Fall at Camp- What a leaf leaves us
I wrote this during the “peak” of colors-which has long since passed. Camp is spectacular in a mix of colors still- just different ones- as I post.
Depending on who you talk to, prior to the advent of the annoying, but effective, gas-powered leaf blower, it took the work of dozens to clean up the leaves that fall at Camp Mishawaka each fall, or it was done by one or two individuals who raked tirelessly for weeks. Either way, those that did it had blisters, sore backs, and a new conflicting disdain for the sheer number of maple trees that dominate the grounds.
I’ve done a bit of it myself, and I was always envious of my friends who run camps in pine forests and only have to contend with brown needles that can often be left in place. But as we find ourselves in “peak color” - a situation that can last just hours, depending on the wind, or maybe a week, I am reminded of the splendor of fall, the rhythm of the seasons, and, if I look hard enough - past the winter soon to come -, the renewal that spring will bring.
In describing the wonder of a New England fall in 1862, Henry David Thoreau wrote, “A great many, who have spent their lives in cities, and have never chanced to come into the country at this season, have never seen this, the flower, or rather the ripe fruit, of the year.” Never mind that the way those city dwellers would have made their way to the wilds of Walden was by foot or horse and buggy. And they were in the midst of a great Civil War! I doubt “leaf peeping” was a thing in 1862. Now, the Minnesota DNR even has a tracking website for peak colors.
What always strikes me this time of year - as much as the deep ochre of any one maple tree, is the contrast of the green one next to it. I am sure there is a scientific reason for this, but for now I am OK just to understand it on a visual level, when the light is right, and the colors blend it as if I am wearing yellow tinted glasses. Thoreau wrote, “Some single trees, wholly bright scarlet, seen against others of their kind still freshly green, or against evergreens, are more memorable that whole groves will be by-and-by.”
And now, in this month of September, this month of travelling, when men are hastening to the seaside or mountains, or the lakes, this modest Maple, still without budging an inch, travels in its reputation, runs up its scarlet flag on that hill-side, which shows that it has finished its summer’s work before all the other trees and withdraws from the contest. HDT, 1862
As I write this. I can hear Jarid running the leaf blower in the distance. Just hours ago I heard the air-compressor blowing out the last of the water lines in preparation for the hard frost ahead. Camp, too, is done with its summer work.
It is one of those days that I wish everyone who has ever spent time at Camp could see. It looks so different than it does in the summer but, remarkably, it feels very familiar. It’s like a movie set with all the actors removed. Even amidst all the litter of leaves, if I look hard enough, I can hear the sounds of summer, the patter of feet and the ringing of the dining hall bell. All of us waiting for the next opportunity to grow another ring, sprout new leaves, and tell another story of our summer on the shores of Pokegama.