I walked, with my dogs, on the path known as Cotter’s Trail that leads through the part of the woods referred to as the Black Hills, to the little cabin that sits in the area that’s called Mamie Salty’s Clearing. Beaver Island has quite a few women memorialized in place names: Middie Perron’s Trail; Mrs. Redding’s Trail; Angeline’s Bluff; Mamie Salty’s Clearing. That, alone, is uplifting.
The sun was warm; the air was fresh. Other than birds overhead and an errant squirrel or two, we had the area all to ourselves. I had a pocketful of treats to keep Rosa Parks interested in the walk; it turned out, she didn’t need any special coaxing. Darla, who is usually off following smells by herself, hung back to include the little dog in her adventures. Their tails never stopped wagging.
I walked on a carpet of rustling leaves in shades of copper and gold. On every side, the trees boasted shades of yellow, bronze and green. It was evening, so the sun was making its way down into the western sky, changing the colors as it moved. Amber and lemon lightened to shades of cream and flax as the sun shined through the papery leaves. In shadow, the tones leaned toward ochre and deepest gold. Velvet greens of juniper and pine provided the perfect backdrop.
To have this luxury just steps from my kitchen door, I know I am fortunate. Though I already have about a thousand images of this beautiful fall, I couldn’t resist taking more pictures. Every day seems more beautiful than the day before. Every view more stunning than the last. There is a dog in almost every single landscape. Oh, yes, I am lucky!