What? I asked.
The last leaf that fell.
I don't even know what that even means?
You'll figure it out.
I laughed.
That was a question posed by Alden Capen, Award Winning West Virginia Outdoor Writer and Mentor, circa 1964.
That was the last I ever thought about that snippet of conversation so long ago. Today in some dark recess of my mind, it popped up again. It's two weeks before Christmas, 68 degrees and the last leaf just fell. Time to clean 'em. They gave us shade and comfort all summer. The trees have done there job, now I'm cleaning up after them.
The Oaks, Holly and Beech trees played a part when we bought this place at the end of a long dirt road in '96. The trees are bigger than they were in '96 They grew slowly over twenty years. I didn't keep growing, I was grown. None of my trees are as old as I am...but they sure have more leaves than they did 20 years ago. Where is the last one that fell. My answer is rhetorical: When I finish with them, that'll be the last one, for me, this year.
I began to realize, early on, that the outdoors was a great place to be. I grew up in the South, thank God for small favors. We three Shields' kids had acres and acres of fields, ponds, forests, creeks and rivers at our disposal. Summers were hot, but the winters were mild and short. We had heavy sweater weather, and an inch of snow every two years or so.
Becoming an adult was difficult for me; college was not fun, and the job searches were brutal and futile. I finally got a job with the Fairfax County Park Authority. It was not as outside as I wanted. That didn't work out.
I took a job with a private park "start up" in Berkeley Springs, West Virginia. My education in dealing with cold was near at hand. The ancient facilities we were built in the 20's. They used newspaper in the walls for insulation, They were poorly retrofitted with running water and bathrooms in the in the early 50's. Frozen pipes, snow laden roofs, penetrating long cold spells that would freeze ground to 24 inches we normal fare from November until as late a mid April. Come September, I began to hear that little voice. I would start working on the wood pile in earnest, and checking water systems and insulation.
One Thanksgiving Day in West Virginia the high was in the 60's with brilliant blue sky and no wind. I went for a walk down by a stream below the farmhouse I was living in. The forecast called for snow the next week. Leaves were falling in anticipation, I suppose. The ground was carpeted in red and yellow. All was perfect, except the little voice in my head that wouldn't go away. Cold. Snow. Cold Snow.
I sat on a rock by the stream watching small minnows glint silver as they surfaced. A bright red leaf floated down to hit the surface. The minnows dashed for cover. The leaf stood still a minute, and began to slowly turn in the current and head downstream. I got up and followed it until a rock ledge blocked my way. I watched it as it slid over the riffle and disappeared into the pool below.
Is that what Alden meant? Is that where the last leaf went? Over the waterfall? I do remember THAT leaf. You were right, Mr. Capen. Questions do have answers, and they are in the eyes of the beholder. I'm smiling as I think of you and the conversation 50+ years ago.
Thanks for the question.
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