Postcards from the Lake: Turning Over a New Leaf

It's sad, thinking that this will be my last visit to the lake. But it has been so breathtakingly beautiful, I can't complain for a second.

The cottage has been my point of safety during this Covid-ridden summer, a place where I could isolate and not feel isolated, spend time with Rick and just enjoy the water, woods, painting, reading and so much more. Now the geese are flying south, and soon I shall be, too.

After our splendid first day "color tour," I decided to check out the other ski area and a few other places for some beauty.

The Otsego Ski Club couldn't match the beauty of yesterday's Treetops in its hills and color, but the sky was finally blue!

After checking out the color there and picking up a couple of mums to take home, I headed to Michawe golf course. It didn't have hills, but it didn't disappoint.

I was intrigued by the birch trees which had lost their leaves but still looked stunning in the sun.

I can't resist all the photos. It seems like I never really saw fall last year and this one is making up for it big time!

After Michawe, I took a quick stop at another golf course, The Loon. Nothing much to see here, except this golden glade -- and it was spectacular.

Rick got home from his walk about the time I returned -- and with him, some surprises -- flowers for me!

 

And a book, from the Little Free Library, "A Woman of No Importance," about WWII spy/resistance worker, Virginia Hill. I've been wanting to read this and while it was a lucky guess for him, it was spot on!

Our fungi collection in the yard is continually changing. These were huge.

I enjoyed another walk later in the afternoon, this time admiring the color in my own woods.

While out, I walked through the now-fading grounds of a nearby garden shop.

I was enthralled by these glorious hydrangeas. 

I finished my walk, following that well traveled road and noticing tiny changes, like the last of autumn's apples, clinging to a tree.

A curious squirrel is intent on climbing the pines that seem miles high.

And color. Everywhere you look. Color.

Home again, where I try (less successfully than usual) to capture some of the day's leaves.

And then Rick's wonderful onion pasta for dinner.

Life is quiet and good. Outside my space our country is in turmoil. We are missing the contact of family and friends we cannot see or touch. Doing things that once seemed easy -- a trip to a store, going to a movie or play or a hug from a toddler -- now seem to have an element of danger that didn't exist when the leaves drifted to the ground last fall.

I wish it could stay this peaceful forever. But I miss those hugs.