The Blanket on the Road

I can’t say I am always as anxious to take our morning walk as our dog, Maggie, is but after it is over, I am usually grateful she is so insistent. Especially so this windy, chilly New England day in October.

The puddles from last night’s rain litter the divots of our narrow, imperfect lakeside road where we live. I remember now hearing the dripping in the gutters during the night. With the rain just a memory, the sun is blinding as it sparkles on the lake. Most of the summer residents have left for their heated homes leaving the few of us that have built year round homes to a very quiet community. The first few steps away from our house are the hardest. I just want to go back in the house to knit or something. But Mag can’t be denied her morning constitution and so we press on.

Our 72 pound lab/shepherd mix stops to sniff every other thing and then claims it by tinkling on it over and over, a ritual that usually draws out my impatience but today I was distracted by the wind and the freshness of each breath as it hit the bottom of my lungs. A flock of Canadian geese fly just over the tree tops honking wildly, disturbing the rhythm of the wind. Maggie’s ears flatten against her head, and appearing annoyed, she stops to determine the source of the racket. So like the last four Octobers of her life, I do my best to get her to set her sights over head but this year will be no different. She whips her little black head back and forth until the honking announcement of geese slowly fades away. All the while I am pointing to the sky and taking her by the jaw pointing it upward. “Look Mag!” I fruitlessly encourage.

We continue on our walk and I hope no one was watching me treat my dog like I used to treat my kids when I wanted to show them something new.
The leaves really are as pretty as the Vermont inn brochures say and although I’ve seen this fall foliage process forty times before, I can’t help but gaze at the brilliance of it all. The maples trees turn orangey red. The birches yellow. The oaks brownish reddish green. The combination is breath-taking. Strangely though, it is the evergreens that catch my attention. After walking for about a half mile and with my mind in the tree tops, I notice the consistency of Maggie’s gait has changed. The sound of her clicking nails on the asphalt has all but disappeared. Like putting up curtains in a newly painted room, all sounds muffled and softened. The wind now whispered instead of rustled and the ground was a blanket of wheat colored pine needles. The wishbone shaped needles flutter down all around us and as they land on Maggie’s back I wondered if I had any stuck in my hair. Most of the road becomes concealed under this slippery new ground cover. All but the middle of the road is completely unrecognizable.
I thought of how the deer use the needles to make beds in the woods. I imagined if the highways were covered like this road was, the town would have to call out trucks of some sort to rid of them because they would be a driving hazard. We had entered a golden wonderland although Mag didn’t seem to notice as she shuffled through the new ground cover. It was as amazing in its own right as the picturesque trees we had just passed.

In the next couple of days, I paid particular attention to the pine needles on the road as I drove up and down it. There wasn’t one hour other than the one Mag and I were there for that the evergreens painted such a beautiful picture of their dying cycle. They let go of more needles that day in the wind than any other this year. It was like it was done just for me. I seemed to be the only one out that morning and wondered if anyone else got to appreciate the wonder and beauty of all that dies in the fall. The sight, the smell, the sound is all October in Connecticut at its best.