New England Autumn- a commentary

I’m not native to New England. I spent many years in my youth moving and traveling about the US, following my father’s assignments. However, when I watch the autumn unfold yearly, I know that there are not many places in America I would consider moving to. New England has captured my soul with its dramatic change of seasons.

The conservationists have stated that the Great Northern Wood has made a comeback in the last decade. It is true. When I first moved into the area 25 years ago, the interstates and major highways had only been recently completed. This left vast naked stretches of brown earth and barren rock exposed. Now, the great forest has returned. Most areas of highway outside the cities are crowded with oak, maple and pine squeezing each other out for supremacy.

On a day like today, the sky has that autumnal azure color and the leaves are beginning to turn russet on the edges of the great umbrella formed trees. The air has lost the heavy humidity and heat of August and has softened to the cool dry air of harvest time. The New England Asters are blooming a deep shade of purple and many chrysanthemums are preparing for the final floral display later in the month.

I can only look forward to the intense show of yellow, russet and red that will cover the hills in all directions in just a matter of weeks. The white steeples of tiny white churches and the red brick of forgotten mills occasionally interrupt the vistas, reminding you that the world of humanity is not far away. And after the kaleidescope has subsided, the drifts of crunching leaves that carpet our lawns promise pristine snowfalls to come.

I will enjoy the final Agricultural Fair of the season next week at Topsfield. There, they will have the “Great Pumpkin” contest, the scent of barns and cider will fill the air and the hardy New Englanders will be bundled against the first frosty nights as they wander the midway.

I’ve come to understand Thoreau’s love of the woods surrounding Walden Pond. Even in this era of technological greed and clock crunching, Mother Earth’s timeless and continual show of beauty and life cannot be ignored.

On the banks of the Charles River in Boston, the trees will turn and remind the city’s denizens that there is more than concrete and rushed meetings.

Perhaps the “Snowbirds” in their RV’s will escape from Maine to the never cold climes of the Deep South, but I cannot share their aversion to the frost. As the seasons methodically and dramatically alter the landscape, I revel in the power and wonder of my home.

Autumn, the Ultimate Show in New England.