Walk in the Autumn Woods

After the outer bands of Hurricane Ian passed through our community, we had two stunning days of Michigan autumn. Windy, cool, and cloudy weather carried me back to the Heights while it lasted.

Fall in Central Florida is like an old county town up north—blink and you miss it—so that summer blends into early spring, and back to summer. Yes, I miss autumn.

How to explain to my current neighbors that Michigan has (at least) three autumns, each with its delights.

Apple cider time. Apples are ripe and the cider mills draw lines of eager customers. There’s nothing like biting into a fresh, ripe McIntosh, or buying a bushel of Jonathans.

My great-grandparents had a small orchard in their yard outside their Michigan farmhouse in Rochester (long gone), and Great-Grandma kept bushels of apples in the pantry off the dining room. She’d offer us an apple on every visit. (Don’t recall which variety, but I’ll bet my brother can.)

Out of curiosity, I looked up Michigan apples on the internet, and was stunned at the number of choices—Braeburn, Cortland, Empire, Evercrisp, Fuji, Gala, Ginger Gold, Golden Delicious, Honeycrisp, Ida Red, Jonagold, Jonathan, McIntosh, Northern Spy, Paula Red, Red Delicious, and Rome. For me, McIntosh can do all of the above.

Leaf changing time. Yes, I was surprised to learn that the orange, red, and yellow colors are always part of the leaf, overtaken by green from chlorophyll, the trees’ nutrients. As daylight hours shorten, soft tissue in the leaf stem hardens and blocks chlorophyll. And so, the magic.

One perfect sugar maple halfway down Caroline Street produced flames. Maples and oaks for red. Hickory, ash, tulip trees, beech, birch, and sycamore for yellow. The sight of those bright colors against the blue autumn sky was an annual gift.

This included the labor and pleasure of raking leaves. When I was a kid, it meant jumping into the piles afterward. As a mother, it wasn’t as enjoyable, although I recall one Sunday afternoon, when the kids and I were…well, shall we say…coerced into raking. Each of us groaned and left what we were doing to get it over with.

“Don’t FALL,” I said, as we maneuvered rakes. Giggle, giggle.

“Can we LEAVE when we’re done, Mom?” Laughter.

The backyard outside the kitchen and deck held a locust with tiny leaves, and a sycamore, with enormous ones, perfect for a quick rake, an enormous pile, and a few happy jumps afterward.

Once the leaves fall, paths in the woods crunched under your feet, and the scent of fall was a divine blend of wine and loam. Branches became bare, and the first frosts created crunchy grass and brisk (cold) mornings. Mornings could be still or windy, skies could be bright or cloudy. Invigorating. We dug out gloves and heavier jackets. There was always a threat of snow.

Pumpkin weather. Pumpkin patches and Indian corn. Haunted houses and Halloween candy. The fun of imagining witches on broomsticks flying past the full moon. Jack-o-lanterns with candles lit inside. Hay rides. Football games and cocoa.

From the sight of fox squirrels burying nuts around the yards, to high school cheerleaders freezing in their skirts at a high school game, from apple cider to pumpkin pies, from walks in the woods with bare branches to falling leaves and cold weather, autumn in the Heights was a season to rival late spring blossoms, summer vacation, or snowy Christmas weather.

I miss it.

For those of you there, inhale the scents of autumn for me and project the season 1,162 miles (337 leagues) to my front porch in Ridge Manor.

I’ll be waiting.