An Autumn Visit into the Past

Yesterday morning was cool and crisp, a promise that even in Central Florida, autumn is here and summer heat’s packing for the tropics.

I stood at the end of my driveway and listened to cardinals and mockingbirds, but my thoughts traveled to the Troy nature center for an afternoon walk.

I haven’t visited the educational center for years, and even wrote about it for you. Wanted to see it again, so I took myself to an early autumn day, when the leaves were changing and the air smelled like wine.

I know the nature preserve has changed over the years—the sight of white-tailed deer was a rarity in my time—but the path I followed was in the past. Turned right from the educational center into groves of young trees that led to the marsh, on the wooden walkway, and later, a deck for studying murky water. The field on my right hinted of the former farm and the stream hurried ahead.

I never hurried, but inhaled sights and sounds—bubbly water, birds over the meadow, leaves rustling (and falling), the crunch of feet on the path. Like Bok Tower Gardens in Florida, the Troy nature center was a self-contained garden of God, but wilder.

Always stopped on the small bridge over the stream to gaze into the water, like Pooh and Rabbit playing Poohsticks. From that spot, sky and hilly field and woods blended into a complete, miniature world, far from traffic, jobs, or housework.

I headed toward the woods—tall oaks and maples—with more meadow views. When I climbed the slope to a wooden bench, I leaned on the pole fence and gazed at the sight of field lined with trees, hills, and sky. My favorite view. I settled on the bench to relax, daydream, plan my week, and pretend that my house was within walking distance.

Occasionally I shared the haven with someone special—my brother Steve, a friend, my grandson Alex—but most of the time, when I needed a few hours of renewal, I went on my own.

Some places remain in the memory, as crisp as when they were discovered. Forests, water, and fields along Squirrel Road. The curves of Adams Road toward Meadowbrook before it was made wide and straight, when patches of woods contained every tree Michigan could boast.

The woods at the end of Caroline, Bessie, and Henrydale, where Kay and I tracked down the sassafras patch to chew on leaves, or hickory nuts under the old tree between the First and Second Woods.

Why the fascination with Michigan autumn? I don’t have to explain to any Michigander, do I?

My favorite season is, and has always been, summer—green fields, sunlight through leaves, birdsong, afternoon thunderstorms, and later in the season, Queen Anne’s lace, my favorite flower. But there’s enchantment in autumn, and not only the brilliant colors of sugar maples, but frosty mornings, the scent of burning leaf piles, Halloween, Thanksgiving.

I admit that, from my warm setting, the memory of frosty mornings is more pleasant than the sharp bite of reality. Winter crowds fall which makes the autumn season precious, and I push away mornings of scraping car windows, or driving to work in gray, slushy crunch.

Memories are for enjoying, for returning to moments of happiness.

For walking along the paths at the Troy nature center.

In any season.