The crystal clear waters splashed against the pebbled shore as we gathered up our gear. Conifers of every size crowded the distant banks, beckoning us into the wilderness. Our group was full of excited chatter as we piled gear onto picnic tables near the water, our anticipation for the adventure ahead growing with every breath. But our excitement wasn't the only thing growing. With each strong gust of wind, my nerves also began to grow. The winds were already high and growing stronger with every hour. We needed to get on the water now if we were going to make it to our campsite. Otherwise, the winds could become too strong to paddle in, and we would be locked out of the Boundary Waters by mother nature.

The mini-bear darted close, then scurried off, posing motionless for brief moments to survey the area for danger. From the top of a lichen-covered rock, they sounded their characteristic clucking alarm call, tail hiccupping with each repetition. Even though they sniffed hard at my little baggie of trail mix, I made sure the chipmunk never got a single peanut. They seemed to be finding their own food just fine anyway. Precariously positioned on flexible stems, a ruffed grouse stretched her neck to rip at scarlet rose hips like a cat playing with a Christmas tree. Deb and I chatted in the setting sun. When we fell into a contented silence, a family of beavers on the far side of the lake took up the thread of conversation with their adorable grunts.

The chipmunks, grouse, and beavers have the right idea, I think. Fall is the perfect season for enjoying good food and fellowship whether you're at a campsite with friends, in a lodge made of sticks, or at your community's harvest dinner.

"Autumn has trailed light fingers across the byways and in the wake of that cool touch, the leaves flush or blanch and sink earthward in a silent swoon…The passing of days is swift and soon the glory will fade to the dun shades that precede winter's snow."
– Lois Nestel, Wayside Wanderings.

With nearly constant travel and busyness during these last two months, I feel a bit untethered and adrift. The autumn woods are golden, and chickadees call cheerfully from their newly re-formed winter flocks, but it's difficult to get my attention to rest on any one subject. In times like these, I find it's helpful to turn to a wise friend and elder for guidance. And so, I've pulled together a few of Lois Nestle's essays from the Museum's archives. Lois was the Museum's founding Naturalist and Director. In these, she captures both my mood and the antidote. Take a deep breath of the crisp fall air and enjoy!