Sometimes I think autumn in the Missouri Ozarks is one of the most well-kept secrets left, and certainly the most little known anywhere. Granted, the scenery will not glow so incandescently as the blazing fire from acres of sugar maples, the major draw of New England autumns. Here, the colors of the Ozarks hills blend into more of a wonderfully colored tweed, with highlights that include the burnt orange of the Sassafras, the vermillion of the gum tree, the bright gold of the hickory, the butter yellow of Catalpa and the blood red of the sumac, all on a field of the caramel and cafe au lait of the oak forest. And underneath, the feathery goldenrod, the bittersweet berries and little clumps of fringed lavender where the fall asters grow.
Everywhere on my farm there are views large and small that snatch the breath and stop the earnest feet on their morning walk. And for the observant, there is a feast for more than the eyes, as the wild harvest makes its last effort to bring us through the winter unworried about hunger and lack. The trees here are literally raining fruits, from Walnut and hickory to persimmons, the last of the pawpaws and, for the squirrels, buckeyes of every size and description.
Granted, if you’re a harvest gardener, the joy of the first tomato is long gone and the persistence of okra and peppers is prompting a longing for one good, hard freeze to get to the end of it, so it can be appreciated in reminiscence. Funny how in remembering, we tend to remember the fruits long after the work it took to gather and store them is past. I must remember to bring along my camera on my next walk, so as to harvest the beauty of these Ozarks autumn days, and pass it along.
Wisdom for the day: Get outside. Soak up the scenery. Drink in a last taste of summer’s bounty. There’ll be time enough later by the fire to wonder if you chose the right pepper variety, canned enough applesauce, gathered enough walnuts, put up enough persimmon puree or grew enough garlic. Instead, harvest the Ozarks. It will keep you through the long winter, into spring.
-m
photo credits, S. Denton, Moonmooring
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