Terri of the Trails: Autumn Woods/Collected Thoughts

With Sassafras saplings below and Sugar Maple trees above, Trail 3, in the upper area, beckons the ambler into the woods.

Autumn Woods/Collected Thoughts

November 4, 2013

Ouabache Trails Park

In the floodplain forest, an old Silver Maple stands surrounded by water and Lizard's Tail plants.

“There is a harmony

In autumn, and a lustre in its sky,

Which through the summer is not heard or seen,

As if it could not be, as if it had not been!”

Percy Bysshe Shelley

The Wabash River in early November, on the Indiana side, looking toward Vincennes.

“Autumn is the eternal corrective. It is ripeness and color and a time of maturity, but it is also breadth, and depth, and distance. What man can stand with autumn on a hilltop and fail to see the span of his world and the meaning of the rolling hills that reach to the far horizon?”

Hal Borland

“The pods of autumn are as richly expressive as summer's flowers. The quiet perfection of a long flat honey-locust pod, wine-colored and polished as the leather of an alligator-skin purse, is pleasant to contemplate; or the pungent roughness of a green walnut, for what else is a walnut except a pod containing one fruit, whose passion is to free itself from the pod and become another tree, producing a million more pods?”

Rachel Peden “October” from Rural Free: A Farmwife's Almanac of Country Living

The woods along Trail 2 in the upper area, with the “big creek” in the distance.

“The smells rise, too, in late fall. There is a sharp tang mixed with an aroma reminiscent of fresh walnuts and hazelnuts. The smell is faint and subtle, but it powerfully affects my mood. It is like a channel to my childhood memories, and I strain to inhale deeply whenever I sense that earthy aroma of fallen leaves. The memories it evokes are often not specific, but sometimes the bittersweet flashbacks are so sharp they almost hurt.”

Bernd Heinrich “Scents and Sounds” in A Year in the Maine Woods

Cut-Leaved Grape Ferns come to life in the fall and display their fertile fronds, golden with spore capsules.

A spur trail from the upper loop road to Trail 2. The area light-colored area on the left was once a clearing after a huge tree fell in a storm. It has since been populated by saplings of Sassafras, Tulip Poplar and others.

"How silently they tumble down

And come to rest upon the ground

to lay a carpet, rich and rare,

Beneath the trees without a care,

Content to sleep, their work well done,

Colors gleaming in the sun.

At other times they wildly fly

Until they nearly reach the sky.

Twisting, turning through the air

Til all the trees stand stark and bare.

Exhausted, drop to earth below,

To wait, like children, for the snow.”

Elsie N. Brady “Leaves”

Poison Ivy is a very colorful plant in the fall. Here, one of three leaflets, fallen from a vine on a tree, rests on the floor of the floodplain forest.

New leaves of Puttyroot Orchid stand proudly among the fallen leaves of trees. They will remain green all winter, and will not fade until early summer, to be replaced by a stalk of tiny orchids.

“Leaves falling. I love the way they fall in different sorts of attitudes, depending upon the kind of leaf, the amount of wind (or no wind), the amount of canopy for them to fall through, etc. In the summer, a very few distressed leaves fall prematurely. Those and the earliest autumn leaves have a lot to work through on the the way down. Sometimes they just get stuck somewhere for awhile. But I really like the ones that are wide, and curve a bit, and totter back and forth as they work their way through the leafy branches, like someone working their way through a crowd, someone who is determined to get somewhere quickly, and with much purpose – 'Excuse me, pardon me, excuse me, I'm sorry, pardon me, coming through!'

Then there are the ones that catch the “thermals” and float lazily down, unobstructed, tipping around like a cradle, a little swirl here and there, taking their time, enjoying the sunshine and the scenery, enjoying the sensation of floating, like a hang-glider floating around, reluctant to land. And they always land very softly and gently, just barely on top of things, with a sigh.

Then there are the ones that are no-nonsense – usually thicker leaves, long-oval, like elm leaves, edges smooth or toothed (no lobes to slow them down) – at the moment of break from the twig, they barrel head-first through the canopy, pushing all aside, no excuses, I've-got-a-job-to-do, oblivious to all. They plummet to the woods floor with a smack and a 'there, now – I'm HERE!'. Very solid landing.

Then there are the long, narrow ones that twirl down lengthwise, constantly pirouetting. They remind me of those spiral 'icicle” Christmas ornaments when they are bumped or blown and then twirl, except if they were also falling and golden or brown. They really are like dancers, gazing upward, feet and toes downward, just twirling down rapidly. They always land on their feet, then tip over.”

Terri Talarek King from her nature journal October 4, 2011 (home woods)

A leaf of the Sycamore, the largest leaves produced by our native trees.

“Daily life seems alarmingly virtual. Trees provide the antidote. The smell of pine needles, the crunch of autumn leaves, the roughness of bark are all reminders that we are a part of nature. Tree hugging in its most literal sense, offers a reconnection with the physical world, the world of our forefathers. The forests and their trees are a sanctuary for the spirit. To enter them is to seek renewal.”

Eric Rutkow, Epilogue in American Canopy: Trees, Forests and the Making of a Nation