Sugar maples ablaze between the orchard, gardens, and barns. What a season! Thanks, Pam, for capturing the autumn vibes from this fun vantage point in the nearest of Rosslyn’s meadows.
Although leaf peeping fiery fall foliage is inevitably and justifiably the cynosure this time of year, autumn vibes are aroused insubtler ways as well.
Ripe apples and pears in the orchard. Grapes trellised along the fence line. Blueberry bushes blushing crimson. Squirrels hustling acorns into their winter larders. Deer, emboldened, arcing easily over the fence to forage the gardens and orchard. Canada geese chattering south in protean Vs, settling onto the lake or into the fields for the night…
And this year we have a new ritual this year: re-covering the high tunnel after months of open air gardening. New scissor doors will make air circulation and cooling convenient in the coming weeks when daytime solar gain can still be significant. And with a hint of good fortune we may even extend our growing season later than in the past. New experiment. New territory. New optimism. And the always new but familiar autumn vibes of light frost followed by heavy frost — gentle warning followed by mortal barrage — whittle dramatically away at the vegetable garden’s viability. But with the high tunnel it just might look a bit different this year. We hope so.
Autumn Vibes Haiku
Early the ash turns, now maples and blueberries, succession of leaves. — Geo Davis
So recently I shared a still-ripening vision of autumn, similarly infused with lyric longing and luminescence, but less resigned, less resolved, perhaps less poignant. In “September Twangs” the micro poem wasn’t puerile, but it did sing with the intoxicating twang of exuberance and curiosity. The poem above, though a mere sliver of a season, nods to the inevitability of fall’s flourish fading. If the earlier haiku was a ginger, matinal perspective, a youthful perspective when autumn was just arriving, this October haiku is less twang and more the sound of fireworks fading. Perhaps a sonic boom echo-doppling into the forests and hills, perhaps a casdade of delicate cracklings decaying downward, twinkling sparks like celestial petals falling free of their blooms, bending toward gravity’s seductive beckon, then fluttering toward the placid lake’s watery mirror.
On Wednesday afternoon my bride and I departed Essex and headed south on Interstate 87. Driving one of the Adirondack highway’s most handsome stretches always affords decadent views, but yesterday spoiled us with near peak Adirondack fall foliage.
It was breathtaking despite overcast conditions. The flat light desaturated autumn’s cacophonous palette, rendering a landscape more nuanced than the scenes typically conjured up on postcards, calendars and television cutaways. This was especially true in higher elevations of the High Peaks where damp leaves and wispy mist intensified my melancholic, almost nostalgic longing.
Leaf Peeping and Longing
But a longing for what? For High Peaks hiking and climbing and camping and fly fishing, perhaps. Or canoeing lazy Adirondack rivers, the crystal clear water at once reflecting fiery leaves on the surface and revealing those that have drifted down to the pebbled bottom, a sort of autumnal double vision. Or is the longing more abstract? An invitation to flip through dusty photo albums of autumns past, or an unanticipated, uninvited glimpse of mortality, the bittersweet knowledge that today’s bounty is tomorrow’s compost.
Adirondack Chair (Photo: jeffsmallwood)
It is all of this, I suspect. And more. Autumn is a welcome reprieve from heat and humidity and — for a few fleeting weeks — the weather and light reinvigorate me like an old country elixir that makes me happy and alert and energetic. After months of nursing seedlings, weeding vegetables, pruning fruit shrubs, trees and vines, fall is the long anticipated harvest. It is a time of abundance in so many tangible and intangible ways. Ever since my school days fall has marked the end of carefree summer adventures, but at the ripe old age of forty I have discovered that it also marks the beginning of some of the best sailing and windsurfing and waterskiing and cycling, luxuries I couldn’t enjoy when school blotted out all these activities. If Norman Rockwell had developed a theme park it would have looked and felt and smelled and tasted an awful lot like Adirondack autumn.
Removing ourselves from familiar environs inspires reflection, reminding us what is unique about the place we live. Wednesday’s visual banquet was no exception. Living in Essex, Lake Champlain influences many aspects of our life, autumn among them. Unlike the Adirondack High Peaks, Essex remains temperate longer in the fall. Our growing season is extended. In fact, the USDA recognized this fact during the last year and actually changed the hardiness zone for the Champlain Valley to Zone 5. Whether climate change or just the “lake effect” resulting from Lake Champlain’s immense, slow-to-cool thermal mass, Essex enjoys a unique microclimate.
Essex Leaf Peeping
For this reason, the leaf peeping in Essex trails the rest of the Adirondacks. The towering maple trees in front of Rosslyn remain vibrant green except for a slight blush on a few leaves. Wandering through the back meadows a couple of days ago I was hard pressed to identify any trees that were already flaunting their fall wardrobes.
