On my way to pick up my daughter from soccer practice, I leave early and take a walk behind the community gardens, where the wildness of Woodbury Mountain meets the edge of town.
All day, rain has drenched us, and the scent of broken leaf and dogshit and the hummusy, earthy fragrance of wet soil mixes. There’s no one here, in the woods where I’m sheltered somewhat from the downpour, walking among the giant pieces of granite — debris from the town’s former claim-to-fame industry — among the brushy goldenrod, asters, and burdock.
The thing about Vermont foliage — every year — is that I expect the season to be done, finished, dulled to gray, over, and suddenly the red appears. Silently, stunning, often brought out in its finest with a cold rain.
Every year, it’s the same nostalgic sensation — I’m a third-grader again, walking home from school, scuffling through knee-high piles of leaves, happy to be free from the classroom and play outside all afternoon. Every year, the season change is tinged with sadness at the passing of time, and yet, silently, fiercely, beautiful.
In a handful of seasons,
water and cold and dirtget under the paint and it falls
from our houses like old bark.
— Kerrin McCadden
Stony Soil Vermont 
At this time of year, we can always find color somewhere. Here in southern Vermont, right on the river, we have mostly green still, but travel just a few miles “inland” and there is striking color. Love the photograph!
I used to live in southern Vermont along the Connecticut River! Spring comes earlier to you, too, as I remember…. Glad to hear an update from your neck of Vermont. 🙂
It does come a little earlier, it sometimes feels like the tropics here since we used to live in the mountains of Winhall in a hollow nestled between three mountains. We were always the “frost in low-lying areas” that Eye on the Sky predicted in August!
That’s unfortunate for the garden!