The Fiery Leaves of Fall

By RJ Ruotolo, Ozark Field Crew Member/ AmeriCorps Member

With the leaves of trees and shrubs molting into their fiery reds, oranges, and yellows, I inevitably feel nostalgic about the passing year and the autumns of years prior. Last year, I stood on top of Sugarloaf Mountain in Carrabassett, Maine looking out on the majesty of the maple-lined forests with the cool, crisp air against my skin. I feel the same way now, a thousand miles away in Southeast Missouri. While the Ozarks don’t boast the same colorful maple trees of New England, there’s a different kind of magic here, evident in the vast, rolling mountains.

In Maine, I found a kind of close-knit community and an appreciation for nature that I didn’t have before. Growing up in a suburban neighborhood near the capitol city, concrete jungles were more familiar to me than actual ones. I expected the same thing when I came out here, to my own folly, allowing a previous experience to frame an entirely different one. At the beginning of this year, that framing closed me off to new possibilities. It took me a while before I found where I stand now.

There’s a drop point next to where Round Spring feeds into the Current River. It’s mostly used by floaters ready to camp at night or begin their journey in the morning. It’s also my favorite spot in the Ozarks. Whenever I need a place to think in silence, skip rocks, or go for a swim, I walk over to that spot on the river. That spot reminds me of how incredibly grateful I am to be somewhere so close to the water in a piece of land largely untouched by humans. I’ll sit on the rocky shore and take in the distant mountains, the clear blue water, and watch the budding leaves grow into magnificent seas of green before turning red, orange, and yellow. Some of the leaves crumple on the trees now, becoming brown husks and falling off with the chilly wind.

From this spot in April of this year, I feel lonely. I’m not used to rural areas, so it feels lifeless and empty unlike the hustle and bustle of cities. But I notice the trees are waking up from a long winter, breaking up the vast brown with green leaves of hope.

From my favorite spot in July of this year, I stand with tears in my eyes. It’s a bright summer day, and the view before me takes my breath away. I see the snails on the shallow river rocks, little fish racing by, and raptors flying above me. I’m almost annoyed by the group of floaters next to me.

From my spot in October, I can see in the trees, the migrating birds, and the disappearing fallen walnuts that the year is coming to a close. I’m so grateful to have spent the last year here, to have been given the opportunity to find a new kind of community in nature. So I stand there a moment longer and watch as the river takes away the fallen leaves.