The Colours of September

My memory of autumn in the west is that it is the season that whizzes by very quickly and usually leaves you feeling a bit cheated. Its a quick transition from summer to winter. The trees turn various shades of yellow, some close to orange, until an almost annually early cold snap kills it all off in time to warm up again. We then spend the rest of October looking at various shades of brown.

We know that there is a red maple leaf out there. We have heard that it blankets other parts of Canada out east. Unfortunately, the closest we generally get to seeing it is as it flutters from our flagpoles.

Mom and I left Quebec City thoroughly impressed with what we had seen during the drive from Montreal along the St. Lawrence River, and looking forward to spotting a few more of those red maples. As we drove along the southern shore of the St. Lawrence river to Rimouski, and then crossed the entrance to the Gaspe peninsula and into New Brunswick, there were moments of utter silence in the Jamboree as we both gazed at the colours along the sides of the road.

Cooler temperatures coincide with brighter colours. Leaves like fire; like cooked crabapple jelly and pumpkin pies; like crumpled satin and wrinkled velvet. A carpet of grand fall shades escorting us down the road. Patches of green, touches of yellow and orange and streaks of red filling up any available space for as far as the eye can see. Standing on real hills, merging on little mountains and down into valleys. The setting sun melting over them like butter.

Like a Bob Ross painting-in-progress.

Add to this autumn scene a bit of water, a string of quaint villages dotting the road like pearls on a necklace, stalls on the road overflowing with the seasonal corn and pumpkins, and fresh seafood stands – poisonneries – and the drive becomes even more lovely.

My mom is a lover of trees and flowers and the ways mother nature marks the seasons through them, and so much of this drive was accompanied by her exclamations attesting to the beautiful scenes passing us softly by. It is a view she's always wanted to witness, as have I, and now that we both have, I'm glad we saw the colours of September in the east together.

There were also three somewhat odd aspects during this drive worth noting.

Across the street from our campsite in Riviere-du-Loup was one of Santa's chateaux. A little Christmas in September?

The Jamboree's fridge decided to stop working unless it was plugged in. No matter how many times I restarted it or checked the propane, it just wouldn't stay on. Luckily I've had it fixed – for a pretty penny, of course – in Moncton and now can camp in Wall Mart when I can't find an open campsite and still have cold beer to sip on through the evenings.

The final odd, and for me, rather unpleasant thing was the few dead moose we saw stretched out in undignified manners on the backs of hunter's trucks. Apparently the last few days have been “moose season” for hunters, and I saw three of their prizes being carted home in both Quebec and New Brunswick. One pulled up right beside us at a gas station. All I can do is hope that they will provide an entire family with meat for the winter – a practice which I know many rural people still follow – and won't simply be a trophy over someone's mantel.

Mom flew out of Moncton yesterday back to Calgary, and now I am parked here, planning the next stage of the journey: the four Maritime provinces! Campsite closures and the threat of eventual winter both dictate my moves from now on; many campsites are closed by the end of September, and I've been told more than once to go to Newfoundland sooner rather than later. So I envision the next four weeks to include a bit of back and forth, and with all there is to see and do around here, that suits me just fine.

QCity to NB