Mirror Lake, Lake Placid, New York. What struck me first on the ride to Lake Placid for a conference this weekend were the tamaracks. Silhouetted against the neighboring dark, dormant, deciduous trees, they looked like rays of sunshine. Their yellow needles, waiting to drop, lit up the landscape. Then this morning, I was walking along Mirror Lake and the rising sun cast an eerie glow on the still waters.
I've always thought autumn is a moody season. Here in the Adirondacks the emotion runs deep. It feels as though the hush in the air is caused by the animals and humans, hunkering down for what they know is coming: cold, snowy days and long, dark nights.
I wonder what the people that lived here years ago felt like when they prepared for the winter season.
We take for granted the warm beds, heated rooms, and artificial light we have out our disposal. Only those hardy enough to withstand the isolation, the cold, and unforgiving snowstorms survived here.
I've always thought autumn is a moody season. Here in the Adirondacks the emotion runs deep. It feels as though the hush in the air is caused by the animals and humans, hunkering down for what they know is coming: cold, snowy days and long, dark nights.
I wonder what the people that lived here years ago felt like when they prepared for the winter season.
We take for granted the warm beds, heated rooms, and artificial light we have out our disposal. Only those hardy enough to withstand the isolation, the cold, and unforgiving snowstorms survived here.
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