Climbing Hector Street a maple compelled me to pull over on the way to Robert H. Treman park. Its leaves had turned a brilliant red, with orange lingering among the lower branches. Standing beside a home, it had grown into a broad, beautifully shaped tree, its crown reaching high above the roofline. Fallen leaves covered the grass around its trunk, though plenty remained overhead.
I photographed the whole tree first, then moved in closer. At that distance, the red canopy became a collection of individual leaves, some catching the sunlight, others shaded by overlapping branches. There were more variations in color than the first impression suggested, from bright vermilion to darker crimson, with occasional patches of yellow and green.
A fine tree caught a few days before full leaf drop.
From there, the views opened onto the surrounding farmland. A harvested cornfield sloped away toward a line of hardwoods, beyond which the hills rose in several layers. The corn had been cut close to the ground, leaving rows of pale stubble that ran toward the trees. The distant hills were muted by haze, their autumn colors softened into browns, purples, and blue-gray.
The foreground trees were another matter. Maples, oaks and other hardwoods carried an abundance of orange, yellow, and red foliage. Some had already begun losing their leaves, leaving bare branches among the still-crowded crowns. The variation gave the woodland a pleasing irregularity. Autumn had reached nearly every tree, though not all were keeping the same schedule.
I used the telephoto lens to bring the distant hills closer to the foreground. It compressed the distance between them, bringing the wooded slopes into the same composition as the trees at the edge of the fields. A particularly bright orange-red tree stood among its golden neighbors, drawing my attention more than once.
The view was worth exploring from several angles. In one direction, the treetops almost filled the frame. In another, the distant ridges became more prominent, with a narrow strip of harvested field along the bottom. Those cut corn stalks helped establish the scale of the view, a reminder that these were working fields as well as pleasant places to look out over the countryside.
Farther across the valley, buildings came into view above the foreground trees. Two tall towers, Ithaca College residence halls, stood near the center of the distant complex, with wooded hills rising behind them. Even at that distance, the buildings were recognizable as part of the developed landscape around Ithaca. Through the long lens, they appeared surprisingly close to the autumn trees, though considerable ground separated them.
I found myself looking from the buildings to the hills behind them. The human structures occupied only a small portion of the scene. The wooded slopes continued well beyond, fading into the hazy distance.
Nearby, the fields offered a different kind of photograph.
Freshly mowed grass covered a gentle rise, its alternating bands making broad green stripes across the slope. Beyond the crest stood a dense stand of hardwoods in yellow, orange, bronze, and lingering green. Some trees were nearly bare, their gray branches visible among those still holding their leaves.
The mowing patterns made an interesting foreground. Their straight, deliberate lines contrasted with the irregular branching of the trees. I tried several compositions, shifting the balance between field and woodland. In some, the grass occupied most of the photograph; in others, the trees were the principal subject.
Another field, still covered with the dry remains of corn, lay between the green grass and the woods. The three bands—green, tan, and the many colors of autumn—made a satisfying arrangement. A small dark bird stood near the far edge of the cut corn, easily overlooked against the larger scene.
The trees themselves deserved a closer look. A large yellow maple was especially bright among its neighbors. Nearby, an oak held leaves that had turned a warm brown, and behind them, patches of green remained where other trees had not yet completed their change. A few bare crowns rose above the rest.
I liked the mixture. In a photograph of autumn foliage, the temptation is to find the brightest reds and yellows, but the subdued trees are just as important. Their browns, grays, and remaining greens give the brighter colors something to stand against.
My last view included an old barn and silo, partly concealed by trees and tall weeds. The barn’s red roof showed through the branches, while its pale walls were visible above the uncut vegetation. Beyond it, the woods covered the hills in orange and gold, with a few brilliant red trees scattered among them.
The buildings belonged to the countryside as naturally as the fields around them. I wondered how many autumns that barn had stood there, its roof appearing and disappearing behind the changing foliage.
By then, I had photographed quite a variety of scenes, from the single red maple to the broad views across the valley. What I enjoyed most was the chance to look carefully at familiar surroundings. The harvested fields, mowed grass, distant buildings, and wooded hills were all part of the landscape I knew. Autumn had changed their appearance without changing their character.
In another few weeks, most of those leaves will be gone. The hills turned gray and brown, the fields at rest, and the views through the trees open again.
For now, there was still plenty of color, and I was glad to have been out with the camera to see it.
