Great Expectations

When we had a late start to spring, including the aspen trees leafing out one or two weeks later than usual, I expected that the aspen would last later into fall, maybe through mid-October. Plus, the summer was so bountiful, how could my good fortune not continue into fall?

But something went wrong, because the colors are fading away and turning pale instead of their usual brilliant gold. Maybe we got too much rain, and all that moisture caused a blight, because the aspen leaves have brown splotches on them. Instead of the colors lasting until mid-October or even later, the trees have taken a quick death, going before their time—or at least before the time I expected. Now the flashiest color is the red of the rosehip (below), which was bountiful this year.

Most autumns, I have a schedule for seeing the fall colors. I start out hiking in areas that will be first hit by frost—up in the high country, close to tree line. I then move lower down the mountain to trails where the aspen bloom later, and finish the fall celebration in the foothills above Boulder. I know where the best pockets of changing aspen are, and it’s still a mystery why two stands of aspen, 100 feet apart, are on different schedules.

Although most of the aspen around the cabin have shed their leaves, this week I found a tall stand near Fritz’s Pond (below). I sat in this light-filled grove and listened to the leaves in the wind— the closest thing to silence yet a soft and tender reminder that the world was alive. It sounded like yearning—for fall to never end, for winter to never start or for life to continue.

The next morning I sat outside in the cold chill, letting the sun warm me. When the aspen leaves started chattering, what I heard was “hurry, hurry, hurry,” as in get ready for winter, like the frantic gray squirrels running up and down the fence carrying pine cones to their winter dens. Don’t waste life on useless thoughts; get moving.

But when I listened deeper, I heard “accept” and a reminder that life continued. Even though the aspen trees and willow bushes were shedding their leaves, and the grasses have all turned brown, life was still here, although it had retreated underground, where it would renew itself all winter. I could hear the hum.

Comments

[Carol Christenson]

Thank you so much Kathy for this post and this ongoing journal. Your writing and photos take me right back to Colorado and all her splendor.

[SusanR]

I was up there a week ago and even then, many of the large stands of aspen between Ned and Ward were already faded. I knew I was maybe a week past peak, but it looked like more than that. There were still some golden stands down around Ned in lower, more sheltered areas. My brother, who lives up on Sugarloaf, west of Boulder, said the wind had stripped a lot of the higher and more open groves. Thought of you while we were visiting one of his friends in Allenspark. The friend owns one of the old cabins in Triple Creek and has added a deck on one side -- with an unobstructed view across Wild Basin to Meeker and over to Twin Sisters.

Isn't it interesting how fickle Mother Nature is, with one grove gold and the one next to it already faded, as in your photo. Here we are, staring down the end of fall, and summer was just yesterday.

[Kathy Kaiser]

Susan, it's been a disappointing year for sure, whether the wind stripped the leaves or some blight. I think the colors have been better on the Western Slope, where they haven't gotten as much rain.
Your friend is lucky to have a clear view of Mount Meeker and the Twin Sisters. From my place I can see Meeker through the pine trees.
It does seem like fall happened too fast, and winter is coming too early.

[Kathy Kaiser]

Thanks, Carol. Glad I can bring a little Colorado to you.