30 Oct Leaf Peeping
Fall isn’t a season I know well, having spent most of my life in the tropics or sub-tropics. I remember being completely baffled by it when I moved from the Philippines to Indiana for college – how could it be a bright and sunny day, but still be cold? I rushed back into my dorm several times that first fall, trading out my ill-chosen shorts for more weather-appropriate attire. I might’ve written the season off entirely were it not for the changing of the leaves. I was fascinated by the yellow, orange and red that crept across campus trees until the last hint of green was traded for gold. I knew then that one day, I would visit what I’d been told was the epicenter of fall colors – New England. Fast forward a quarter century and those states remain the few I have yet to visit at any time of year.
It’s not that I haven’t tried. Five years ago a friend bought a farm in Vermont and that was to be my excuse to join the herds of leaf peepers. I bought guidebooks; I bookmarked online fall foliage maps; I grilled my friend for details; yet year after year, one thing or another foiled my plans. Not surprisingly, this year was COVID. As the leaves in my Maryland yard began to crimson though, it occurred to me that I might peep leaves a little closer to home.
Sure enough, I discovered Maryland too has a foliage map. I checked it after each weekly update and was pleased to note that the peak appeared to be lining up with my birthday. I would gift myself with my first ever leaf peeping adventure. I studied my options and settled on a driving tour through Green Ridge State Park, a touted fall foliage oasis nestled in the Appalachian Mountains near the borders with Pennsylvania and West Virginia.
The morning of my date with the trees, I woke up well before dawn to time my arrival in fall foliage land with sunrise. Fog laced through the valleys and I worried there’d be nothing to see but as the sun peered above the horizon, mountainsides erupted in gold. From the scenic overlook at the Green Ridge State Park, the undulating mountains appeared quilted in a patchwork of orange hues. It was an expansive scene, a fall perspective I’d never experienced before and one that inspired me to brave the cold wind much longer than usual.
The scenic drive led me to the historic Town Hill Motel and onto a dirt road into the forest. Multi-colored trees bowed in from either side of the road, creating an archway that reminded me of an elaborate gothic church nave. Movement drew my eyes from this natural sanctuary and I watched two white-tailed deer dash through the trees. Moments later more movement, black balls tumbling along the forested mountainside beside me – bears! Having spent the last two years unsuccessfully tracking bears in Florida, I nearly leapt from the car. But my view of this mother bear with two cubs was brief. They clamored up the hill and disappeared beyond a veil of yellow leaves. As I turned the bend, I realized why both the deer and the bears were in such a rush. There was a line of pick-up trucks and hunters, all clad in orange vests and clinging to significant rifles. They glowered as I waved, not returning my smile. I drove quickly past, feeling like an animal in need of flight myself.
I saw many more hunters on my outing, but the only other wildlife was two roadside chipmunks, a squirrel trying to wrestle a walnut the size of its head up a tree (it failed), and one hairy woodpecker. The woods were eerily silent. I concentrated instead on the shades of yellow, orange and red that I’d barely known existed and couldn’t even name. I marveled at the contrast between these vibrant colors and the deep blue of the cloudless sky. And I appreciated the openness of this second growth forest with its large stately trees and lack of understory; just deep piles of colored leaves below, already dimming toward brown.
The highlight was to be a section of forest with a slightly different composition of trees, labeled “Autumn Glory in the Northern Hardwoods” in the guide. It promised “vibrant […] fall color” and I held my breath as we climbed one last hill to reach these coveted trees, my mini patch of New England. Could it really be more spectacular than what I’d already seen? Would the yellow leaves sparkle gold? Would the red ones be the most intense shade of scarlet I’d ever seen?
I’ll never know. The peak for that patch of forest had already passed. Instead of my envisioned jeweled canopy, I stared at barren branches, black against the sky. I was disappointed, but only for a moment. As I stared across one last patchwork vista, I realized I was one step closer to my goal. I’d experienced fall like never before. And I’d seen a mother bear with two cubs. My quests for New England fall foliage and Florida bears would continue, but this was a pretty nice stop along the way.
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