A November Palette

“O wild west wind, though breath of Autumn’s being, though, from whose unseen presence, leaves like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing.” Percy Shelley, “Ode to the West Wind”.

For weeks now, once glorious maple, ash, oak, and birch leaves have lain abandoned on the ground or been raked up in piles. With Thanksgiving’s bounty now gone, we can anticipate the winter solstice. Here, in New England — unlike Mexico where, by now my husband, David, and I relish ever so vibrant colors, life is assuming a more subtle color palette.

Since 2010, we would take off for San Miguel de Allende around the time of the Day of the Dead. We looked forward to vivid colors greeting us. They did not not simply belong to the fuschia pinks of bougainvillea spilling over painted mustard yellow walls, or the mauves of lavender allées. Instead, we’d be greeted by masses of heavily scented, bright orange marigolds and red, velvety cockscomb flowers as well as amber colored candles adorning altars and tombstones. Accompanying portraits of deceased loved ones (as well as Calavera Catrinas aka “Dapper Skeletons”) would be offerings of food and decorative assemblages of corn, so intrinsic to the ancient Mexican culture. To my Northern eyes, this bright color palette could only make for a warm welcome as it invites the deceased for a short visit. Our own visit must now wait…

About a month since Halloween in el Norte, with its own distinctive orange and black color combo, the world outside now seems, well, a little drab. As in the past, my eye is, once again, adapting to a more muted color palette. Today, I remind myself to appreciate its infinite gradations of grays, browns and beiges. Of course, evergreens, Christmas ferns and mosses that retain a luscious green hue make for contrast with the more “neutral” colors. But there’s far more than color to appreciate in the bare and exposed deciduous tree branches and trunks. Architectural shape as well as texture take center stage.

In visually appreciating hues of gray and taupe, I recently decided to convert to black and white a few photographs of trees taken since lockdown in its varying formats. Continuing with the theme of life and death:

While biking last summer, I discovered this white marble tombstone leaning upon — actually partially absorbed by a large maple, in a small cemetery in Alford, MA. Inscribed is the year 1797. The tree didn’t look much younger…

Perhaps emerging even more vividly thanks to black and white photography is the gnarled trunk of an ancient tree:

Reflections upon our ephemeral lives and the passage of seasons we so keenly experience in New England, can make for other reflections too. Here are trees and clouds reflected in a pond dotted by water lily pods.

One of my most beloved trees, and undoubtedly the most sought after and photographed trees in the Berkshires, is an elegant elm. In its stately manner, it stands alone in a large corn field on Baldwin Hill in North Egremont. Tom Zetterstrom, a well-known black and white photographer (once represented in my art gallery in Lenox, MA), has captured its various incarnations throughout the seasons. Fortunately, it hasn’t succumbed to Dutch Elm Disease thanks to Elm Watch, founded by Zetterstrom, that seeks to protect native American elms. Sadly, millions of them were decimated by disease beginning in the 1920’s when a beetle in shipping carts appeared on this continent. Thanks to an anti-fungal vaccine, applied every few years, they can be preserved.

Already looking forward to spring, I think of my magnolia with its pink and white flowers that grace the tree before its leaves emerge in late May.

Finally, returning back to Mexico on my laptop, is a shot from one of my favorite places: El Charco del Ingenio, a botanical garden in San Miguel de Allende. Its mission is to help preserve and educate people about native plants in the high desert. Here are a few nopals or prickly pears: