- This is not New Hampshire or Vermont, with mountain ranges sheathed in red orange yellow, and glens of blinding kaleidoscopic mid-afternoon color. Trees in much of Long Island are far more sedate, moderated by bodies of water, and generally turn genteel shades of ocre, umber, and sienna before being rudely torn by northwest gales. Nevertheless, there are spots and locations here and there where one scarlet maple or a stand of golden hickories will provide some brilliance. No matter what, this week will be the full show until next year.
- I try to remember my hidden spots and revisit them. A certain church pond is pure old New England, a pocket park contains a vibrant swamp, and cemeteries flicker in full glory. It’s just a matter of me making the effort to get around. Soon enough, I will fail to notice as I keep head bent down to industriously rake leaves from our lawn only to watch it become covered once more. Sisyphus in the New World.
North
chilling breeze
Through
crisp leaves
Turning gold
Makes me
long
For warm
songs
Summers old
All
surrounds
With dark
sounds
Faintly
heard
While I fear
Ends drawn
clear
As
Verlaine’s words
And I arise
Full of
sighs
Pained and
slow
Tasks are
few
What I do
None will
know.
- Betty Allen Park is a small pocket preserve around a pond. Nearby, heavy traffic streams constantly, but here there is a certain tranquility and lovely autumn views. Long Island has fortunately preserved little jewels of what once was as massive development occurred over the centuries. Within a short (driving) distance of almost anywhere there is somewhere to enjoy and reflect on what nature remains. Mostly flora, at this point, with birds.
- An almost unknown local park like this is one of my secret inner maps _ I try to get here in the spring when the leaves are bursting fresh green, in the summer when swans nest amidst ferns, in the winter iced over forlorn, and of course in the fall when the pond reflects red swamp maples. There are too many of these areas to remember all the time, but I try to visit, and be grateful that there are so many, so hidden, and such sanctuaries from strip malls and intersections.
Jane was
walking her big black dog when I passed her along the harbor road. “Bit chilly, eh?” I said.
“Ah, but it
does bring out the colors. Not so much
here, of course, but Johnny and I were up the Hudson Valley last weekend and it
was gorgeous.”
“There are
some really nice trees here, too,” I began.
“Oh, you
can’t imagine how is from looking here,” she noted dismissively. “ The
Catskills were spectacular. Not as good
as Vermont last year, but we didn’t feel up to a longer trip.”
“Maples in Hecksher …”
“Pitiful. Why waste time on them? It’s not the whole
experience. It’s not overwhelming. We like to be overwhelmed, Johnny and me. That’s why we like trips.”
“Well, my
wife and I don’t like the hassle,” I replied, “so we make do with the local
parks.”
“You
deprived things,” she laughed, “you just don’t know. We’re going at least to Westchester on
Saturday.”
“How about
the pumpkin festivals out east?” I asked.
“Might as
well stay in your backyard.”
I agreed,
but in a different way, and did not comment.
Friday
- Hecksher park has a few brilliant maples, unfortunately few remaining on pond. These trees were planted quite recently during one of the playground innovations. Perhaps it is appropriate to keep young trees with young children.
- All life has a cycle, but I tend not to realize that is the case with trees. They just seem so long-lived that from my perspective they always have been where they are. But almost all the huge pines along the water have gone now, and Hurricane Sandy wreaked havoc with some of the others. Anyway, the most important part of seeing as an artist is to find beauty everywhere, small and large, always.
- Some of the popular music of the ‘60’s had almost biblical injunctions inserted. One I remember is “if you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with.” Good advice in many things.
- For those of us fortunate enough to be able to live with little fear of starvation or violence, we need not seek the “most” or the “best.” Finding a perfect life or a perfect place is almost impossible at any time, and absolutely impossible at all times. Winter woods are less colorful than those of autumn. But we still need to find the beauty and serenity of a dormant forest, even if its views do not stun us instantly.
- All most of these natural things do, after all, is to fire our imagination and thought. We bring all the other concepts from deep inside, invisible to the outside world. Once in a while, an artist can communicate from an inner vision to our own _ but it is still our inner vision which must be provoked.
- And so, as this colorful week begins already to fade into brown hues, I continue to seek the joys of seeing and thinking, even in a world of falling, drying, brown. Even as I must rake and bag to preserve the green of the lawn just a little longer. I never claimed it would be easy.
- Japanese maples are always lovely, even having a wonderful pattern of branches to glisten with rain and outline in snow. Leaves, which are a dull red treat even in summer, turn brilliant in October. And when they dry and fall, they remain red and shrivel into insignificant vestiges which become mere ground decoration. And unlike native species, these remain relatively small even at maturity.
- There are always one or two problems, of course, even with this most spectacular of imported species. This plant, like all maples, has aggressive surface roots that prohibit just about anything else from living underneath it, which can be frustrating if it is planted in a front yard. But a glance at these scarlet leaves on a wet morning is at least one reason to put up with any problems, and indeed a good argument for being happy that we have some options in landscaping not fully reliant on native plants.
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