Autumn Adventure

I love fall in Oregon.  Well, to be honest, I love fall anywhere!  The crisp feeling in the air, the gem-hued trees, the tang of woodsmoke and leaf mold, the brilliant but gentler blue of the sky, and the feeling of harvest and gathering in safe make me thrill in a way that no other season does.  I could spend every day outside hunting for trees to photograph as their leaves turn from an energetic green to a fiery, furious red or a contemplative gold.  Others seem to glow from within like a burning candle, with a yellow underside that shines like a lit lantern, leading to crimson tips like the rind of a jack-o-lantern. These are particular finds, and I spend minutes at a time wondering at what time of day or evening these trees are their most incandescent.  (I try not to focus on this too much while navigating through traffic, though.)

Ken and I took the rare opportunity to enjoy a late-afternoon motorcycle ride through the country after Saturday afternoon's General Conference broadcast this last weekend and basked in the glories of Oregon's autumn.  It was exactly the kind of day that makes me regret going indoors - the low-hanging sun cast foliage in sharp relief against a sky swept free of the foreboding clouds of the week, outlining each leaf sharply.  The smells of gleaning, gathering, and burning mingled with the brisk fresh air rinsed clean of smog (we'd been deluged by rain a week before) and the sundry sensations of farm animals and the river.  Kenny headed in the direction of a tree farm he passed every day on the way to work, knowing that the rainbow hues of the foliage were something I'd been longing to see.  I spotted the farm right on the edge of the LDS Church's St. Paul cannery land - the bright stripes of color were easy to notice among the tawny browns, tans, and greens of the fields.  We pulled up in the field across the road and Ken rested while I snapped pictures.

Arrived!

A blaze of color:

Dorky photographer on the left, but a great vantage point nonetheless:

Looking back toward St. Paul and Newberg:

Shy orange and gold trees peeping out behind the tall oaks.  Kenny didn't want me to miss taking a shot or two of these!

Kenny livin' the dream!

On the way home we tended to Mom and Jim's cats - who had behaved themselves remarkably this week while left to their own wiles - and then headed back home to Newberg via Highway 99 to grab some dinner and get Ken to work on time. I love the drive from Tualatin to Newberg. As we head through Sherwood, the road rises toward the Chehalem Mountains, farms fall away to woods, and we are enveloped in forests of fir, pine, and even deciduous trees scattered through the hills. The pass from Sherwood to Newberg is mostly this forestland, although some homes are visible through the trees farther back from the road or up above us. There is even a landscaping and nursery business perched on the edge of the steep slope. As we drove home on Saturday in the early evening, I wished we could stay still in the moment - just as the slopes closed around us, I could see woodsmoke weaving a delicate scarf of fog in between the treetops in the purpling light. The sharp scent of fireplaces and outdoor burning tickled my nose. As we made our way toward home, the bright orange streaks of sunset pierced through the pines and the city of Newberg peeped out from the Chehalem Valley below, surprising me as it always does with a cheerful little wave. The fog was no longer a scarf, but a cobwebby blanket over the town. We arrived safely home and ready for dinner, but I regretted closing the door on such a blissful scene of tender fall twilight. Another day might beckon with similar delights, but each fragile moment spent in fall is bittersweet, knowing as I do of the inexorable march of winter ahead - and bleary, sodden rain. I think perhaps that is why I love fall so ardently - its fleetingness, as prone to fading as the brilliant color of the trees or the glimmer of a jack-o-lantern, makes it all the more worthy of savoring.

Oh, well - if I get nostalgic, I can go outside and look at the awful stain on the concrete last year's rotting pumpkin corpse left after I forgot about it and it molded to a juicy puddle just outside the front door. That lasts.