October

in the slanting light

10.18.24 ~ Pritchard Park
Chapel Hill, North Carolina

There’s hardly a spot of color on the hardwood trees in our yard, but the light is glorious, as it always is in October, and the signs of fall are unmistakable. ….. Always, when nature works as nature must, there are joys for every grief, a recompense for every sorrow. ….. Night falls earlier with each passing day now, but the recompense of shorter days is the glorious light of October. I wish you could see what happens to the magnificent colors of berry and bird and flower in the slanting light of October.
~ Margaret Renkl
(The New York Times, October 14, 2024, “Growing Darkness, October Light: A Backyard Census”)

These pictures were taken on Friday morning, the day we stood in line at the Chapel Hill Public Library to vote. Afterwards we took a walk on the trails in the woods surrounding the library. North Carolina has early voting, something new to us. Before we left Connecticut we had voted in favor of bringing early voting to our old state. I wonder if it passed. Our habit was to get up early on election day and get to the polling place before it opened. We were always near first in line.

Something new for the citizens of NC is having to show a photo ID when they check in to vote. We always had to do that back in CT. It’s so interesting getting to know the different ways the governments of different states run things, something I never thought about before, having lived in only one state my whole life.

As I stood in line I reflected on how encouraging it was to learn that our 39th President, Jimmy Carter, made the effort to vote while in hospice care at the age of 100. He was the first president I ever voted for. My thoughts also returned to the sacrifice so many of our ancestors made for us in the Revolutionary War, so that we could have the right to vote today. As the granddaughter of Ukrainian immigrants on one side and the descendant of several Mayflower passengers on the other, my complex place in American history has always fascinated me. While appreciating the myriads of reasons Europeans have crossed the Atlantic over the centuries to make better lives for themselves here, I also feel deep regret for the harm they have caused to the original people who lived, and still live here.

When we moved down here I started looking for southern nature writers who might help me get acquainted with my new environment. I’ve become a big fan of Margaret Renkl, who lives in Tennessee at the same southern latitude as we do. Her lyrical writings resonate with the seasonal observations I’m experiencing here. I’ve read three of her books, checked out from the same beautiful library where we voted, and enjoy her occasional editorials in the New York Times.

I tried to capture some of the slanting light of October to match Renkl’s words. This is our second autumn down south and the way it is unfolding feels much more familiar now, it’s starting to feel more like home.

sculpure at Chapel Hill Public Library parking lot

sunlight in the forest

If you had told me a year ago when I was writing my last Walktober post in Connecticut that a year later I would be writing my next one from a new home far away in North Carolina….. I would not have thought it even remotely possible. But here I am!

This is my contribution to Walktober, this year being hosted by Dawn over at her Change Is Hard blog. See Dawn’s warm invitation to participate here: Walktober 2023.

10.25.23 ~ Carolina North Forest
Chapel Hill & Carrboro, North Carolina

It turns out that 750 acres of woodlands, with numerous trails, belonging to the University of North Carolina, is only about a mile away from our home, as the crow flies. For this, our first visit, we wound up on the deeply shaded Occoneechee Loop. It had plenty of uneven terrain for Tim so it wound up being our longest walk so far this fall.

My camera kept telling me that I needed a flash so I decided to focus on finding pockets of sunlight for my pictures. It wasn’t long before I was feeling more relaxed and mindful, noticing the individual trees and the little things. This forest bath was having a delightfully positive effect on me.

shagbark hickory
can grow over 100 ft tall and live for 350 years

On such October days as this, we look about us as though in some new and magic land. The mystical draws close behind the luminous veil. We see the things about us and sense larger meanings just beyond our grasp.
~ Edwin Way Teale
(Circle of the Seasons: The Journal of a Naturalist’s Year)

sunlight penetrating the deep green forest

We’re looking forward to our next walk in this wonderful forest. It will be nice to see how it changes with at least three of the seasons, as I know hot and humid summertime walks here will be few and far between.

walking along a ledge

10.19.22 ~ Sassacus Nature Preserve, Groton, Connecticut

Recently we were driving down a road less traveled (by us) and spotted a sign right next to an industrial business. Sassacus Nature Preserve? The parking lot was shared with the business, and behind a chain link fence were ladders and small dumpsters available to rent. It didn’t seem to be a very natural setting. We thought we saw a path off the parking lot and decided to come back for our next walk.

