Everyone in New England gets excited about the fall foliage season. The brilliant scarlets, oranges, yellows, the deeper russets and reds are a treat for the eye.
But there’s another foliage season that’s worth noting, and over much of New England it’s happens every spring. Like the fall display, the “other” foliage season happens in stages over the space of several weeks, so as it’s winding down in southern Connecticut, it’s just getting started in the hills of northern Vermont, New Hampshire and western Maine.
This “other” foliage season is much more subtle than the flashy displays of fall. Move too fast, glance instead of look. and you miss it.
Driving in a car, you are probably only going to catch bits of the “other” foliage display. Frankly, you are more likely to notice the man-sculpted displays of daffodils, forsythia, azaleas and such than you are the subtle hues of Nature’s handiwork.
Even riding a bike may be too fast to see the best of this—though you can surely catch some of it this way if you just look around.
I was out pedaling the other day and got stopped and momentarily stunned by the brilliant buds of a red maple shining in the sun. At that particular moment, with the buds open to the exact right degree and with the strong spring sun shining through that particular tree was almost as brilliant as anything you could see in the fall. I was lucky to be there to see it.
It happened again yesterday morning with the soft, celery green of newleaves on the poplars surrounding a small pond along an abandoned road near my home. Again it’s much more subtle than the brilliance of fall foliage, but worth noting. That soft yellowy green only lasts a few days before it’s replaced by the deep greens of summer
By far the best way to see the best of this “other” foliage season is to lace up your walking shoes and go looking. Just don’t get so focused on where you are going that you miss the show . . .
My sweetheart, Marilyn, and I were out for a hike in the rocky hills a few days ago, taking a stroll to one of our favorite overlooks. In the valley we left below, there were new leaves unfurling on the red maples, varicolored with tinges of both soft green and deep red. Beautiful.
But up on the hills, you had nothing more than a few swelling buds to indicate what might be coming. The brightest color in the trees we hiked through was the deep red of winter-killed pine needles On the forest floor, where leafless trees let sunlight warm things up, the white hobblebush flowers, both painted and red trilliums (the latter also known as “Stinking Benjamin”—smell it and you’ll see why) and trout lilies (the real name is Dogtooth Violet, but that’s kind of an ugly name for a beautiful flower in the lily family. . . .) were all doing their thing in small but spectacular fashion. Well worth stopping to admire.
From the overlook, the world below spread out in subtle shades of gray and brown, punctuated here and there by the deep greens of the evergreens, and that fleeting light green of new leaves. Sure, it wasn’t the brilliant display of fall foliage, but it surely was a great excuse to get out and go for a hike.