leaf – In the Woods

fall flowers for ‘fall colors’

In the Walktober post time frame, fall colors in the Piedmont of North Carolina can mainly be found in the flowers. The leaves don’t begin turning in earnest until November. So, while my sister and her husband have been visiting me for a wonderful ten days, we decided to find a colorful walk at Duke Gardens in Durham. It was a lovely autumn day and I hope I get this post in before the deadline!

‘Ryan’s Pink’ chrysanthemums looked so pretty on the stone wall

this little lizard was climbing the steps ahead of us

and then decided to ditch us by going under a step

an oak leaf for my suspended leaf collection

Osage orange fallen from its tree
(I had never heard of this kind orange before)
AI says that while it is generally not poisonous,
eating it causes an unpleasant taste and can lead to indigestion

birdhouse with tatarian aster landscaping

stonecrop, a dose of more traditional fall color

painted lady butterfly hiding in the chrysanthemums

Mexican sunflower (not a true sunflower)

monarch butterfly feeding on a Mexican sunflower
(I hope it doesn’t think it made it all the way to Mexico already!)

This was my first Walktober without Tim. He died six days after our last one, and three days after I posted it. I wasn’t sure if I could find it in me to participate this year, but after the family had a memorial dinner to mark one year after his death I felt like taking this walk in his memory this year. I know he would want me to carry on and find some pleasure in the activities we used to share.

fresh, crisp, and rustling leaves

Here’s the puzzle I started on the Autumn Equinox and finished this morning. This is the second stop on my journey around the Wheel of the Year by myself. And a little trip down memory lane with some photos from past celebrations. Enjoy!

The two main things we used to do to celebrate the equinox were apple picking at Holmberg’s Orchard and picking up freshly pressed apple cider and pumpkin bread at Clyde’s Cider Mill. At home Tim used to make me a great cup of hot cider with cinnamon sugar on the rim of the cup. And although I don’t have too many pictures of leaf beds, an autumn day wouldn’t be complete without a walk through the ‘fresh, crisp, and rustling leaves‘ in the woods. 🍂

2020 ~ Holmberg Orchards, Ledyard, Connecticut

2016 ~ Holmberg Orchards ~ hanging gourds

It is pleasant to walk over the beds
of these fresh, crisp, and rustling leaves.
How beautifully they go to their graves!
How gently lay themselves down
and turn to mould!
Painted of a thousand hues, and fit
to make the beds of us living.
So they troop to their last resting place,
light and frisky. They put on no weeds,
but merrily they go scampering over the earth,
selecting the spot,
choosing a lot,
ordering no iron fence…
How many flutterings
before they rest quietly in their graves!
They that soared so loftily, how contentedly
they return to dust again, and are laid low,
resigned to lie and decay at the foot of the tree,
and afford nourishment to new generations of their kind,
as well as to flutter on high!
They teach us how to die.
~ Henry David Thoreau
(Autumnal Tints)

🍂🍂🍂

fall, leaves, fall

Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day;
Every leaf speaks bliss to me
Fluttering from the autumn tree.
I shall smile when wreaths of snow
Blossom where the rose should grow;
I shall sing when night’s decay
Ushers in a drearier day.
~ Emily Brontë
(The Complete Poems of Emily Jane Brontë)

showing up as a blossom

“Twilight Landscape with Birches” by Anna Billing

When the apple tree blooms
the moon often shows up as a blossom,
paler than any of them,
shining over the tree.

It is the dead summer,
the blossoms’ white sister who returns
to see us
and bless us with her hands
so the burden won’t be too heavy when hard times come.
For the Earth itself is a blossom, she says,
on the star tree,
pale and with luminous
ocean leaves.

~ Rolf Jacobsen
(Night Open: Selected Poems of Rolf Jacobsen)

remains of a colonial gristmill

11.23.25 ~ Bolin Creek, Bolin Forest
(late autumn forest floor)

The Sunday before Thanksgiving my friends and I took a very long two-hour walk, way up Bolin Creek, until we got to the ruins of a colonial gristmill, millrace and dam. It was exhilarating.

first glimpse of the mill, across the creek (zoom lens)

farther along the trail we found a bridge across the creek

There was a path along the top of that ridge on the right (above), heading back in the direction of the ruins. On the other side of the ridge was the millrace, now dry.

the sun backlit this huge leaf along the way

There was a tiny bridge going over the millrace so we had a chance to see parts of the crumbling foundation walls from both sides. With all the vegetation filling in the area it was difficult to figure out what exactly we were looking at, where the mill itself might have actually been situated.

I found a bit of conflicting information online about who owned the mill, but hope to find out more about it one of these days. It’s something to contemplate, someone laying these stones here 260 years ago.

another backlit leaf, caught between fungi and twigs

to drift into a brown study

On Saturday my son-in-law came to my rescue and figured out how to get pictures from my camera onto my laptop, and then patiently taught me how to do it myself. My daughter spent most of her weekend organizing and updating my important papers, accounts and digital information, for which I am grateful because I am so brain-numb and overwhelmed these days.

