“If it was any closer, it would bite you!” was something I heard from my mom on occasion. I also credit her with helping me develop my seeing, including when it was right in front of me, and even if I am definitely still learning all these years later. She was an inspiration who loved to look out the window while working at her desk, and at the flowers in her “garden of Eden” as we called that rough and tumble little in-between patch of ground she loved. She marveled looking up at the heavens—not just the stars—especially with her son-in-law, an astronomer; she’d haul us all out on the lawn on blankets for meteor showers and then the next day we might look with amazement at what the insides of a fish we’d just caught looked like. All her seeing was rooted, I’m sure, in a fundamental belief that the world had room for both humans and beauty, that in fact the beauty of the world kept us in touch with our humanity.

This past week, as the leaves have been coming down, I’ve enjoyed remembering the smells, sounds and sights of Fall, many of which take me back to my childhood. I delight in the many different patterns the leaves of various trees make as they fall, each a color and shape and time of their own. It has been a week of looking up at the bare branches and falling leaves and down at these mosaics on the ground. One of the most stunning Fall events is the time of leaf falling for the Gingko trees—typically all in magnificent morning golden carpet.

The leaves, of course, now no longer useful to the tree as solar collectors, quickly begin to decompose to feed both the tree and the surrounding, complex web of life readying itself for next Spring. That is just one more reason to leave them where they fall or in piles nearby.

The needles of Tamarack pile up and will continue to fall for several weeks, so different from the leaves of hardwoods, but also a treasure trove of beauty and nutrients.

Catalpa leaves as large as the pages of a book begin their journey back, the no longer used veins changing with stunning beauty. Their fruiting bean-like seed pods remain all winter, a reminder between the seasons.

And hidden in some of the leaves are acorns, samara, and fruits of various kinds, including those of Ginkgo. These have gotten a bad rap but only because they go untended and rot and smell pretty “interesting.” I carefully pick them up from under the tree in our yard—the only female in town—and process them for a friend who enjoys eating the seeds. The squirrels too devour them, perhaps knowing things we’ve long forgotten.

Tomorrow morning early, I’ll take time to again look up—at the Lunar eclipse—and think of and thank my mother for the seeds she long ago planted and nourished in me in my journey to see life.

07 Nov This entry was published on November 7, 2022 at 9:52 am and is filed under Fall colors, John Snell, John Snell Photographer, Leaves, Patterns, Photograph, Trees, Vermont, www.johnsnell.photography. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.