I flew from Wyoming to northern Maine and back this past weekend to be with family upon the death of my inspiring grandfather. His casket was carved out of a 113-yr-old eastern white pine tree (Pinus strobus–20 years older than Grampy) laid upon balsam, cedar, and pine boughs surrounded by his peavey, Biltmore stick, and packbasket. I was grateful to be with family and to get a glimpse of my favorite season in Maine. We went on a walk on what was my grandparents’ 200+ acre land outside of Presque Isle, Maine and I absorbed the autumn signs as best I could in that brief time.
The hackamatacks, our only deciduous conifer (Larix laricina), had not yet turned their bright golden color prior to losing its needles.
But the maples had turned into deep reds and yellows.
And the highbush cranberry, or crampbark, (Viburnum opulus), was in full, vibrant fruit.