OCTOBER 8, 2022 – This morning I drove to the Red Cabin, hoping I’d catch the fall foliage at its peak. The scenery along the way confirmed I had. A thousand times I wanted to stop to take a picture—or two or 10—but if I did so once, I’d likely do so repeatedly and wouldn’t reach my destination until all too late.
To stay the course, I pretended I was behind a vintage, flatbed truck. What made the vehicle remarkable was its cargo: a dozen, giant, vertically arranged paintbrushes, each with a hidden reservoir of bright color—red, yellow, orange, green, blue, and gray. I imagined an elf-like operator sitting at the base of each brush, which, in catapult fashion, would fling a huge splotch of paint onto a magical canvas bisected by the road. I pretended that ahead, the scenery was black and white—December-like in these parts—but as the truck raced forward, the paintbrush catapults transformed the landscape from dullsville into splendidly brilliant scenery.
Transfixed by this magical paint-truck, I couldn’t let it out of my sight; thus, I dared not—and did not—stop until I reached the Red Cabin.
My version of Fantasia, however, had been rudely interrupted just east of the Twin Cities by a phone call without caller I.D. I pressed the “answer” button on my steering wheel. It was a “Devon” from “Solar _ _ _ _ _.” Who? Then I remembered: Last night when I pulled up a YouTube video of Krystian Zimmer performing Brahms “one” and “two” with the Wiener Philharmoniker, Leonard Bernstein conducting, up popped an ad for “Solar _ _ _ _ _.”
I’d been curious. Several of our neighbors have “gone solar,” and I’d wondered, How about our house? I’d clicked once and again and thrice, then on “submit.” Thus, “Devon” wasn’t a random caller. He was responding to my having taken the bait.
After a brief preface, Devon jumped to the point. “While we’re talking,” he said, “I’ll pull up a picture of your house on Google Maps.”
“K.”
“How much shade does your roof get?” he asked.
“A lot,” I said.
“So I see,” said Devon, as he apparently viewed a recent street-view picture of our house. “If you’d be interested in cutting down some of your trees,” he continued, “I can give you an estimate of how much sunlight you’d capture and based on that, give you a bid.”
The irony made me laugh. Cut trees down to reduce our consumption of fossil fuels? No way! I told Devon so, and he had the good sense not only to end the conversation but to inform me that he’d take me off their list. I felt for the guy. Sales, after all, is a “numbers game,” and he’s simply trying to put food on his table. I wished him a nice (Satur)day and hit the “end call” button.
Two-and-a-half-hours later I was walking among a million trees. As I reveled in the day’s treasure—warm October sunshine setting the woods ablaze—I reflected on all my good fortune this year. A sudden, delightful zephyr stirred the leaves into a congratulatory applause.
What a lucky soul am I—to be alive, walking with heart and stride alight with joy among . . . the trees of fall.
(Remember to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.)
© 2022 by Eric Nilsson
