The Leaves of (a Vermont) Autumn
I close my eyes and try to remember the way the forest looked seconds ago, the colors still burned onto my eyelids. I open my eyes and take in the desk where I am currently sitting, and the noise of the conversations happening in varied tones on all sides. I close my eyes again and try to focus on the way the light flittered through the canopy, the way my oxblood boots hugged my feet as they rose and fell with each weighted step, quarter shaped marks on the boots that were rubbed a different color from past walks, airplanes, and car journeys. The crunch of the leaves beneath each boot, the rustle of the leaves still clinging for life on each branch. Was there a breeze that day? In my mind’s eye, I can feel the breeze moving strands of hair from their hold. I can feel the scarf wrapped around my neck to keep out the chill but also because I wanted to wear it after not for so many months. My green jacket, that I had the briefest thought of returning last year but am so glad I kept, the jacket that is currently sitting on the back of my rolling chair because the weather has turned to grey with chances of rain, wrapped around my shoulders in a way that felt adventurous and suited to the forest now visible on all sides. That smell of the earth is coming through the carpet now in the way that only a layer of leaves can deliver - slightly damp and with a hint of decay. It is a woodsy delight, the same as the pages of a yellowed book that is pulled from the shelves after far too long. No longer am I trying to imagine the way this sliver of the world looked that October day as I am now standing there taking it all in once again.
When asked of the things I wanted to do while in Vermont, my list was rather short. Visit the co-op grocery store with its vast apple selection, beeswax candles, and cheese counter full of local cheddars. Maybe find some of that elderflower cordial that we drank two winters ago, if it’s in season. And go for a walk among the leaves. The walking and leaf viewing was at the top of the list. It may be no surprise that we were able to cross everything off this list, aside from the elderflower, though instead we visited a local gin distillery that makes a delicious drink of frozen gin, lemon, and honey that will freeze your brain and revitalize your tastebuds at the same time. There were delicious meals served after cheese boards with endive leaves and Irish whiskey flights in front of the fire, there was the sound of baseball circling the house in the evening, and reclining afternoons in the hot tub.
On one day, after spraying our ankles, wrists, necks with geranium to keep the bugs at bay, we strapped on our boots to head for the forest. We paid a visit to the local granite factory first to watch the machinery move forward and back through the warehouse, as granite structures, primarily gravestones, were carved, cleaned, and packaged for their destinations. It is a mesmerizing process. Barre, Vermont is known for its grey granite quarries that draw sculptures to its banks, not to mention the leaf enthusiasts.
As we pulled up to the gravel parking lot, cyclists passed, some preparing for the trail and others piling their bikes onto the backs of their cars. Otherwise we were alone as we began walking aside from the whistle of the wind through the trees. Poppy the Golden took off down the path and then came back to make sure we were following. Our feet crunched against the fallen leaves and my eyes remained turned to the sky in awe as the leaves transformed all around. Shades of green, brown, yellow, red, and orange bounced off the sunlight streaking through the branches. One group of trees would be a deep green with only hints of yellow, and then around the next bend would be the brightest orange and red at the very tops of the trees that countered the more faded tones on the floor.
There is something about the arrival of fall and the way the world completely changes colors, sort of like everything has been lit by the most brilliant fire. It feels like the year is starting afresh much more than it does in January. And then there is that crispness in the air. This is one of the things I miss the most. That first late September day when the air is crisp, hinting of the change to come, and there’s a dig through the closet to find that one sweater, the favorite sweater to wear beneath the trusty jacket that sticks around season after season. All of my favorite clothes are for colder weather: boots, hats, gloves and scarves, jackets with buttons, thick socks, long sleeved shirts worn beneath sweaters though then you run the risk of over heating when the walk begins. My favorite beauty looks occur this time of year too as the cold hits the cheeks giving off that perfect blush and the wind plays a symphony with rouge hair. As it did on this day.
One of the reasons a walk was so high on my list was partly due to not having done one in a while, and that I was in a constant state of summer. Though I will be the first to admit that this summer was not nearly as severe as previous ones and I, dare I say it, enjoyed a lot more of it this time around. Sunset walks to the Griffith Park Observatory had become more frequent as had a solid schedule of attending fitness classes throughout the week, but that leisurely stroll through the neighborhood or really anywhere wooded had taken a long hiatus. I would find myself on some days feeling the need to walk and breathe in fresh air. But the air I wanted was not full of Los Angeles pollution and smog. It was that of leaves and the smells of grass and cold. Vermont brought all of those things.
