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It was not exactly a vacation trip. We traveled twice into the Taconic range of New York, on the Massachusetts border, to New Lebanon, where Pat’s sister Helen has lived for 25 years. Pat and I have made dozens of trips there over those years. Helen’s land covers 180 acres and includes the ridge behind the house; a ridge that lights up in the fall with all the colors one expects of fall foliage in the Northeast. A lot of memories were formed over the 25 years. But it was time for Helen to move on, and we were making the trek to help.

First, though, Helen and her kids held a proper memorial service for her husband Tod, who passed away right at the beginning of the Covid lockdown and subsequent pandemic that made large gatherings a risky prospect. With vaccines putting Covid (mostly) in the rear-view mirror, Tod’s family, friends, and colleagues gathered in the back yard of the New Lebanon house to share their remembrances.

After the guests were gone, Helen had six weeks to get everything packed up, given away, carted away, or left for the new owners. Various constellations of Helen’s children, siblings, grandchildren, friends, and friends of grandchildren came to pitch in.

Pat and I were there for two week-long stints, in late September/early October, and again in late October. This was a bigger sacrifice for Pat, who is not particularly fond of the country. For me, though, I was looking forward to watching the trees moved toward peak foliage. I grew up in Upstate New York, and I have to say that, while we have fall colors in DC, they are nothing like fall in Upstate New York and New England.

Not that I had a chance to go out and walk in the woods. It was a working vacation. I took some of the dirtier chores—like clearing out the basement and organizing junk so that quick decisions could be made about taking or leaving it, and hardening cans of paint (with Pat’s help) for proper disposal.

I also spent a couple of afternoons in the pottery studio, taking the shop vac to the spider webs that hung down from every inch of the ceiling. It is a beautiful space. I regret not seeing Helen in action in her studio.

Throughout our time there, the ridge gained more color. Every time I walked from the house to the garage, or from the house to the studio, I wanted to bring my camera. Following are a few photos showing the evolution of colors from late September to late October.

It was a beautiful place, and I’m glad to have gotten to spend a little time there over the years and in the final days.