Blessed by a cerulean blue sky and breezy autumn weather on a late September Sunday with no pick-up trucks just a passing jogger or biker sharing the road, my e-bike and I took off for a spin around the “neighborhood”. A most pastoral neighborhood too with plenty of surprises and places to buy eggs or flowers along the road. Truly a time capsule. What a god-send is this bike. Surrounded by the Berkshire hills, there’s no longer any excuse not to head out. Of course, days of pouring rain, the new normal in this part of the world, put a damper on things this summer. This is the time to head out with plenty of stops I can make to photograph or buy some farm eggs.

This past Sunday, in the tiny white clapboard town of Alford, settled by Europeans in the 1750’s, I dropped off a book at an exchange stand between the graveyard and the one-room school house. Parking my bike — no locks needed, I strolled along the split-rail fence flanked by ‘Autumn Joy’ sedums, roses, dahlias, and lush purple fall asters. Before me was a monarch butterfly. Feasting on the multiple blossoms of the native aster, it’s preparing for its long journey south to Mexico. Hopefully I’ll be heading there this winter too…

Back on my bike as the sun was getting lower in the sky, I relished biking by New England’s classical and gorgeous dark red barns. Here, on Seekonk Crossroad with dark tree shadows on the building catching my eye, I braked, turned around and clicked once again.

Another favorite barn of mine, this one still active with dairy cows, sits on Baldwin Hill across from a well-photographed American elm.

More and more little farm stands that sell eggs and seasonal produce such tomatoes, zucchini and cucumber as well as maple syrup are popping up. Stop your bike again especially if you have a panier and a few dollars. I put the eggs in my pouch carefully and avoid potholes. Of course, if I want to buy a pumpkin I’ll need to drive back.

Revisiting the beginning of my ride was my stop on a bridge to contemplate the now well-endowed Green River.

Seeing this downed telephone pole was intriguing in what was a small flood the other day. I’ve often felt both intimidated and invited in by such signs. There are zero No Trespassing signs on our land!