The Life in My Years

“I love the autumn—that melancholy season that suits memories so well. When the trees have lost their leaves, when the sky at sunset still preserves the russet hue that fills with gold the withered grass, it is sweet to watch the final fading of the fires that until recently burnt within you.”
~ Gustave Flaubert, Memoirs of a Madman and November

Seriously Gustave, you can take your autumn and stick it where the sun don’t shine. And it don’t shine so much in autumn.

Don’t let the title of this little ditty fool you. I don’t celebrate autumn. Poets, authors, and songwriters like to romanticize the “snap” in the fall air. “Snap in the air,” is just verbal ornamentation for “it’s f’ing damn cold.”

And it’s getting dark. One of my favorite days outside of spring and summer is December 22nd. On that date the days start to get longer again. I know, the change is imperceptible, but the very fact that the days are getting longer is enough to warm the heart, even if the rest of the body is shivering from the cold.

It’s not as if autumn is completely without value. It’s the season when Cora and I tend to travel. The kids are back in school and the family vacations are done for the year, meaning that many of the tourists are gone.

And

I – can’t – stand – tourists –

said the tourist.

Autumn’s other saving grace is that for a photographer, fall and its vibrant colors is low hanging squash (yeah, I know, squash doesn’t hang, but work with me, I’m trying to stay seasonal). And so here is my ode to the season I like only better than winter.

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In the autumn of 2021, when COVID was loosening its literal death grip, I took a road trip through America’s Midwest. On my first day I drove from Omaha, Nebraska to nearby Plattsmouth. In a section of the country where the harvest season really has meaning, the little town was celebrating it’s corn festival.

For six weeks I looped around the Midwest and saw endless cornfields, some bursting with corn waiting to be harvested and others just waiting to be plowed up following the just completed harvest.

While I was in Plattsmouth, I sat and talked with a couple of old boys who told me something about the history of the town. They mentioned that one year the organizers of the corn festival decided to think outside the box and name the annual celebration the King Korn Karnival. Sounded kind of cute until they realized that the acronym for King Korn Karnival is KKK. The idea was promptly put back in the box.

My drive took me to Wisconsin and Upper Michigan where the blazing colors danced on lake waters.

A proper road trip entices the traveler to take the road less traveled, like this one in Wisconsin.

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In 2015, Cora and I took to the road, bound for Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks. During the summer those two national treasures are packed with, yeah, tourists. With the coming of autumn and the “snap” in the air it was almost as if we had the parks to ourselves.

Early one morning we got up early to catch the sunrise at the Oxbow Bend of the Snake River (below). Cora went with me, and while I photographed the autumnal glory she watched and shivered in that romantic “snap,” which that morning registered somewhere around 30 degrees (- 1 celsius ).

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The next morning I got up early to catch the sunrise at the T.A. Moulton Barn. When I asked her if she wanted to come along she’d decided that she’d enjoyed all of autumn’s “snap” that she could stand.

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COVID was still going strong when the extended family took a driving trip to Lake Tahoe. We rented a house and kept to ourselves while managing to enjoy the scenery. Along the way, Highway 50 took us along the path of the American River. At one point I looked in the rearview mirror and saw an image (below) that begged to be captured, so I flipped a quick U-turn and found a turnout.

With COVID still active the most we could do was to take solitary walks. During one peaceful walk with my camera I came upon this image of autumn giving way to winter.

It was a memorable weekend in Tahoe. A couple of days enjoying company that was made rare during those pandemic days. Joe Biden had just been declared the winner of the 2020 election and we thought that normalcy would finally return to America. For a short time, we were allowed a respite from the pandemic and political chaos.

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Cora and I took a leisurely drive towards home. We stopped at Sutter Creek where I took this image of the Methodist Church.

Before going home we spent one night in a cabin near the town of Jackson. During a late afternoon walk I found autumn still life among the grape vines.

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After the crush in the Napa Valley, the grapes that get left behind become

raisins.

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Fall happens everywhere. After all, we Americans can’t suffer the autumn snap all by ourselves.

In Bavaria autumn is spectacular, and near Füssen, all the more so because of the castles.

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Below, a narrow lane in the 6th century town of Bergamo.

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Below, a carpet of autumn leaves in the Old Jewish Cemetery in Prague.

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Below: A walking path follows the route of the busy Champs-Élysées in Paris. Just a few feet away from the busy road, the path is a peaceful tree covered haven where one loses all the noise and bustle of the famous boulevard, where vendors sell crepes, ice cream, and yes, even Thai food.

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I have to admit that autumn is a beautiful season. It used to be a favorite. Maybe the lost love is due to the things that time and a changing attitude have taken from life.

I used to look forward to the start of the American football season. Now the game leaves me a little cold – like the air. Our neighborhood has aged and the trick or treaters have moved on to younger, more fruitful (candyful?) blocks.

Maybe the charm of the autumn “snap in the air” has been canceled by old age, when the slightest chill percolates into the bones. Maybe autumn, with it’s dying leaves and dimming light serves to remind us of our own mortality.

“I enjoy the spring more than the autumn now. One does, I think, as one gets older.”
~ Virginia Woolf, Jacob’s Room