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Ever mindful of passing time, we’d decided on another sortie on Friday afternoon and spent the morning busily attending to other things.
We grabbed lunch and rushed out the door with only a vague plan in mind, which was because the electrician had come to fix the gas fire and got talking with Grant who told him we planned to attempt once more to go to Whitehall.
Whereupon we received other suggestions.
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“Where are we going?”
I was asked as we departed.
We had agreed vaguely to head for somewhere in Vermont and I’d been searching unsuccessfully for back roads so I was far from having a plan and wanted input.
“Just tell me where to go!” I got.
Such impatience!
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The intention was to head for a place in Vermont and I’d wanted to take us a circuitous route around Bennington but never mind.
That’s where we headed to.
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After we’d done another of the twirlies the man has developed such a fondness for!
“Didn’t we just come past here?”
“Yes but now we know where that road goes.”
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Finally on the other side of Bennington, the hills were really red, being more advanced than ours.
Though two nights of frost have seen ours catch up.
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But we were headed into the Green Mountains.
Two weeks earlier would have been good but the view, while different, was very pleasant.
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We quickly began to notice changes.
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Just a handful of miles and a slight increase in altitude turned us from leaf-peepers to twig-peepers.
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Aspens were among the few trees holding out, their white bark and golden leaves so lovely that brilliant afternoon.
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Searsburg wind power.
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Less colourful, but the softness of the grey is very appealing – to me, anyway.
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The hills were steeper than they seemed!
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There were not many roads leading off and a couple of those were closed, so we continued on Vermont sate route 9.
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Quiet for a Friday afternoon.
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Where sunlight touched red leaves, it was like dying embers in a fireplace.
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The road followed a small river.
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We found a place to stop and made our way down a steep slope.
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Evidence of beavers.
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The Deerfield River.
For those o you who like this sort of thing.
Excuse the rocks. I thought they were more exciting!
Turning to leave, Grant spied a neat walking stick, supplied by Nature.
“Stubborn old goat won’t buy one!”
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Thus aided I climbed back up the slope.
No, not all the way up there.
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We decided to head back from here.
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Cats would be getting nervous about the possibility of no supper. That wouldn’t do.
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Annoyingly, there was no possibility to stop near Big Pond, so I could only catch a shot across the tops of roofs.
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The folds of the hills stand out in this coloration.
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Returning to leafy lower elevation.
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Yellowish rust.
We found a couple more places to stop but they were trail heads and while I loved the thought, the feet don’t cooperate.
Not even leaning on my new stick.
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City Stream, as it is called, was beside the road. I took a video there too but halfway through I apparently turned the phone sideways , so I’ll spare you.
In the afternoon light, it looked like liquid gold.
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Approaching Bennington again.
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And managing to avoid it this time.
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Nearing Cambridge, still quite green.
We had only travelled 35 miles to view the twigs.
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It is always good to have variety!
Utah surprised me in that way. You could be in the arid though very beautiful dry canyons in the morning and that afternoon you could be in lush green mountains.
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Utah became one of my favourite places and I seriously considered going to live there.
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But I came to Upstate New York instead and I could never be sorry about that.
I am very glad you went to upstate NY – I love your pictures and wish I could live in such a place. Your blog is the next best thing!
You are too kind!!
Looking at your first photo, it’s almost impossible to imagine how many different (pretty) autumn colours there are. Oh, the sweet sound of a river — and some of those rocks look like gold. Maybe next time you should see if you can scrape off a bit. I think you’ve chosen the perfect place to stay — the scenery is exceptional beautiful.