Fall into Autumn (Photo: hsuyo)
In many respects a quintessential Adirondack village, leaf peeping in the High Peaks reminded me of yet another Essex exception. While most are quick to focus on Essex’s historic and architectural distinction, our climate is often overlooked as are the ways that nature and agriculture are affected by our often milder weather. The richness of life in Essex in no small part hinges upon the proximity to both.
Adirondacks vs. Adirondack Coast
I close this meandering reflection on Adirondack fall foliage with a forty five minute bicycle ride I enjoyed mid-day on Monday. I had pedaled away from Essex shortly after lunch, headed due west toward the Adirondack foothills. The weather in Essex was sunny and warm with a light breeze. There were clouds in the sky but not indication that I would encounter adverse weather conditions.
The Day the Gingko Leaves Fell (Photo: G.G. Davis, Jr.)
But I did. As I gained in altitude the temperature dropped steadily and the wind increased. The clouds thickened and I became more and more aware of the humidity. I was bicycling quickly, laboriously uphill, so the dropping temperatures were compensating for my overheating body. And then it began to rain. Not a downpour, but a steady, cold drizzle. Wind in my face. Colder still. I reached the furthest point in my loop and turned southward and then eventually eastward back toward Essex.
When I dropped in elevation and swapped woods for fields, the rain and wind subsided. The clouds thinned. Sunshine made it’s way through enough to restore vibrant autumn colors to the landscape. As I rode past Full and By Farm I realized that the temperature had also changed. The air was warming. Was I imagining it? I paid closer attention. By the time I started my final descent into Essex from the intersection of Middle Road and NYS Rt. 22 it was clear. The air was growing warmer the closer I got to Lake Champlain. In just over a dozen pedaled miles I had witnessed a range of at least 10 degrees Fahrenheit.
No wonder our Essex fall foliage is a week or two behind the High Peaks!
Pam captured the boisterous drama of fall foliage currently at Rosslyn. The Adirondack Coast tends to lag the High Peaks and other more central regions of the Adirondacks. Many of those cooler interior zones are predicting peak fall foliage this weekend. Others have already peaked. But at Rosslyn we’re still straddling the verdant afterglow of summer and the brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows of mid autumn.
[Fall foliage] leaf peeping in Essex trails the rest of the Adirondacks. The towering maple trees in front of Rosslyn remain vibrant green except for a slight blush on a few leaves. (Source: Leaf Peeping in the High Peaks – Rosslyn Redux)
With Lake Champlain functioning as an immense heat sink, cooler temperatures are moderated, and fall foliage colors the canopy a little later.
Icehouse with Fall Foliage 2022 (Credit: Hroth Ottosen)
The perspective of Hroth’s icehouse rehab with fall foliage backdrop tied together two highlight of Rosslyn’s current transition. The gaping aperture’s in the icehouse, the ladder, and the blushing maple tree tell a story. If you listen, you may well discern the plot.
Barns with Fall Foliage 2022 (Credit: Hroth Ottosen)
Another perspective photographed reminds us that fall is here. Autumn vibes abound in this image made west of the barns, looking eat at the back of the carriage barn and the icehouse, still early in rehabilitation process.
Fall Foliage 2022 (Credit: Hroth Ottosen)
Walking further west, toward the setting sun, away from Rosslyn’s barns, Hroth took another photo combining the still blooming annuals beds with the maple trees. Layers ion layers of autumn colors…
I close with a hat tip to Pam and Hroth for capturing the spirit of this transitional time. With peak foliage soon upon us, and then the steady journey toward winter, progress on the icehouse rehab, boathouse gangway, and waterfront stairway will be increasingly important. We’re racing against the elements! (But there’s always time to slow down and appreciate the magnificent world of change around us.)
Freshly milled, locally sourced dimensional 2×6 lumber matches the existing interior framing in the icehouse. In keeping with the historic preservation/rehabilitation objectives of this project we’ve eschewed standard factory-finished dimensional pine for locally harvested and milled hemlock to complement the same wood —albeit many generations removed — used to frame the icehouse back in the late 1800s.
Local Lumber Unloaded (Source: Hroth Ottosen)
Thanks, Team, for wrapping up a long day (and long week!) by unloading and stacking this new material.
In addition to the upsides of purchasing hyperlocal building supplies (supporting local business, minimizing carbon footprint, etc.) historic rehab challenges us to maintain consistent and cohesive construction when viable. This rough cut lumber provided by a local sawyer is old school in the best of ways. And it’s nominal and actual dimensions are identical!
https://www.instagram.com/reel/CkIEfslgp0f/
The omnipresent color this time of years, especially the brilliant fall foliage finds its way into every photo. In this one, a short video of Tony leaf blowing and aerating at the same time brilliant Yellowstone oranges steals the performance. Double duty: Explanation forthcoming. Soon. Maybe…