On Sunday my friends came over for another long walk and this time I brought my camera along. Naturally I forgot to bring an extra battery but I did get a few pictures before the battery in the camera ran out. It’s a start. I’ll get the hang of things again eventually.

The change of the landscape’s prevailing tint from green to brown is not a cheerful one. Look wheresoever one may, he is pretty sure, in November, to drift into a brown study, and this is seldom exhilarating.
~ Charles Conrad Abbott
(Days Out of Doors)

I never noticed before this old abandoned car a little way off the trail. (above) It’s been completely filled with rocks. We wondered how long it’s been there.

beech leaves turning from green to yellow to brown

Also on Saturday my granddaughter and I took a walk and she found three broken-off beech twigs with yellow leaves intact. She brought them home and put them in a vase for me.

suspended

It’s been almost two years since we followed this trail in late December 2023. Tripp Farm Trail is part of the maze of trails weaving through the 750 woodland acres of Carolina North Forest. We finally got ourselves a detailed map of all the trails from the University of North Carolina.

As you can see, the woods are still decidedly green. Fall colors don’t peak around here until the second week of November. Which makes November less bleak than we were used to in New England, but makes October here feel more like a September up north.

not all leaves make it to the ground when they fall

not all broken-off branches make it to the ground, either
(this one made Tim think of the sword of Damocles)

how many of these will make it all the way to the ground?

We don’t see birds often in this forest, but the last time we did this trail I found a bluebird. This time Tim spotted a woodpecker, way high up on a tall snag. There’s a reason we never see birders here — or even people with cameras — but I’ll accept this small gift with gratitude. We’re there mainly to forest bathe in the phytoncides the trees give off!

The world of machines is running
Beyond the world of trees
Where only a leaf is turning
In a small high breeze.
~ Wendell Berry
(This Day: Collected & New Sabbath Poems)

red-spotted purple

George & Julia Brumley Family Nature Preserve
9.9.25 ~ Chapel Hill, North Carolina

An atypical lovely September day dawned and invited us to explore another wonderful nature preserve. There we were delighted to find a labyrinth and two new kinds of butterflies. Tim was pondering how to describe his current style of walking, coming up with strolling, but not entirely satisfied with that word. Thinking of Thoreau, I suggested sauntering to him. He tried it on and used it a few times. Looked it up at home. It’s sticking.

🍃

The butterfly obtains
But little sympathy
Though favorably mentioned
In Entomology —

Because he travels freely
And wears a proper coat
The circumspect are certain
That he is dissolute

Had he the homely scutcheon
Of modest Industry
’Twere fitter certifying
For Immortality —

~ Emily Dickinson
(The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #1701)

🍃

We couldn’t get enough of the bright color of these red-spotted purples and couldn’t wait to get home to identify this butterfly!

There were hundreds of these satyrs flying around the labyrinth and nearby. They were tiny and didn’t stay still long enough for a good photo shoot.

To be honest, I forgot to think about ticks before taking this walk. Then, about half way through the walk we encountered three serious birders coming down the trail, carrying large camera lenses and binoculars. I noticed they all had their pants tucked into their socks, which jogged my memory and started me worrying since I had no tick repellent on.

Later that evening I felt a strong itch near my knee and the next morning saw the seed tick bite. Just one. Why do I never see an adult tick? Why do these invisible seed ticks get me every time??? (And never bother Tim…) But one bite is better endured than the 27 bites I got the first time this happened. I’ve got to learn to not let my guard down.

green leaves whispering tales

July went down as the hottest month ever recorded in North Carolina history, but what a surprise, August turned out to be the coolest August in over thirty years. With all the recent medical appointments we didn’t get out much to enjoy the fresh air, but on Labor Day we did get a chance to walk out in the woods.

We kept thinking we were hearing a creek’s water running but finally figured out it was a breeze stirring the leaves above our heads. The first autumn we were here we learned to look up if we wanted to see any leaf colors, and we applied that lesson this day, looking up to see the leaves, still in their lovely summer greens.

It was slow going and there were many stops for Tim to catch his breath, but we managed to walk three quarters of a mile and he seemed none the worse for wear after we got home. The rests gave us time to notice all sorts of little treasures on the forest floor, too.

A woman once described a friend of hers as being such a keen listener that even the trees leaned toward her, as if they were speaking their innermost secrets into her listening ears. Over the years I’ve envisioned that woman’s silence, a hearing full and open enough that the world told her its stories. The green leaves turned toward her, whispering tales of soft breezes and the murmurs of leaf against leaf.
~ Linda Hogan
(Dwellings: A Spiritual History of the Living World)

My respiration and inspiration….the beating of my heart….the passing of blood and air through my lungs,
The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves.
~ Walt Whitman
(Leaves of Grass)