An Autumn Walk with Libby

 

There’s something comforting in a creature who doesn’t know what’s going on in the world. My Yorkie Libby doesn’t care who is president, what’s the latest pandemic scare, or even the name of her town. All Libby cares about are the awesome fall sights, tastes, and smells on our neighborhood walks…

Each afternoon I put on her harness and off we go. Outside, the air smells earthy and damp. In the distance I hear the rumble of a school bus.

It feels good wearing a jacket in the crisp October air. I always want to put this time of year in a jar and keep it on my nightstand. Unlike the scorching month of July or frozen tundra of February, there’s something perfect about a fall day in New England.

The first thing I notice are canopies of gold, orange, and red leaves against blue sky. We’re surrounded by too-many-to-count tall trees in our neck of the woods. Leaves swirl in the breeze and waft slowly to the ground. The scene is poignant—both happy and sad—weighted with the soul-stirring feeling of another summer gone. Another year ending. Another turn of the wheel.

Meanwhile, Libby sniffs through a pile of muck on our driveway, thrusting her nose in to inspect. She emerges snorting and sneezing. Something went up those sensitive nostrils.

There’s less birdsong, I notice, as we walk. Instead, we have crickets chirping. When temperatures hit below 50 degrees, the crickets start to die, a sign winter is coming.

I can’t help picturing the warrens, tunnels, and burrows in the ground below us. What preparations are going on among the bunnies, woodchucks, chipmunks, and foxes? How far down do these dens go? I’d probably be shocked at the architectural skill.

As usual, Libby tugs too hard, in a hurry to sniff the next “treasure” and cover as much ground as possible. Her terrier ancestors were bred to run among the English fields and dig up what they smell below. Here she endures me holding her back as she runs in a slow-motion gallop.

In the grass, I spy a Wooly Bear black and brown caterpillar. Libby starts sniffing it too heartily and I pick it up, give its fuzzy body a quick pat, and place it on a nearby stone wall. Soon it will turn into a Tiger Moth.

Today I notice something interesting. Two weeks ago, an old oak tree seemed to be shaking as we passed. Gray squirrels darted in and out among its branches, an irresistible sight to Libby. Around us, acorns fell like missiles. Libby and I had to step back or we’d be bonked on the head. On the ground, acorns lay everywhere.

And yet today, there are no squirrels. Did they store the nuts already? And how does one live on acorns all winter?

My awe of woodland creatures goes up another notch. How do they survive living in the wild all day, every day? In the heat and snow and torrential rain? As two species, we live alongside each other and yet our existences are so different. Most of us humans know little about these other entities that share our planet.

Libby and I do our usual loop, over and around the next road and back. I hear dogs barking from inside two houses as we pass. Soon it will be getting dark around 4:00 p.m. We’ll have to plan our outings accordingly.

We return to our front porch. Before going in, I take one last look at those golden leaves. They’ll only last a few more weeks. Then they’ll lay in dry bunches on the ground.

I think of the poem by Robert Louis Stevenson, “Nothing Gold Can Stay.”

Libby and I come inside. Life goes too fast, I think, starting to take off her harness. Time is relentless, going only in one direction. And why does autumn always put me in this mood, longing for something I can’t put my finger on? Why can’t I be like those plucky little woodland creatures who live in the moment?

Libby yips as if to get me out of my reverie. She looks thirsty with her tongue hanging out.

“Want water?” I ask.

I unleash her and she runs to the kitchen.

 

“Nothing Gold Can Stay” by Robert Louis Stevenson

Nature’s first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf’s a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

 

Does autumn make you happy and sad at the same time? Comments are always welcome and if you’d like, please share.

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