Home grown...

For me, apples will always be the fruit of autumn, in spite of the evidence right before my eyes, in my own orchard.

Apples grow to their full glory in August, the branches bend toward the ground, the deer ramp up their visits, and we start to see coyotes once the ripe fruit begins to fall. The Macintosh ripen first, then the Red Delicious. And if I'm really lucky, the fallen (but still producing) Pippen will also bear fruit.

A good year for apples... if I'd known, I would have thinned the fruit a couple of months ago. But this tree has never borne fruit like this in more than 30 years.

The end... or beginnings?

The end of summer too often signals that I'm running out of time to accomplish a list of tasks I assigned to myself... and I need to let go and be happy again, that maybe I gave myself too much to do... that maybe the weather will hold and I'll have plenty of time... that maybe nothing on the list was that important in the first place.

I'm always better when I wake in the early morning to the scent of autumn in the air, and know that the world will slow down and time will be there once again. Summer is too hectic, too hot, too short for me, and I'm always glad when I can shake it off and relax, and settle into a new routine, a slower pace.

And does any other season arrive with such a blaze of color?

Home again...

I'm a week home from Europe, and starting to feel normal again after being gone for three weeks.

After a few days in bed with a bad cold (not helped by breathing smoke from forest fires), then a few days with family visiting from Colorado, I feel able to face the 1300+ photographs I took while on our river cruise, and begin catching up with my blog.

I hope you will take the time to travel back to the beginning of August, and follow along with my journey through Hungary, Germany, Austria, and The Netherlands. It was an amazing trip, and I look forward to sharing it.

And while I spend my evenings looking at pictures and writing, my days will be spent collecting seeds from the flower gardens, picking apples and plums and blackberries, cutting suckers from the fruit trees, and getting started on a medallion quilt for this year's guild challenge.

I can already smell autumn in the air... mmmm... my favorite time of year!

All the leaves are brown...

Oaks are only native here in a few places, including the prairies south of Olympia. It's always nice to go for a hike here in the winter, once the oak leaves begin to fall.

All the leaves are brown, and the sky is gray

I went for a walk, on a winter's day.

Muted by frost...

We've been drowning in rain lately, rivers swollen with unexpected rainfall, and warm temperatures in the mountains melting the early snow. Most years, the rain and wind brings the leaves down all in a rush, to form a thick carpet on the ground.

That carpet of leaves met winter on this frosty morning.

November...

It's the first of a new month, the one I always think of as the start of winter. Yesterday it dawned cold and clear at 31 degrees. Today, it was 49 degrees and cloudy. Welcome to the Pacific Northwest!

By November we know what our fall colors will be like. In the best years, the days are cold and clear and the leaves have time to change color. The hillsides turn yellow and gold, mingled with the dark green of the firs and cedars, then the leaves drift to the ground. They cover the trails and the roads with crinkly leaves, and I love to walk through them.

On wet years, the days are rainy and windy and the leaves fall before they have a chance to change color. Instead, they die and turn brown and tumble to the ground in a mushy mess. Those are not the years that inspire me to walk the trails, kicking the leaves and watching them float behind me.

I've been too busy to get out with my camera the past couple of weeks, but still, I've enjoyed watching the colors change on the hillsides.

Sheltering...

A small white cottage near the beach, nestled beneath a huge big-leaf maple in full autumn color. It would make some nervous, others would think only of the acre of huge leaves to be raked each year. To me, I only see a beautiful tree that is protecting, not threatening, the wee cottage in its care.

Red...

We walked through a Japanese sculpture garden in Bellingham yesterday afternoon, before heading into town to find dinner. There was a geocache to be found here, but I was mesmerized by this gorgeous Japanese maple.



The western light shone through the trees, and lit up the maple leaves like a torch. All I wanted to do was sit down underneath the tree, and watch the light playing through the leaves.



We had a Japanese maple in our yard when we lived in Eastern Washington. It was beautiful, but nothing like this 6-foot-tall tree.



The brilliant red against the green foliage was stunning.

Washington's oldest...

We've talked for years about going after the oldest geocache in Washington. We knew there was a steep hike involved, but with Indian summer in full swing, it seemed the perfect time to go.

Autumn is just starting to show its beautiful colors, especially the huckleberries, which are bright red. The vine maples are turning yellow and orange, and the trail is lined with them. It will be a beautiful hike.

We had the trail to ourselves, which suited me just fine. I take the accents at a measured pace, and stop often to look around. Because we came up for a drive in this area yesterday, I knew there were beautiful views to the south, and didn't want to miss any photographs of Mount Rainier.

Once we left the abandoned logging road and started to climb up through the forest, the colors intensified. We walked out into an old clear-cut and there, far below us, we saw Lake Keechelus.



When the trail climbed higher and veered to the west, there it was: Mount Rainier. The day was turning hazy in the late morning, with not much contrast. My eyes had no trouble, but I don't have much hope for good photographs.



After this lovely view, the trail turned north and headed deep into the forest. I was glad when we reached the top of the ridge, and the trail flattened out a bit. We're now on the narrow ridge that runs to Mt. Margaret, then down to Lake Lillian. And we're almost there. The cache is a short bushwhack up a steep hill and over deadfall trees. It was quite easy to find; the tough part was the hike in.

So here we are, three-quarters of the way up to Mount Margaret. Now what? We're so close, we couldn't resist climbing the rest of the way to the top. Where there is another geocache. And more views of Mount Rainier, 40 miles to the south.

