Fall on Me
Autumn in Vermont: everything you've been told it is, and also not
Please note: This essay first appeared in October 2015 on my previous blog site, and was titled “Peaf Leeping”. I’ve made some light edits to reflect the passage of time. I’ve purposefully kept this one brief; enjoy!
If you’ve read my introductory essay, Welcome Home, you already know that I am not a native New Englander but lived in Vermont for eleven years; eleven times we witnessed the brilliance and beauty of the storybook “fall” and what it means to see it firsthand. We now live in Washington (three years and counting!), and I see a lot of similarities in the seasons of both places. I’m not ready to let go of my favorite season just yet—oh, what a glorious summer it was!—but I love this time of year not only for the leaf show but, admittedly, the cooler weather.
Vermont is known far and wide for its gorgeous fall colors. Thousands of people flock to the state each year; these autumn tourists are commonly known as Leaf Peepers. It’s not a pejorative but it certainly implies that they are not from here and will eventually take their leave when the leaves fall (all puns intended). Their cars crowd the parking areas along winding country roads and bring business to roadside apple stands, and for good reason. The Green Mountains light up in the fall, becoming enormous rolling blankets of yellows and oranges and reds.
Each year, I’m on the hunt for the best-looking tree. There was one I saw on a remote mountain road where the leaves were a deep burgundy, and another by the gas station on my way to work whose leaves boasted a golden deliciousness for a short period of time. And I really do love those precocious maples, delighting onlookers with a whole spectrum of lime-to-lemon-to-orange-to-cherry at the same time. It’s a blessing to be able to experience this shift in the seasons, which somehow incites a bit of jealousy in the hearts of Flatlanders like me who can call this place home but only on the surface; that term is reserved for people who were not born in Vermont (and apparently you’re only a native Vermonter if you can trace your lineage in the state back seven generations)!
A typical topic of conversation this time of year revolves around Peak Foliage. “This weekend is Peak,” people will say. I overheard someone say it last week. “Tsk, tsk,” I wanted to tell them. “Peak was two weeks ago.” Over peak weekend, we went on a beautiful drive on one of those roads that consistently ranks at the top of the “Best Fall Road Trips” (according to some website or another). Along the way, we made a stop at the original Vermont Country Store down in Weston. You’ve probably received their catalogues in the mail. This place is like the mother of all Cracker Barrels: huge and overwhelming, with all sorts of goodies (Toys from your childhood and your grandpa’s childhood! Bottomless samples of cheese and jams and chutneys! Friendly cashiers in overalls!), as well as two attached restaurants selling malt shakes and probably the New England version of country cookin’ (it’s almost the same thing, except it’s called country cookinG, thank you very much).
This is all part of the Vermont experience that many people imagine. It’s all true, yes, but there’s also eternal winter and rural poverty and 4:00 pm sunsets in December and struggling farms. In 2011, Hurricane Irene brought massive flooding to the entire state, leaving a trail of small towns like Weston isolated and, in some cases, devastated for months (and years) to come.
And earlier in this year (July 2023), torrential rains brought even more flooding to Vermont, the topography of the mountains and rivers ripe for funneling water right into the downtown of even the capital city, Montpelier, making the most picturesque statehouse in all of America inaccessible.
Even at a cheery place like the Vermont Country Store during the Vermontiest season of the year, chip away at the veneer of this autumnal wonderland and it becomes clear that this image is both for show and sincere. Underneath, there’s a real concern: if Vermont isn’t the New England fairytale the rest of the country has been told it is, people won’t want to come. And a muddy main street and shuttered businesses certainly don’t scream Hallmarkian Dreamland.
From an article published one month ago in the local Vermont publication VTDigger, Heather Pelham, Commissioner of the Department of Tourism and Marketing says, “Our message is: Everything people love about Vermont—our small-town independent shops and restaurants—is still here and needs your support now more than ever. Visitors can be a real key to our recovery.”
There’s still time to see the leaves in Vermont this fall; the second half of September is when the leaves are moving into their colorful phases, and the first week of October is usually the best time to see the show.
But the disappointing thing about peak is that once it happens, it’s all over. (And for those of us who hold a distaste for winter, it’s really all over for the next five months. Until mud season rolls around). The leaves burst into light and then they fall. Vermont essentially becomes the Brown Mountain State(™). Every year I try to retain some of the sights and smells and feelings of the friendlier months, hoping that I can pull those memories out during winter darkness and remember how those glimmers of joy made me feel. I look at the same trees almost every day, but I’m afraid that I sometimes don’t see them until it’s too late.
Once the leaves are gone, when they’ve been gone for months, can I summon the memory of the beauty of fall (and more importantly, the promise that color will return)? I haven’t figured out yet how to harness these sense memories in a way that can transcend time and relocate me back to a more pleasant time of year. Until then, I’ll hold onto this short season until the last flaming leaf is pried out of my cold, determined fingers.
Reflection questions:
Name three terms I used that are regional to Northern New England/Vermont (this isn’t a quiz, but it is fun, right)!?
What’s your favorite season where you currently live?
The state of Vermont is located on the land of the Wabanaki and N’dakina (Abenaki) nations.
If you’d like to assist with flood relief in Vermont, the Vermont Flood Response and Recovery Fund is a great place to donate. And, of course, visit Vermont, any time of year. There’s a lot to appreciate!
Image: Lake Street in Burlington, Vermont, Friday, October 16, 2015.
Nice reflection on Vermont.
I struggle with Fall as well, though more so at the beginning when I'm in denial and complaining that the warm weather is ending. By the time the leaves fall, I've resigned myself to the cold, monochrome winter. Spring and summer are my favorites.