When we returned we found the trail and ascended to an elevation of about 100 feet and so began our walk across a ledge. On one side of the trail was a tall, long outcrop and on the other a steep slope down to a valley. It was cool looking down onto the tops of trees.

Sassacus (Massachusett: Sassakusu (fierce) (c. 1560 – June 1637) was born near present-day Groton, Connecticut. He was a Pequot sachem, and he became grand sachem after his father, sachem Tatobem was killed in 1632. The Mohegans led by sachem Uncas rebelled against domination by the Pequots. Sassacus and the Pequots were defeated by English colonists along with their Narragansett and Mohegan allies in the Pequot War. Sassacus fled to what he thought was safety among the Iroquois Mohawks in present-day New York, but they murdered him. They sent his head and hands to the Connecticut Colony as a symbolic offering of friendship.
~ Wikipedia

Notice in the picture below how the trail squeezed its way between two glacial erratics. There was no other way around unless we wanted to tumble down the hill to the left.

After about twenty minutes of walking we started to hear water rushing and then maybe five minutes later we could see a stream way down below so I used the zoom lens to get a picture.

At this point we turned around because the path was starting to look even more tricky to navigate. Retracing our steps we found that the sunlight now illuminated some colors deep in the woods.

October, the extravagant sister, has ordered an immense amount of the most gorgeous forest tapestry for her grand reception.
~ Oliver Wendell Holmes
(The Seasons)

This large glacial erratic seemed to be precariously balanced…

For the remainder of the walk back I enjoyed finding sunlight on the fallen leaves, mosses and lichens.

Truly it has been said, that to a clear eye the smallest fact is a window through which the Infinite may be seen.
~ Thomas Henry Huxley
(The Major Prose of Thomas Henry Huxley)

sapling at eye level growing out of the outcrop

It was an adventure finding this little nature preserve in the middle of town, surrounded by railroad tracks, streets, houses and a new elementary magnet school. And then coming home to learn about Sassacus and starting to picture his people living in these woods four hundred long years ago.

down by the river

We are lucky in Groton to have a long boardwalk alongside the Poquonnock River, squeezing in a bit of nature between industrial parks, shopping centers, a small airport and the railroad tracks and bridge. The flatness of the walkway is not good for Tim’s back, which does much better on uneven terrain, but there are a few well placed benches along the way where he can sit and readjust his muscles enough times to make it a doable walk. We were wearing our winter coats this day and most of the birds and berries we saw were nestled in the reeds and trees. No waterbirds on the river, except for an occasional gull touching down for a few moments. And one amazing flyby of Canada geese high in the sky.

We avoided this walk during the pandemic because there wouldn’t be enough room to stay six feet away when passing other walkers. But since we both have had our booster shots we felt safe enough to take a chance. One jogger passed by us twice, on his way out and back. We also passed an elderly man walking along, talking to himself.

I would love to live
Like a river flows,
Carried by the surprise
Of its own unfolding.
~ John O’Donohue
(Conamara Blues: Poems)

tree silhouette reflection in water
under moss covered branch and bankside foliage

reindeer moss and lichens on dying branch

So far as our noblest hardwood forests are concerned, the animals, especially squirrels and jays, are our greatest and almost only benefactors. It is to them that we owe this gift. It is not in vain that the squirrels live in or about every forest tree, or hollow log, and every wall and heap of stones.
~ Henry David Thoreau
(Journal, October 31, 1860)

one can forget the civilization is so close by

multiflora rose hips
(thanks to Eliza for the id)

blackberry
(thanks to Leelah and Eliza for the id)

The wild cherries ripen, black and fat,
Paradisal fruits that taste of no man’s sweat.

Reach up, pull down the laden branch, and eat;
When you have learned their bitterness, they taste sweet.