So off we went. The trail was lovely, through towering trees and very little underbrush. It was like being in a cathedral. But the trail didn't take us to the top of the peak. Oh, no. We had to break off the main trail onto a very steep game trail that led nearly straight up the slope. I made it two-thirds of the way up a bare slope when my legs gave out. So I stopped and sat down on the trail, and looked at the view while my legs stopped quivering. An eagle soared in the distance, and it was completely silent.

Dave found the cache then came in search of me, and with encouragement (and knowing I'd regret not making it to the top) I pulled myself up the last bit of the open slope and into the woods. There were downed trees to climb over, but I felt safe from falling there. And out I walked into the light on the east side of the ridge, with stunning views of fresh snow in the Enchantments, and the north side of the Stuart range. Amazing.

I took a look at the geocache, we had a snack and photographed the views, then we headed down. Surprisingly, getting back down the game trail was easier than getting up. I used a walking pole (which I couldn't use on the climb up) for balance as I felt for good footing, and just took my time.

Halfway down the game trail, Dave stopped and pointed out cat tracks in a muddy spot. They were not there when we climbed up. This was a bit creepy... the tracks were small, so probably a lynx or bobcat was following us, curious about the invaders in the woods.

The hike out was pleasant, even though the constant downhill pounded my knees and feet. Before I knew it, we were back at the trailhead. Instead of heading west toward home, we went east to Roslyn, where we were happy to settle down at a hewn wood table at The Brick. This is one of our favorite places, a cool historic bar in Roslyn, with the original wide plank floors, back bar, and brass railings. I think they make the best Reuben sandwich and fries of any place we've ever been. DW had a jalapeno burger, and we both finished the day with a tasty beer.

It was a great day. Our next long hike is in a few days, and I can hardly wait.

Late summer...

The first feeling of autumn in the air has arrived already. I look out the kitchen windows at the orchard, and it just looks like autumn. The vinemaples are changing color, and the big leaf maples in the pasture are already losing their leaves.

But the biggest clue is waking up at 6:00 a.m. to mornings in the mid-40's, but the afternoons are still hot and dry.

All the tell-tale signs of a season in change, balanced so beautifully with late summer flowers.

I welcome the change. I put the garden to bed, then don't have to worry about it until spring. I welcome having the extra time for quilting and for photography.

Autumn is my favorite season.

Ghost leaves...

We walked the deep woods high above the White River today, beneath towering trees, accompanied by a stream running full from all the rain we've had lately. Before we left for the next trail near Crystal Mountain, I aimed my camera at a path full of decaying leaves, fading to nothing on the wet trails, holding onto shape and color, layer upon layer of them... slowly sinking into the ground.

Time...

I feel a bit lost today. The past couple of months have been so busy, it's been hard to catch my breath sometimes. A long road trip to visit family, shorter road trips to geocache and explore, hiking and backpacking, and the crown jewel: volunteering to watch over a lookout.

Now that the summer is past, I'm looking forward to a slower pace, time for friends and family, time for photography. Time to slow down and watch the leaves turn gold and copper and red.

Time for me.

Fall awaits...

It was a day to warm the chairs in the farmhouse, watching the new season of NCIS and cuddling with our cat. We're trying to turn her into a lap cat, and it might actually be working. She slept on my lap for nearly twenty minutes before she started to get restless.

It seems like autumn has arrived. In just a couple of days, the sunny days have turned to rain, and the leaves are coming down, and the mornings are getting colder.

The maple trees across the valley are starting to change, finally. Soon, unless we get a soggy and windy storm, the hillsides will blaze with color, and the trails will be thick with leaves that crunch under my feet.

All summer long, I look forward to those hikes through the woods. It means giving up the warmth of summer days, but I never mind trading them for autumn's cool, crisp mornings.

September...

This month is the one I love above all others. It's partly because my birthday falls in the center of it. But more than that, it's because September is a month of anticipation.

When I was a child, I would practically shiver with anticipation of going back to school. New classes and new things to learn. New classmates, and seeing old friends after the long summer. Spending hours in the fabric stores and poring over patterns with my mom, and standing beside her as she sewed. And that first day, dressing in my brand new, mom-made outfit, and posing for a photo before I headed off to school.

I haven't lost that sense of excitement, feeling that wonderful things were about to happen. It's what makes this my favorite month.

Farm pond...

It's been stormy all day. Driving rain, the wind howling through the cedar trees, fir branches crashing to the ground, patio furniture blowing around. After a dry summer and autumn, our pond is three times its normal size, making islands of trees that normally stand on the bank.

I ventured out mid afternoon to do my daily geocache, getting as wet as I've ever gotten when caching. "At the base of it" was the hint; I guessed at the base of one of several very wet cedar trees, branches heavy with water, nearly dragging on the ground. Oh well, I thought... that's what raincoats are for (something DW reminded me of just an hour ago).

It's just before sunset now, and the wind is still howling. But the rain has stopped and the very air has turned pink, and just past the cedar tree I can see a bit of blue sky and sunset colors streaking the western sky. Not a bad ending to this very wet day.

Indoors, or outdoors?

The sun woke me up this morning, a nice change from the rain we've had the last few days. I fed the cat, then he disappeared. Today I should run around with the vacuum, and change sheets on the beds, and dust. But the light is beautiful, and the sun is hitting the tree tops, and the sky will be bright blue with clouds. Maybe the indoor work can wait, until a day when I can't be outdoors.

Which will probably be tomorrow.