Searching for Gold
A Photo Essay
I was born an April baby, but something must have happened when I hit the six-month mark. On a crisp, October day, someone popped me into a pile of fallen leaves. Or, I rode in my older brother’s arms in the backseat of our blue Buick, through the hills of Appalachia, mesmerized by yellows, oranges, and reds. Now that I’m all grown up, I’m not a fan of pumpkin spice lattes, but apple cider is my beverage of choice. I’m a fall girl and always have been. Goldenrod, rust, taupe, and smoky green heathers that reflect the landscape in autumn are the colors that comfort me. Reds that veer toward the deep pinks of spawning salmon and red-twig dogwood are the whiskey glaze on the apple cake.
The scents of autumn are the ones I prefer: dried sweetgrass, the sharp prick of sage, fermenting blackberries on the vine, apples. Hiking through the larch forests blanketing the canyons surrounding Missoula, Montana, my home for five years, mesmerized me. And it’s my pup’s favorite place in the world.
