Peeping Time!

October 12 is not Columbus Day or Indigenous Peoples Day. It is Peak Day, most years – a bit early this year.

It may be in my blood because I grew up there, or still bright in a darkening brain, or maybe it is true, but Colorado’s yellow aspens or California’s whatever is in the Trinity Alps, or the pastels of the South, just do not compare to the fall foliage of Vermont.

It takes a blend of a few oaks mixed in with the predominant red maple and beech to turn an entire state into an artist’s canvas. New Hampshire tries to meet the challenge but never does. It is New Hampshire after all. New York, at least upstate, is too influenced by the Midwest or something, Quebec sells a lot of maple syrup worldwide, but their reds are not the real ones, even though they border the real.

One has to have something with which to cling. Red maples are as good as anything. But there has to be something to the belief, the known grandeur, the photos that keep the leaf-peepers descending on the state in late September to mid-October. The veteran peepers know which gravel road to take for the best view and best photo or the best selfie. But the hordes of people make the quiet life of small-town New England rather chaotic during the four- or five-week leaf season. The busloads of tourists add to the clamor.

The Sleepy Hollow farm in Pomfret may be the most photographed site in the state. The curved dirt road, the railed fence, and the traditional architecture make it a favored attraction. The problem for the farm owner is that they lose their privacy for weeks on end. Folks from other states and countries do not seem to understand that a private home is not open to the public. Tourists must be shooed from the living room just as they take a picture of the furniture or whatnot.

 

The 940 people in the town of Pomfret have had it up to their ears. They have closed the road to Sleepy Hollow farm, except to neighbors, from September 23-October 15, in an effort to save the road, secure the privacy of the farm owners, and well, keep hundreds of cars from parking all over the place.

Every Vermonter has his or her favorite places to see the colors. I had several that I favored. Peacham is a hamlet in the Northeast Kingdom of the state. The 713 citizens enjoy the benefits of small-town life. They are a mix of locally born and transplants from around the world; those who can afford all the expensive homes.

 

I am partial to Bald Hill Pond which sits at the base of Bald Mountain in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont. The colors are intense each year because of so many sugar maples in the area. They support a good-sized sap business in the spring which makes a lot of Vermont’s famous maple syrup. Do not get sucked into that stuff from New Hampshire or New York. Maybe the partiality results from having spent my summers in the area when I was a kid. I have hiked the hills and mountains, canoed the pond, fished the streams, and picked the blackberries. It was almost home.

Willoughby Lake in Westmore is one of the world’s beauty spots. Mt. Hoar and Mt. Pisgah have sheer walls of granite that descend hundreds of feet into the lake. Looking north, you can imagine being in a Nordic fiord. The contrast of the reds and yellows against the bright white of the sheer granite cliffs is breathtaking.

At this time of year, the entire state is ablaze with color because about 75% of the countryside is forested, the most of any state. It does not matter where you go in the state, there is brilliant color. The locals will tell you about their favorite road for the best peeping, and their favorite hillside for a colorful last picnic before the snow falls. There are few downsides to fall colors; maybe one can think of one.

Those colorful leaves fall from the tree toward the end of the season. They fall onto the once-green lawns and need to be raked into piles, and back in the day, burned. Some folks raked the leaves up against their house foundation for insulation once the snow fell. If you were a young raker, the piles of leaves make good forts for protection from the kids across the street in their leaf forts. Safe as we were, we never seemed to have anything to throw at the other guys. Leaf forts stopped being a great thing at about the age of eight.

Some say that that part of colonial America only has two seasons: the Fourth of July and Foliage Time. It is not true of course. There is Mud Season, Black-fly season, Snow most years, time for deer hunting, and partridge season. None have the attraction or beauty of Foliage time.

Sometimes nostalgia is at play.