Fall Farm Walk

It was mid-August, and a hickory tree by our house had just showered all its leaves onto the driveway. The tree was perfectly healthy. Wasn’t this a bit early to drop its leaves? Surely, it is not yet time to think about raking leaves.

It was late afternoon, and Tom and I were heading out for a walk on the farm next door. The air was beginning to cool, but temperatures still reached into the 80s during the day. Although I have lived in the mountains for 23 years, I am still not prepared for fall to show itself in August.

The farm that abuts our neighborhood is many acres of pastureland and a forest of old oaks. Along a winding gravel road, we pass coyote scat and freshly blooming thistles. In years past, we would find cows on the farm. They would look at us and then run from one side of the road to the other when we approached. It wouldn’t matter which side they originated from or the pace of our walk; they would follow the lead cow and race to the other side. For a few years, the pasture held horses being saved from old age alternatives. We would bring them carrots and they would nuzzle us and look forward to each day’s walk. Today, however, there were no animals in sight. Instead, a maple tree caught my eye. It stood alone, by a pond, with branches beginning to turn orange and declare the arrival of fall.

I am reminded of Paulus Berensohn, an ingenious character, recently deceased, who lived near Penland School. He wrote the pinch pot forming classic work of personal philosophy, Finding One’s Way with Clay, and I had taken a workshop with him many years ago. Permission. Attention. Touch. Listening. These were things I learned from Paulus. At Penland, Paulus taught journal making, paste-paper painting, dancing, and other ways of supporting one’s creative practice. He was known in our community for his poetry readings and “Splash,” a daily 5:00 cocktail gathering on his porch overlooking a small grove of trees. Cheap scotch was served in pink grapefruit juice.

Early each August Paulus would stop by my office to tell me that fall had come. He could see it in the trees and smell it in the air. In 2003, Lewis Hyde agreed to take part in a project for Penland’s 75th anniversary if he could interview Paulus. Paulus had famously said that there were not five senses but at least sixty, of which he was keeping a list. Hyde was to write an essay based on his interviews with Paulus. One of Paulus’ senses is seeing without one’s eyes. Another is a sense of temperature and temperature change; another is sensitivity to gravity. I believe these senses must have been at work when he determined the advent of fall.

Farm Thistle