~ Wendell Berry
(Fall, for Wallace Fowlie)

steps of passing ghosts

10.22.21 ~ Florence Griswold Museum
dragonfly from “Twisted Sisters Magical Menagerie” by Kristen Thornton

Last week, Janet, Tim and I visited the annual Wee Faerie outdoor art exhibit at the Florence Griswold Museum in Old Lyme, Connecticut. They have a different theme every year and the trail is open for the whole month of October. This year’s theme was Folly Woods, Awesome Wee Faerie Architecture.

butterfly from “Twisted Sisters Magical Menagerie” by Kristen Thornton

Historic real-world follies are ornamental buildings designed to enhance the view at grand estates, public parks, and gardens. The fanciful forms of a folly is its function. Often inspired by the classical architecture of the ancient Greeks and Romans, folly architects also borrow decorative elements from Egypt, India, and Japan. This year, the wee faeries present FOLLY WOODS, a collection of miniature architectural masterworks for you to enjoy.
~ Folly Finder program

butterfly and bee homes from
“Arden’s Edenesque Escape” by Vanessa Bunnell

Janet and I first started coming to these in 2011! I’ve missed a year or two for various reasons but it’s always exciting to come back and see the newest creations. Spending time with Janet is always a gift. It’s such a lovely setting on the banks of the Lieutenant River that we found ourselves captivated by the trees and flowers as much as by the little fairy buildings.

Gothic-style pavilion from
“Periwinkle’s Picturesque Pavilion” by Lynda Cmara & Bettina Rowlands

the Green Man tucked behind a net, waiting for spring
from “Periwinkle’s Picturesque Pavilion” by Lynda Cmara & Bettina Rowlands

from “Avery’s Surreal Aviary” by Madeline Kwasniewski & T. Arthur Donnelly

Avery’s special bluebird from
from “Avery’s Surreal Aviary” by Madeline Kwasniewski & T. Arthur Donnelly

“Flora’s Artistic Atrium” by Jessica Zeedyk

Listen …
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break free from the trees
And fall.
~ Adelaide Crapsey
(November Night)

a barn owl from “Baron Belfield’s Arch” by Kathryn Stocking-Koza

“Baron Belfield’s Arch” by Kathryn Stocking-Koza

details from “Baron Belfield’s Arch” by Kathryn Stocking-Koza

One never knows when a fairy might appear!

giant turtle foundation of “Serena’s Sylvan Shelter” by Nancy MacBride

turtle top of of “Serena’s Sylvan Shelter” by Nancy MacBride

mushrooms from “Faye’s Mystic Garden” by Bill Vollers & Dawn Hutchins

from “Faye’s Mystic Garden” by Bill Vollers & Dawn Hutchins

“Rodger Dodger’s Hodge-Podge Lodge” by Billie Tannen & Bob Nielsen

If you want to see some highlights from past years just click on the Florence Griswold Museum category below and you will find all my past wee faerie posts. 🧚 Some of the artists have contributed before so if you click on their names in the categories below you might find things they’ve created in past years.

As nature descends into the sacred darkness it’s the season for me to honor my departed ancestors. This is the time of year when I feel their presence the strongest. The blessings of All Hallows Eve.

May you know that absence is alive with hidden presence, that nothing is ever lost or forgotten. May the absences in your life grow full of eternal echo. May you sense around you the secret Elsewhere where the presences that have left you dwell.
~ John O’Donohue
(To Bless the Space Between Us)

descriptions of commonplace things

Back in March, when I was sorting through the boxes of family stuff, I found the following undated, typewritten account of a lovely October day Tim’s great-grandparents spent together many years ago. Charles Amos Hamilton (1866-1943) wrote it for his wife, Gertrude Mabel Hubbard (1874-1965). They lived in Batavia, New York.

AN OCTOBER DAY

Written for the delectation of my good wife, Gertrude, who delights in reading descriptions of commonplace things, written in rather grandiloquent language.

The poet wrote,
“What is so rare as a day in June,
Then, if ever, come perfect days.”

