Lo-Fidelity: The hunt for reds in October

The fall colors are “muted” this year you say? Without question — nonetheless, the deciduous decor is still stunning in my book. Colorado State Forest Service entomologist and foliage-o-phile Dan West, AKA “Mr. Aspen,” is noticing the exact same thing. The dude’s brilliant. He flies around our state in a plane scouting this stuff out. Out of curiosity, as a former “Mr. Aspen” still in recovery, was Dan ever up for nomination in The Aspen Times’ official “Best Of” competition?

So, now we know what our fall looks like under extreme duress. 

It feels to me like autumn came prematurely this year due to drought. Honestly? It’s all a blur to me. But, if fall did in fact arrive early this year, it would make perfect sense because, when you think about it, the leaves were out much sooner than usual this spring. The serviceberry just plum shriveled in most places, and the acrid oak brush — typically a late fall MVP — has basically been a brownout. 

I’m downright obsessed with the groves of aspen trees that burn hues of red. I have six aspen trees in my yard that turn various paltry shades of lime green, yellow and brown. If I had my druthers, I’d call a tree service and have them cut down, rammed into a wood chipper and replace them with flamboyant aspens that turn red every fall. Maybe I’ll try pouring red food coloring around their bases instead. 

I keep my eyes peeled like grapes for the first hints of red aspen trees. There are a few choice groves I always frequent. The fall colors, particularly the reds, activate something tangible and deeply primordial within me. To sit in an aspen grove bathing in filtered light, while listening to the rustling of leaves, is probably as close to religion as I’ll ever get. The “hunt for reds in October” leaf-peeping missions have become routine for me, engrained in my DNA, triggered by colder temperatures and my house heater lethargically kicking-on with a cough of dust. 

Why am I so drawn to the red aspens? I think I may’ve finally solved the mystery. It’s likely because one time, in my early 20s, I “helped” a beautiful woman make a baby with red hair in my parents’ jacuzzi over in the West End. I’ve been the proud father of a redhead ever since. The research I’ve done on why aspens turn red has pointed mainly to genetics. I’ve since imagined that the percentage of red aspens is similar to the ratio of redheads in Aspen. Conclusion: If you’re looking to have a child with red hair, try having sex in a hot tub.

Could October be the new September in Aspen? We’ve all heard, ad naseum, about how amazing Aspen is in September and how it’s the “best” or “favorite” month ever. Me? I’m not so sure anymore. It seems like the summers are perhaps a wee bit longer now, and, to me, October has usurped September as the superior month in terms of both mellow and yellow. Discuss. 

When it comes to “leaf-peeping,” the micro is the macro. To fully understand how the colors appear from a distance, I go inspect leaves up-close. The chlorophyll drains from each individual leaf, like blood from a face, leaving the veins clearly visible to the naked eye. Aspen leaves are so unique in this sense, much like the members of our community. Some are yellow, some green, a few red and others are, well, just plain “muted.”

When the bulk of the leaves in the high country become untethered from their moorings and hit the deck, there’s a seldom talked-about “fall 2.0” that takes place well into October. The valley floor is packed with thirsty, majestic narrow-leaf cottonwood trees, which put on a spectacular show well into October. Those who choose, or are forced to stick around, during off-season are rewarded to an all-you-can-see feast of yellow leaves. This marvel is best viewed from above — either the Smuggler platform or the views from the Sunnyside trailhead are both excellent vantage points. The Roaring Fork River gorge along the Rio Grande trail from town to Jaffee Park is figuratively on fire right now. 

Soon, when Aspen sheds all her leaves, we’ll finally be able to see what she looks like naked again. But first, hear the hybrid symphony of construction, generators blowing-out sprinkler systems and the cacophony of leaf blowers doing the gutter work of man preparing the valley floor for the impending darkness of winter. Ladies and gentlemen, don your flannel, and start your leaf rakes!

Contact Lorenzo via suityourself@sopris.net.