few days. Early in the week I took this image of the brilliant colors of a cotoneaster in our yard. As the morning sun lit the leaves they came alive with a beautiful glow; perhaps it was their swan song. By Wednesday morning we awoke to two inches of wet snow gracing the golds and reds in the remaining leaves. Thursday night our temperatures plummeted below freezing, followed by strong winds on Friday. The leaf colors were killed off by the cold, and the leaves themselves were blown off the trees and bushes to the ground. Within a few days the colors and leaves of autumn had given way to the skeletal trees of winter.
The quieter side of fall
With my previous posts of fall I’ve shared some brilliant colors, and we continue to see those in our landscape now. But there’s a quieter side to this season too. This is the side that speaks of the upcoming change to winter, the coolness that is evident in the air, and the slow turn into the dark of winter. We were at Wild River State Park early one morning recently. The park sits along the St. Croix River which divides the states of Minnesota and Wisconsin. It’s a lovely, and quiet area, especially in the morning. The air was cool and yet the river temperature was still a bit warmer causing the fog to hang low in the river valley. This layer of fog seemed to soften the sunrise, to quiet any sound on the river or land, and to soften the golds and browns that were evident from the seasonal change. Eventually the sun rose high enough over the bluff to burn away the fog, and the light became much brighter and sharper, as did the sounds of the day too.
A life of grace between the lines
After my father passed away last week we found that he had already written his obituary. It was a factual listing of his life, his work, his groups and associations, and his family members. But I’m choosing to look at his life by reading between those lines – to remember and cherish his true character. My dad was brave and courageous; not only did he answer the call to serve his country during the Korean war, but he also faced (and won) a battle with inoperable lung cancer 15 years ago. He was a teacher by words and example, whether it be math story problems or fishing and hunting. He was supportive of all the things we were involved in – football or baseball games, piano or choir concerts. My dad had a wonderful sense of curiosity and adventure; he was always wondering what was “down that road,” what is “around the bend,” and “where does this path lead.” When I was 10 years old Dad and I floated a river in a bright yellow canoe, to see what was along the way (and I think he was prodding my sense of adventure and trust). He was an immensely talented man in his chosen career of architecture, and he left a profound mark on the people he worked with in that profession. He had a fierce streak of independence and determination; his way was what he was going to follow. But most of all he was a proud man, of his family, his children, and his grandchildren. A lover and best friend of 62+ years to my mother, and a loving and committed father and grandfather. These are some of the traits that my father did not include in his obituary, but the people who knew him will recognize them all. As I was en route to see my father for the last time I heard a quote by Don Snyder: “There is grace in an ordinary life.” Dad – you exuded grace (and adventure) in your “ordinary” life. Thank you.
A Wisconsin fall meandering
Come with me for an afternoon in Wisconsin. The air is cool but the sun is warm; the temperature’s about 57 degrees. We head down a Rustic Road in Chippewa County. After twisting and turning through agricultural areas there’s a sign ahead that we’re entering the Chippewa County Forest. To the right is another sign marked Moon Ridge Trail and the forest road heading to the east looks inviting and filled with fall color. Off the paved road and onto the forest road, each mile takes us deeper into the forest. The colors are brilliant – especially in contrast to the blue sky dotted with white clouds. There’s a different smell in the air – of fall and drying leaves. We stop numerous times to photograph the colors and the meandering road. In one hour we have driven less than three miles because of all our stopping. There are many side trails leading from the main forest road but this one ahead isn’t drivable in the car. Off on foot, up the trail, and then down the hillside. As we step out of the forest area the view expands to the Spring Creek Flowage – a lake that meanders through the county – and the colors are intense and wonderful. This is our view (and only ours as there’s no one else around). Breathe in the smell of fall, feel the warmth of the sun, listen to the wind rustling through the leaves, take in the beauty of this day, and be thankful for being here at this moment of peak color in fall.
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