A touch of red this year

2004

2020

 From my office, I have a great view of one particular maple tree that always puts on an autumn display. The first picture was taken in 2004 when orange was the color of the year. The tree has grown a lot since then, but it never fails to draw the eye. This year, the color will be redder to red-brown, I think, but October is young yet. 

Sitting atop a little knoll on the edge of the treeline helps with visibility. I've often said it's the only tree I never want to cut down. 

Will it outlast me, here on the manor? I hope so, and I hope whoever comes here after me has an equal appreciation of the manor. Living in the woods isn't for just anyone. If you have any fear of the dark, the woods are not the place for you. 

Perhaps my love of the poet Robert Frost has influenced my choice to live apart. His poem, "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening," written almost one hundred years ago, speak to me of a magical moment in time. Does it matter where he's been or where he's going? I think not. But in that moment of complete albeit cold solitude, the language of the woods speak to the poet. The woods are lovely dark and deep, this I know at my very core. 

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost (1923)

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound’s the sweep

Of easy winds and downy flake.

The woods are lovely dark and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

The Lady of Holly Tree Manor