the ice cream truck
In the Pacific Northwest, there are three things one should be able to rely on the first week of every October:
A frosty bite in the air tempered by the snuggly warmth of a favorite sweater.
The steady percussion of rainfall on the rooftop.
Idyllic landscapes festooned with an array of vibrant seasonal colors.
Also, bear in mind that, whenever possible, the simultaneous enjoyment of cake donuts, fresh-pressed apple cider, and hayrides adds that quintessential je ne sais quoi to the autumn months, wrapping the season up like a Main Street, U.S.A. present tied with a Rockwellian bow. Sure, I don't eat donuts, I'm not a big fan of cider, and I'm allergic to about a thousand different particulates found in dampened beds of hay, but, darn it, that doesn't mean I can't want to want them.
Knowing it may have been our last opportunity for outdoor explorations before the forecast becomes a looped script of all rain all the time, last weekend we set our sights, once more, on a place where fall foliage abounds, lending splendid layers of color to the woods, the creek, the pond and the swimming hole, and, of course, the main attraction—the waterfall. Our primary goal, as usual, was nothing more complicated than quality family time at the park. Our secondary goal, however, was to capture a few photographs of autumn's majesty set against the falls, the stunning bridge, and the woodland and mountain vistas.
We did, indeed, share quality family time wandering through the forest, but the rest was not to be. The trees that, by all reason, should soon be dropping their leaves, had barely begun to turn. A few spots of color appeared here and there, but finding even meager hints of reds and yellows and oranges turned into an almost fruitless treasure hunt.
This particular park is made up of a dizzying assortment of rocky, muddy, and often steep trails leading to varied sights and experiences, leading into town, leading into other interconnected parks. We have hiked different paths every time we've visited, yet we still haven't taken in the whole of our city’s most popular outdoor destination. And, while we were not met with the cool Autumn weather and the colorful foliage we’d sought—bypassing, instead, throngs of park-goers in tank tops and shorts, splashing children, and sweaty brows—we did achieve the tired legs of aimless wanderers, the smiling faces of happy hikers, and one too many indicators that we'd stumbled into summer in October: the gratingly plinky, pitchy melody of an idle, unpatronized ice cream truck. The persistent brain-piercing tune carried through the air, through the trees, over the rushing roar of the waterfall like intangible, auditory daggers, ultimately prompting our departure. But, hey, at least we have beautiful memories of something I never thought any of us would say—an earlier time, an earlier place, one devoid of most everyone’s favorite frosty treat.
Special thanks to agridelight for the scrumptious ice cream photograph used in this post.