As we walked through the forest, we passed ultimate frisbee hoops set up among the trees. Local teams compete each year in a competition with the winners getting their name engraved on a plaque. There is also a celebration each solstice that takes place in the forest - I think it was summer but cannot remember for sure. Candles are placed all along the path and bonfires are lit and watched by locals. It sounds like a magical night in which the town stays up late into the night, fueled by fire and mischief. We stopped on the edge of a lake to enjoy homemade turkey and cheese sandwiches. Poppy was interested in our lunch as much as she was in investigating all of the nearby smells. At one point a piece of lettuce was offered to her though it blended in with the nearby leaves and remained unfound.
The water behind the picnic table was like glass. From the stories we were told by Mr H’s aunt, our host and guide, people used to be able to swim in the water. There are currently wire barriers to keep the people out but I can see how tempting it would be to jump into the still water where granite cut-offs live at the bottom. There were piles of various granite pieces that had been piled atop other piles for so long that a hill had formed. These pieces were made in the factory after all of the designs were fit together like a jigsaw and cut out from the large slap. The remaining pieces weren’t big enough or the right shape for new designs so they were discarded. We finished our lunch and wound our way further along the path until we reached a road of houses dividing where we were and the next section of the forest. This was partially a road used by granite trucks to get into the quarries to deposit their cut-offs. We climbed over the gate that blocked the road from cars and took off in search of the summit.
Granite columns stood against the yellow and green leaves in what felt like a portal to another world. A few more paces down we came across the guardian of the path. A roman solider half risen from the stone. His shield raised in warning or perhaps greeting. Other faces stood out from the stone: the face of what looked to be an orc and a man covering his eyes, like he was keeping watch from the weeping angles. The light began to stream through the trees in the most vibrant golds that made everything it touched shine. The world was set on fire as the colors bounced all around our shuffling feet as the incline lead us closer to the top. At the summit the colors exploded even further, our feet standing on piles of granite slabs, as the colors stretched their hands toward Camel’s Hump and further back to the house. Take a moment to breathe it in and you might see the colors bouncing off your eyelids too.
Recent rains had drenched the earth bringing forth fresh mushrooms. At first they remained invisible but once I spotted one and got closer to the ground, I saw that an entire bank was covered in the smallest mushrooms. Later that night we went to Bar Hill in Montpelier, a new gin distillery, and were told by one of the chef’s running the food pop-up that mushrooms will appear after a couple days of rain. She went on to say that if you’re interested in foraging to learn one mushroom first and become an expert. Then once, and only then, should you move onto a second mushroom. She had taught her young son how to forage and he could spot his mushroom from miles away. Bar Hill is a gin distillery that uses local honey to make gin and vodka, including some gins that have been aged in whiskey barrels and other gin barrels have gone off to house ciders. I brought one of their yellow beanies home and am waiting for the day when I can wear it. Perhaps soon as my office has been quite cold lately.
As we wound our way back to the car, we found an apple tree with a few apples still on its branches though most were either too far to reach or had already dropped to the ground. The majority of our apple eating would occur after we visited the co-op. There were a handful of frisbee players practicing around the goals and other hikers strapping on their shoes for an afternoon. Antique shopping and a visit to the Vermont flannel store were in our post-walk futures, so we set off for town, the trees waving us goodbye and directing the car to where we might find the next array of color.
Songs to listen to while on a forest walk:
"Dawn” and “Your Hands Are Cold” from the Pride and Prejudice OST — really the entire album but these two are sure favorites
“Cambridge” from The Theory of Everything OST
“Orange Sky” and “All My Days” by Alexi Murdoch — his songs feature heavily on the Away We Go soundtrack which is also worth a listen and would make a good companion
“Re: Stacks” by Bon Iver — as Mr H said, “he sounds like the forest”
“I Am A Rock” by Simon and Garfunkle
“Rambling Man” by Laura Marling
“Summer Girl” by Haim
“South London Forever” by Florence and the Machine
“Down in the Valley” by The Head and the Heart
“Watermelon Sugar” by Harry Styles
“White Winter Hymnal” by Fleet Foxes
“Mr. Tamborine Man” by Bob Dylan
The Desert Island Disc back catalogue — not technically a song but I love these interviews and think they'd provide a great commentary for any walk
