Remembering a Spectacular Fall in Vermont

In the late summer of 1980, my first wife and I moved cross-country to Vermont, where we owned and operated a small sporting goods store.  The story leading up to the move would take too long to relate here; suffice it to say it was 90% whim and 10% well-planned.  One of those “why not” things that I am beginning to think is part of my DNA.

At first we rented an old farmhouse in the town of Northfield; less than a year later, we purchased a log cabin on five acres, with a permanent stream and waterfall, in the little town of East Calais.

Query most people on the street about Vermont and I would predict the overwhelming first thought/answer would be Fall leaf-peeping.

I swear to God, that’s what they call it . . . as in “IT’S LEAF PEEPING SEASON,” and throngs of tourists flood that small state, cameras in hand, late September, October, early November, and capture some of the most stunning scenery you can imagine.

Credit is due the Red Maple and the Sugar Maple, for the starburst of colors although, truth be told, the Sugar Maple gets most of the credit, which means it is actually a money maker two times over for the State of Vermont, cash in the tills for leaf peeping, and cash in the tills in March and April for maple syrup.

The changing of seasons happens slowly for most of us; am I right or am I right?  We start to see subtle shifts in the landscape, and for weeks leading up to the calendar change, the subtleness increases until damn it, boy, there’s no denying, it’s Fall now, capitalized because, well, it’s my favorite season.

Not so in Vermont, however, and I kid you not, you go  to bed one night in September, all is well in your late summer home, wake up the next morning, a frosty one at that, and the Sugar Maples have gone berserk, brilliant, and I do mean brilliant, oranges and yellows and reds, and I hate to use this overworked description, but an explosion of colors where, twelve hours prior, there was only faded greens.

Monet, my favorite painter, would be flummoxed had he lived in Vermont, for the muted gentleness of his strokes would be at odds with the reality of a Vermont Fall.  Foggy mornings are no match for the sea of crimson, cutting through the mist, beacons from miles away, and I’m convinced the only thing keeping the winter snows from arriving, earlier than they do, is the energy emitted by the colors.

Forget about any photos you may have seen. They try, but in no way can they capture, the essence of Mother Nature on full display.

I was in awe then, dumbstruck that first morning, driving to work, rounding a bend, and almost blinded by the sheer beauty of it, so in awe that forty-four years later I still remember that moment, burned into my mind, burned into my heart, the stunning majesty of the natural world, there for us all to appreciate, if we will only take the time to, well, appreciate it.

So, there’s your tip for the day.  If you are looking for a travel idea, set aside October, book your flight to Vermont, and join in the leaf-peeping activities of that charming and beautiful state.

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