There’s something about an autumn leaf that makes picking it up and taking it home hard to resist.
My mother should have been a naturalist. Her knowledge of birds, trees, flowers, and animals was wide, and she collected specimens like a museum curator. And she never met a fall leaf she didn’t like.
“Autumn,” Janet Hall Crump, watercolor, October 1982
When we went for walks together in the Octobers of the past we brought home leaves and pressed them between sheets of waxed paper. To this day I still find her handiwork gracing the pages of many of the big books in the house. In summer she did the same with flowers. Her letters to me in Alaska included dried field flowers she picked – buttercups, Queen Anne’s Lace, cornflowers. She sent me feathers, flowers, and reports about the flora and fauna activity on Whirlwind Hill.
Fall leaf in bird book
My grandson Henry inherited her love of collecting. He picks up treasures everywhere and proudly displays them on the shelves of his room. So on a fall Saturday I suggested we go out and collect some autumn leaves. We carried a brown paper bag with handles and put in the leaves one by one as each was discovered on sidewalk or grass. Every time we thought that maybe we had gathered enough Henry said, “I want to stop, but I just can’t help myself!” With a promise of cookies and milk for him and a cup of tea for me, we took our bounty home and spread it out on a cloth.
Autumn treasures
The colors were vibrant. I thought we should paint some portraits of the best leaves, but Henry wanted to do leaf rubbings. I had never done a leaf rubbing, so he showed me how. What a treat it is to have a grandchild teach an old timer a new trick. We tried to fill the page with interesting shapes. We weren’t always successful, but in the end were happy with our project. And, of course, we followed my mother’s example and pressed a few leaves between the pages of books, maybe to be found in the future by Henry’s own children.
Carol and Henry’s leaf rubbings, October 18, 2014
On Monday: Ghosts
I think that growing up in New England engenders a keen awareness of the changing of the seasons, the passage of time, and the cycle of death and rebirth. I often find myself thinking of this experience as unique to New England, which, of course, it is not. For those who have experienced the vivid splashes of red, orange and yellow in the fall and that indescribable new green that appears after a bleak black and white winter, the unchanging nature of other areas of the world can never completely feel like home. Thank you for reminding me.
And yet, there is something about the New England fall that is so iconic. Maybe it’s because there are so very many different tree varieties.
I was fortunate this early to be in New Hampshire when the leaves hit their peak of color. My Minnesota upbringing gave me the same appreciation for and anticipation of the passing of the seasons. And flamboyant fall has always been my favorite. Spending years in Alaska gave me appreciation for the many moods of winter, and love for the feel of a deep snowfall, flesh on the bones of the earth. Seeing the colors of Fall spread across the White Mountains of New Hampshire was a thrill both new and old.
The display of colored leaves on the dark cloth is stunning. The schools for young children in Reggio Emilia in Italy produce such works created by young children. In another life, Carol, you could have been an atelierista, the trained artist who helps children bring their thinking to light through “the hundred languages of children”.
Thanks so much Bonny! I’m not sure I have the patience to be a teacher of young children. The best thing about grandchildren is that they seem often to be the teachers. They make you stop and pay attention to things that you have come to take for granted. Those Italian schools sound wonderful. I like the idea of the “hundred languages of children.”
Such a gorgeous post, Carol. I agree with Bonny about the stunning display of leaf and flower on the black fabric. (And – as a former preschool teacher – about Reggio Emilia!) I love Henry’s artwork already. xoxo
Thanks, Margy. I had wanted to leave the white flower out, because it’s not really a leaf, but Henry insisted that it belonged. He was right. For some reason I hadn’t known that you taught pre-school. You would be a great teacher! You have so much energy.
Oh!! He was DEFinitely right about leaving in the white flower.
Good eye, that young artist.