Orange has been one of my favorite colors for a long time. It’s an accent color used quite sparingly in nature, though—and that’s why I was so pleased to find a rowan tree growing in our own backyard. It’s lacy pinnate fronds are ever graceful and attractive in their own right, but the fruit clumps that ripen to a vibrant orange in late summer are certainly my favorite feature.
The first year we lived here, I thought I was being clever, and tucked bunches of them into a fall wreath I had made of dried flowers and grasses for some instant, non-artificial pops of color. It really did look lovely on our front door! By the next day, however, the berries were completely gone and my wreath was in shambles.
Lesson learned: never hang bird food on your front door unless that’s what it’s intended for. Now I just leave them on the tree and sit back and watch the clumps of orange berries disappear into the bellies of happy little birds fueling up for their upcoming journey south.
That’s what they were created for, after all.
“Then God said, “Behold, I have given you every plant yielding seed that is on the surface of all the earth, and every tree which has fruit yielding seed; it shall be food for you; and to every beast of the earth and to every bird of the sky and to every thing that moves on the earth which has life, I have given every green plant for food”; and it was so.” (Genesis 1:29-30)
This was a November unmatched for beauty, as autumn lingered gloriously long—and these are the quintessential pictures of it in my mind.
the rustle of drying grasses in the gentle breeze as the sunlight gilded it all to royalty…
the frosty mornings…
followed by warm and golden days…
But kind as it’s been to us, November is still a month of transitions as it must be, a split personality, if you will, bridging the gap between autumn and winter—and “they say”, whoever they may be, that the time of the inevitable change is at hand. There’s a winter storm warning for the weekend, and it’s time to finish that project of putting small girls’ mittens on strings that I’ve been putting off because we just haven’t needed them yet.
It was possibly the most gloriously beautiful November day we’ve had yet—and if the playful antics I observed this morning are any evidence, apparently the otters knew it, too.
In the early autumn evening, we wandered through a forest of giants still dripping from the previous night’s rain. The wind rustled through the leaves still tenaciously clinging to the underbrush and whispered through the tops of the soaring pines. My eyes, however, were drawn far more often to the forest floor than its grand ceiling.





Sometimes the most wonderful things are not the most immediately obvious, but require one to pause, stoop down and look with care—but ah, how much beauty there is to discover!
Some sunsets are just worth pulling the car over to the side of the road for.
Ah, peak of fall. We just finished that splendid time of year in which they mark little roads around here with signs designating them as part of the “Fall Color Tour”, and if you take one, you should be prepared to drive very slowly. That is, at least if I’m in the car and have my camera along (wink).
“Shout joyfully to God, all the earth…
Sing the glory of His name; Make His praise glorious…
Say to God, “How awesome are Your works!…
All the earth will worship You, and will sing praises to You…
Come and see the works of God, who is awesome in His deeds toward the sons of men…
Bless our God, O peoples, and sound His praise abroad.” (Psalm 66:1-5, 8)
They walked around the milk house, then past the barn. They paused briefly to flap their wings disapprovingly at the weeds in my garden, then continued on around the garage, and out into the hay field where they walked it’s length back and forth a couple times before finally filing back down to the shore of the lake where they came from. All this was carried out in complete order and dignified silence.
“Be imitators of God, therefore, as beloved children, and walk in love, just as Christ loved us and gave Himself up for us as a fragrant sacrificial offering to God.” (Ephesians 5:1-2)
It was a Saturday night.
I’m hurrying to finish my errands on a gray and rainy day, wishing I had brought an umbrella. I’m focusing on the heavy clouds and the moisture seeping uncomfortably into my shoes. I almost missed it. But the tiny flash of color caught my eye as I passed and I turned back to look. And there, out of the blue, in the last place a country girl expects to capture the essence of autumn, there’s this single leaf, liquid golden-yellow against a city sidewalk wet with September rain.
And I return, with the second in my series of “Ten Things to Do With Over-Abundant Vegetables” posts. I didn’t necessarily set out to make this a series, but last year’s post on