“You can come back next week and help us rake that up,” he said. He’s a member and ubiquitous volunteer at the church I attend, and he was talking about the Ginkgo tree I was photographing with my cell phone. We both laughed.
One of this autumn’s final blazes of glory
Fall is probably the season when I first fell in love with trees, not because of the raking that always has to happen, but because of the sheer beauty and variety of fall trees. Continue reading
I couldn’t let autumn slip by without talking about trees, especially beautiful fall trees such as the aspens.
I didn’t grow up in the land of aspens, and so they’re not part of my mental image of fall. They are spectacular, though, and it’s hard to pass by them in the fall without pausing to admire them and listen to their leaves “quaking.”
Aspens in Nevada
While driving from the start to the finish of one of my husband’s recent races near Tahoe, I couldn’t resist a quick stop along this roadside. I lost more than an hour because of the stop (thanks, Nevada DOT, for mismanaging your construction zones so entirely that day, and by thanks, I mean the exact opposite of thanks). But as I look back at these pictures and remember the beauty of that morning, it’s hard for me to say I wouldn’t have stopped if I’d known the trouble that waited ahead in the construction zone. At least for all the aggravation, I had these moments of sheer beauty.
A showy autumn display
Other days brought an escape from the car, along with opportunities to see these beautiful trees up close.
The bark offers a spell-binding play of dark and light.
Leaves of gold
I’ve been reading about the growth patterns and habits of quaking aspens. They grow in groups called clones, where each “tree” isn’t so much an individual as it is part of an outgrowth of a single living root system.
They continue to grow through winter, too, an unusual characteristic for deciduous trees. You can read more about the layer right under their bark that allows this to happen.
Aspens even have the power to turn the water into gold. Well, not really. But the combination of aspens and sunlight adds an air of magic to whatever water happens to be nearby.
A heron wades among the golden reflection. (I’m not sure all of the gold reflection is from aspens.)
A blaze of aspen gold washes over salmon in Taylor Creek.
I hope these last two photos whet your appetite for what’s coming next week. The salmon are running, and we got to see a different sort of salmon spawning in Taylor Creek near Lake Tahoe. Next week, I’ll share some favorite shots of the salmon and the birds that hang out with them (sometimes to the detriment of the fish).
How is autumn shaping up where you live? We’re raking lots of leaves and enjoying at least a little fall color.
I heard a podcast yesterday featuring Rhonda Hampton, race director for the Umstead 100 Mile Endurance Run. In it, she spoke of her love of trail running and the “biological gifts” she encounters along the trails. (To go straight to that section of her interview, fast forward to 47:15.)
Her comment made me think of my own daily wildlife count when I’m out running or walking with the dog. This week alone, my wildlife count or list of biological gifts includes a coyote, two deer, at least a dozen turkeys, countless songbirds, a hawk, and, just this morning, a pair of American White Pelicans.
American White Pelicans in a place I’ve never seen them (along with what I guess to be Double-crested Cormorants). One pelican is hiding behind the other.
Fall here is beautiful in its own way, not in a familiar North Carolina way, but in a way that catches my breath nonetheless.
The salmon are beginning their run, and happy fisher people (mostly fishermen) are daily swarming the river, giddy with the prospect of catching a big fish. A happy man popped up from the riverbank just this morning, a large, pink fish swinging from his side.
Why do you think they fish all together instead of spreading out?
Rain came back in a big way, too, over the weekend. More than two inches over four days. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Continue reading
“Have you noticed we all say ‘Y’all’ now that you’re here?” One of my critique group members asked me this after saying the word herself. I’m not sure, but I think every member of the group had just said, “Y’all” in our wrapping-up conversation. It’s true. I’ve rubbed off on them, as they have on me.
I’ve been pondering this and other changes today. You see, one year ago today, I was on a plane, my dog in the cargo hold, flying across the country where my husband waited for us to begin a new adventure. And what an adventure it has been so far.
I sat at a cafe this morningâsipping an artful latteâand read a journal entry I wrote after my first week here.
What had already grabbed my heart by the end of that first week was one of my great loves here: the river and the beauty and life that surround it. I thought I’d share with you some favorite moments (and photos) from my first four seasons here.
Winter
Along with the river, the mild weather of this region and oranges growing in my own yard are some favorites of winter here.
The riverbank is greener in winter because it’s the rainy season. This photo is from before my dog met a skunk. I can tell from the darker brown of her coat, pre-peroxide baths.
Just one of the delicious oranges from our yard
Spring
Although some flowers bloom through winter here, spring really is beautiful, ushering in abundant blooms and drawing wildlife out of hiding. The trees leafing out means more shade, too, a welcome presence along running trails.
The earliest blooms of spring
An Anna’s Hummingbird visits purple flowers near the river.
Summer
There’s no way to sugar coat summer here: it is ridiculously hot. But the mornings are cooler (compared to what this Southern girl is used to) and dry. I didn’t enjoy trying to finish runs by 6:30 each morning, but I definitely embraced the lower humidity.
Dragonflies darted happily around the yard and posed patiently for photo ops. AÂ baby owl grew up in a nesting box attached to our house. I’m hoping for a repeat of all of this next summer.
Fall
Fall is my favorite season anywhere, and so it’s no wonder that this fall brought many happy moments. Clouds returned in September, followed by a handful of rainy days. The Sierra peaks in the distance have slowly turned white with snow. Trees transformed into vibrant colors, and at least one osprey followed the salmon run up the river. Fall here offers much to celebrate, and with the cooler weather, it’s easier to embrace being outside no matter the time of day.
Leaves aflame (not with fire but with fall color)
King of the river?
One of countless salmon swimming upstream
The Sierra peaks are even more snow-covered than this now. A promise of drought relief?
All the year round
I’m grateful for so many people and things that have remained steadfast the whole year. For my husband who has patiently weathered my homesick moments and encouraged my attempts at establishing roots here. For family and friends far away who’ve made the effort to keep in touch. For new friends who have embraced me into their lives (and into their language, too). All y’all are wonderful! đ
I’m grateful for the great running and races here. For coffee shops and wineries and San Francisco not too close but not too far either. For Yosemite within driving distance. And, oh, the stars. How could I forget the stars? It’s darker here than anywhere I’ve ever lived. Just the other night, I noticed some stars in Orion I don’t think I’ve ever seen before.
Perhaps the greatest takeaway for me this yearâa reminder I see weekly as I drive along a certain tree-lined, windy roadâis that no matter where I live, this is truth:
This message resonated with many of you, too. In my tree signs series, a majority of you chose this sign as your favorite.
As we head toward Christmas and a new year, I hope you’ll pause for a moment in all the busyness and ask yourself what you have loved about each of the last four seasons. What stands out to you? I invite you to share a few of your joys and delights from the year in the comments below.
The Flourishing Tree 