“You gotta’ go up in the mountains to see the foliage,” they advise.
Sometimes I do, and sometimes I just let the trees all around me do the Fall parade. You really don’t have to look far to see beautiful maples and oaks. When they shed their leaves the brilliant pear trees will turn a deep red and green. Then old Jack Frost sweeps away the very last from the trees and dusts them with a fine sugar that melts in the dawn.
Perhaps you will think me perverse, but I enjoy the same trees standing naked against the blue sky. Then I can really see how their branches twist and intertwine.
After all that hoopla I plan to see the 421 trees. The folk who said I missed the trees earlier are the ones who have cheated themselves. The drive past Wilkesboro up U.S. 421 crosses the Blue Ridge Parkway on its way to Boone. Come late November there will be plenty of trees to see.
I watched them during the summer, and now I shall watch them in the early winter. Rows and rows of the finest spruce on cut-and-carry farms line the rolling mountains. There must be elves living nearby, and if there is a dusting of snow I can see where they have been hiding all through the Summer and Fall. I wouldn’t, I couldn’t cut a single tree.
Somehow I don’t believe I shall miss the fantasy of foliage.