At home in California, we have a Mediterranean climate pretty much year-round, with a rainy season if we’re lucky. And in our current drought, there are no seasons at all.
I packed stupidly for a New England autumn, which is to say, I packed for hot and balmy. So my options to stay appropriately clothed and comfortable temperature-wise have involved questionable fashion choices, such as wearing a pair of Dave’s sweat socks under my sandals and sporting a borrowed fleece over the only sweater I brought, which is hiding my sleeveless top. The idea of sleeveless anything seems ridiculous when I see Muriel put on a wool jacket, a scarf, and mittens to leave for school.
Of course one of our purported reasons for making this trip is to experience a New England autumn, so we observe lots of colorful fall foliage from the temperature-controlled climate of our rental car as we drive west to the Hudson River Valley. Vivid hues of gold and crimson line our route as we leave New Hampshire, cross back into Massachusetts, and arrive in New York in a matter of hours. (States are so small on the East Coast!)
Rosendale, New York, is warmer, but an early-morning hike up the hill requires appropriate footwear. Hope takes one look at my flimsy sandals and says they will not do. I’m now in tick country. Luckily, Hope and I both have feet in the 9 1/2 to 10 range, and she generously lends me a pair of sneakers.
We walk up, up, up through the fog, where we can view the trestle bridge from above. The carpet of red, yellow, and orange leaves cushions each step as Hope fills us in on the history of this former cement-mining town. Otto, Hope and Sean’s eleven-year-old black and white hound, trots ahead.
I’m so glad that my poorly planned wardrobe didn’t prevent me from participating. Thank goodness for the sisterhood of the big feet.