Oh My God, Stick Season is Here!
Sunday. Oct. 30 2016. I’m in Connecticut taking a short break and updating a photograph of my friend Gretchen. Seven years ago she had tumors in both breasts and had a mastectomy which left a bunch of scars. She lost her hair due to chemotherapy and as you can see, she didn’t look her best.
Well, with the operation and chemo she beat it slam-bang, in the year a number of her friends and ex-husband died. Now she is fine, retired from the Art Center she worked at, spending much time with her grandson in NYC, going to museums, doing photography a (pinhole camera she made is what she uses some of the time), visited Bulgaria thanks for a Foundation that brings artists from here to there and cooking. She is a super-fine cook.
So I photographed her with a before pix but the reason for this note is my trip home on Sunday. On the board walk (actually asphalt) that borders the sound at Groton Long Point the temperature was 67 but with my face in the sun it felt like 75. At 12.30 I left for Vermont, 265 miles north. Past Springfield, MA, it clouded up but as I moved into Vermont I was amazed at the color of trees. Leaves were muted but golden and red was still patched into the swath of color in the hills. I had been away five days.
Near Randolph I crested a hill on Interstate 89 and saw white lines of snow on the crossover lanes that snowplows and cops use to wait for speeders or plow the other direction.
They were white lines of snow about six inches high on either edge of these short connectors but the interstate was clear.
My God, they plowed when I was gone, I said to my self. About 9 inches fell in this section of the Interstate. As I passed this line I noticed a whiteness to the mountains and then closer it hit me—not a leaf on any tree. It was like passing into another country, going through a check point. It was grey, a gloom of light barely cutting through the scene. It was, BAM, Stick Season. When I got home there was no snow around my house in Ben&Jerryville, my plants had been snow slaughtered, my house cold, and the temperature was 45, about 22 degrees below the temperature I started out with. But the clammy, cold rawness…ugh. Welcome Home. Goodby to a blessed warm and beautiful fall.
Transition Season, Peter. Your dirt road shot says it well.