THE GOLDEN AUTUMN

Editor’s Note: This month we continue the celebration of our 100th anniversary with another flashback from one of our talented writers. Marvin Weese was a philosopher — and an artist, too. “In my opinion,” Editor Joe Stacey wrote, “Marvin Weese was one of God’s rarest creations, beautiful in every human way, especially in the simple way in which he attuned the nature of his soul to the soul of Nature. His vocation was in the world of commercial art and publication design. He was the only man I know personally who could conceive and produce by his own hand and resources a complete and finished book. His avocation was the appreciation of beauty and the media through which he expressed his feelings for it.” We only published a few pieces by Mr. Weese, but if there’s truth in “quality over quantity,” and there is, then we’re fortunate to have run only a handful of his excellent essays.

A‌utumn is a golden chariot to bring the summer home. Autumn is the touch of Midas that turns the earth to gold. Autumn is a charming lady wearing gorgeous robes. There is silver in the golden hair of autumn, but there couldn’t be a flowering spring without the seeds of autumn. There wouldn’t be a new leaf bud without the harvest stored by the falling leaves. Autumn is the fulfillment of summer and the beginning of spring!

Autumn paints the landscape with a golden palette: the golden flame of maple, the bronze gold of broadleaf oak, the yellow gold of quaking aspen, the speckled gold of sycamore, the copper gold of cottonwood, the dusty gold of willow, the saffron of walnut, the amber of wild grape and the amethyst of shadows. All the painted landscape is a symphony of gorgeous color: the opal grass of meadows, the red and gold of apple orchards, the orange and gold of cornfields.

Autumn has an azure sky and shooting stars in daytime! Every forest is a golden forest, but especially so is a forest of aspen. The golden crowns are held aloft on arrow shafts of silver; the round yellow leaves shine like coins of Spanish gold. Every rustling breeze fills the air with golden coins that fall upon the earth in heaps of gleaming treasure.

The golden sunlight that filters through freely never fell on more lovely creatures than the tawny-colored deer of aspen country. There, in a peaceful glade, a pair move slowly to browse on golden fern and grasses. A sound betrays us, and they bound away like autumn leaves before a sudden wind.

Autumn is the lingering afterglow of summer. Sometimes autumn comes with a spirit of hurry and scurry, as though so very much had to be done in the time given. Then, with things under way, it will relax and
mellow its pace for another week or two. This is the time we call Indian summer.

In the field and forest, the plants have done their work and trees anticipate the coming winter. The ripening leaf is not a frozen leaf; this is nature’s process of preparing for winter. Through the summer, the tree has a big investment in its leaves — the food factories. When nights grow colder, the factories are closed, the green chlorophyll is now carefully withdrawn and stored under the bark, the starch and sugar is drawn in and stored in the cells and roots of the tree. All that remains is a golden shell of a leaf, and its life line is sealed. The storm windows are closed, and behind the wall of its bark the tree will sleep through the winter.

The leaves have finished the annual growth cycle, they have stored abundant food for the buds of spring, but more than this they have reproduced themselves a hundred-fold by the life in the seed. Every seed is a miniature plant of its own kind, sealed in a capsule, provided with its own food, timed to await its own place and season. Some are sown with the wind, and many are carried away by birds. The blue jays hide the acorns under leaves, the gray squirrels build many stores of pine nuts, the chipmunks hoard them in more ways than they remember. Of this abundance, some will find places to grow at a distance from the mother tree.

Autumn is the time of harvest. In the fields, there are rows and rows of corn shocks. The corn is gathered, and grain bins are bulging. The apple trees have given up their fruit, and barrels are full in the cellar. Rows of glass jars gleam with harvest gold. Jute bags are stacked high with potatoes and golden onions. In the garden, the peanut vines are pulled and golden nuts are turned to ripen. The barn loft is filled with hay and piles of golden squash and pumpkins.

Autumn is the fond memory of childhood. The farm, like the forest, is in its autumn harvest. It is a time for gathering and storing. And with all of this there is a spirit of gay preparation, of promise for the days ahead, a spirit of anticipation and gratitude that will bring the holidays of Thanksgiving and Christmas.

No other holidays are like those of wandering through the woods of autumn. We will always remember a hidden canyon of sycamore and walnut. It was on the other side of the mountain, and few ever came there. It was like discovering a primitive grove of bronze and gold interlaced with garlands of amber grapevine. The bright October sun shone overhead through tapestries of gold brocade. The still-running stream was filled with golden leaves of sycamore, and the air was filled with the pungent smell of leaves that fall in cold mountain water.

For many ages it must have been like this, with only the deer to drink beside the quiet pools. Only the woodpeckers, the blue jays and gray squirrels to feud and worry with the autumn harvest. The woodpeckers hammered acorns into holes drilled in trees, and the blue jays planted them everywhere. The walnuts were the real treasure, and they belonged to the squirrels. Even they could not crack such hard-shelled nuts. They stored them in their cellars around the roots of trees and alongside of boulders. The squirrels watched them as the weeks passed, and with due time and moisture the shells would slowly open. Then the squirrels split them and ate the rich kernels, chattering gleefully at the blue jays.

In another autumn we found mountain maples turning day by day from green gold to yellow, from yellow gold to amber, from amber to orange and from orange to scarlet. We saw the scarlet maples on the morning of the snowfall. With the sun low on the horizon the trees were lighted with a sparkling grandeur. They had won a race with winter in just five days of flaming beauty.

The autumn leaf is a natural color transparency. When the green chlorophyll is withdrawn, the leaf becomes thin and translucent, most of the cells are empty crystals. Now the colors are developed by the chemistry of the natural alkali and acids combining with the minerals of iron and manganese and calcium. Hold it to the sun and see the pattern of its bright design and colors. Here is silken tapestry and gold-illumined parchment. Here are stained glass pieces made to form a glowing window for a woodland chapel. Where arching branches span a sheltered wood, look to the sky and see the wonder of autumn leaf transparencies.

The falling leaf is a golden symbol. Part of a plan and a purpose. It weaves a warm blanket over the seeds and rootlets; the winter snow will cover it. The mineral ash returns to the soil, and the leaf mold will turn to humus. This is the food of the living soil. It is worth more than all the gold we mine from the earth. We can live without gold, but we could not survive without the living soil.

Autumn leaves are like a flock of birds that fly before the winter. They return with the spring. Leaves that grew in the sun all summer come spinning down to earth to begin the old life in a new cycle of time. Every leaf must fall, but no life is ever lost. All life is one life; it is a growing process. From the sky to the earth … from the earth to the sky … a golden river that ties earth to heaven.