One day it was fall, the next morning we awoke to winter. A world of brown suddenly transformed to a world of white. Just like that.
My oldest daughter came walking out of her bedroom, eyes sparkling. “It’s SNOWTIME, Mommy!!!”
My two-year-old, upon being lifted up to a window so she could see, exclaimed in wide-eyed, sincere amazement, “Oh. My. Goodness.”

It was wonderful.
I love how every year the beauty of winter manages to take me by surprise, evoking the same kind of childish wonder in my soul that I saw on my children’s faces.
I could hardly wait until later, when I was finally able to slip on my skis and go out into it. I glided over the unbroken surface, daring to cut a crisp twin track through the artful riffles of drifting snow. The evening star winked at me in the lavender sky above the snowy pines, and the lake, still unfrozen, glimmered pale gold and pink—and silently I breathed thanks for the glory of a new season.
And for something else, too, because there were two things to be thankful for, really. The pure clean snow, yes—but, even more, how it symbolized the state of my heart.
“…though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall become like wool.“ (Isaiah 1:18)
Once upon a time, my heart was stained with sin, glaring crimson as the most brilliant maples of autumn—but then came the day I gave it all to Christ, and the transformation was just as sudden and wonderful as this overnight advent of winter.
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