Fall in the High Country
Despite seventy-five degrees, vigorous daisies in the berm, and a purple haze of asters blanketing the meadow, fall has slipped over the mountaintops and nestled in our valley.
Cottonwood trees by the river are graced with gold, while grasses on the upper slopes are straw-yellow. One species of wild shrub is vibrantly persimmon already. In a couple of weeks aspens will erupt in fiery red and crayon yellow slashes—starting in high groves before gradually leeching color down the hillsides like melting candle wax. And the rose hips are little vitamin-C bombs, beckoning the bear family that lives nearby.
The first hunters were preparing for deer and elk season by sighting in rifles in the creek-bed beneath our property last weekend. Pickup trucks and four wheelers have been parked along the interstate too, waiting for hunters who are scouting territory, preparing to stock freezers in the coming weeks. We’re in bow (archery) season now, then muzzleloader season begins, and lastly, riflemen (and women) will comb forest and slopes as they track prints and scat, and replicate the female-elk whistle to attract a bull. Blaze orange polka dots will creep across the mountain face two miles north of my office windows.
Living here is a colorful adventure. One still very connected to changing seasons and an earlier, simpler way of life. I remember living in a big city, buffered from all but my most immediate environment by buildings that blocked my view and sprawled forever.
But here, I’m constantly reminded of God’s general revelation of Himself through nature, which keeps my life in perspective and triggers thankful joy.
Happy fall to you!