Without questioning the judgment or belittling the taste of the writer of this couplet, I make the assertion that, with equal or even greater veracity, it might have been written with the substitution of “October” for “June.” For, in old October, Nature gives us examples of a brilliance of coloring, and a tang of ozone, which June, for meteorological reasons, cannot duplicate.

I arise on a bright October morning and raise the shades of my bedroom window. What a riot of all the hues of the rainbow meet my eyes. From the pale green of maple leaves not yet touched by autumn’s frosty fingers, up through the entire gamut of the spectrum, to the vivid scarlet of maples of a different species. As the leaves rustle in the light breeze, they seem to be whispering “Goodbye” to their companions of the departed summer. The dark green limbs of the evergreens nearer the house, stand out like sentinels, bravely daring the blasts of the coming winter. The sunlight lies in little pools in the verdancy of the lawn, dotted here and there by vagrant leaves which have thus early abandoned the protection of their parent branch. The clump of spireas, which last June resembled a snow-bank, now has the appearance of a cluster of shrubs, which in the serene consciousness of a duty well done, are now nestling quietly and unobtrusively together. A belated hollyhock, and a few sturdy petunias, render an additional dash of color. Glancing from the the rear window, I behold the majestic line of cedars, bowing gently before the breeze, but standing with all the dignity of a line of knights in full armor. The row of sweet alyssum shows the same white purity it has maintained for several months. Two scarlet rose-buds, with youthful optimism, raise their heads fearlessly to the autumnal skies, disregarding the improbability of their ever being able to attain maturity.

Later in the day, we take a drive in our Buick, through the farm lands of the vicinity. The same magnificent coloring marks the foliage everywhere, outdoing the most artistic efforts of the painter’s brush. Huge stacks of golden straw stand beside the farmer’s barns, testifying to the repleteness of the barns with fodder for the stock. We know without inspection, that the cellars are well filled with fruits and vegetables, destined to adorn many a well-filled table, and to furnish apples and pop-corn for groups of merry young people. In the fields, the sheep are quietly nibbling, already comfortably clad in their winter woolens. The cows are lying placidly chewing the rumen of contentment. Everything denotes peace, harmony and plenty. Occasionally, a vagrant leaf flutters down momentarily upon the hood of the car, then, as if disdaining its warmth, flutters away to joining its companions by the roadside.

In the evening, fortified by an excellent dinner, maybe washed down by a flagon of “Old October ale,” we sit by the bright flame of our fireplace, and as we listen to the occasional snap of the apple-tree wood, and watch the sparks seek freedom via the chimney, we feel that “God’s in His heaven, all’s right with the world.” Yes, what is so rare as a day in October?

la-belle-jardiniere-octobre-1896-jpglarge — “La Belle Jardiniere ~ Octobre” by Eugène Grasset

sweet dreams

Goodnight moon. Sweet dreams. Smile kindly upon this little blue gum ball of us while we sleep.
~ Dave Matthews
(Twitter, October 13, 2008)

numinous mystery

"October" by Efim Volkov (1844-1920) Russian Realism Painter — “October” by Efim Volkov

How lovely trees are. The human species grew up in and around them. We have a natural affinity for trees. … We human beings don’t look very much like a tree. We certainly view the world differently than a tree does. But down deep, at the molecular heart of life we’re essentially identical to trees.
~ Carl Sagan
(Cosmos)

When a man plants a tree, he plants himself. Every root is an anchor, over which he rests with grateful interest, and becomes sufficiently calm to feel the joy of living.
~ John Muir
(Steep Trails)

A tree is a self: it is unseen shaping more than it is leaves or bark, roots or cellulose or fruit. … We can not point to anything physical and say, “There is the self!” This holds for the tree’s activity as well as for the human’s. What it means is that we must address trees. We must address all things, confronting them in the awareness that we are in the presence of numinous mystery. Who shapes the tree? Who shapes my thoughts? We are in the mystery of the self.
~ Brian Swimme
(The Universe Is a Green Dragon: A Cosmic Creation Story)