The parking lot at Lake of the Clouds was full by 8:40 on a Saturday morning, and nobody in it seemed to mind waiting. We stood three deep at the rail in light gloves and September breath, watching a valley the size of a small city burn quietly in every direction — maple red, birch … Read more
There is a marble monument on a hillside in the Poconos holding the remains of a man who never once set foot in the town that carries his name. I stood in front of it last October, coffee going cold in my hand, while one of my researchers read aloud from a pamphlet she’d grabbed … Read more
The clock in the rental read 5:41 a.m. when I pulled out of Lincoln, New Hampshire, with a thermos hissing in the cupholder and my headlights the only ones pointed east on Route 112. My photographer was still assembling her tripod in the passenger seat, and neither of us said a word, because there was … Read more
There is a specific sound a knee makes when it decides it is done cooperating, and I heard mine make it last October, about 400 vertical feet above the parking lot at the bottom of a gorge trail. Wet maple leaves had glued themselves to granite slabs. My shoes were fine. My balance was fine. … Read more
5:41 a.m. on Cadillac Mountain, and my hands are too cold to feel the coffee cup I’m gripping like a lifeline. The wind coming off the Gulf of Maine has teeth in early October, even when the valleys below are still sleeping in fifty-degree air. My photographer had scouted the Blue Hill Overlot two evenings … Read more
Every October, the same thing happens. Somebody in the family insists on a leaf-peeping drive through New England, and somebody else ends up white-knuckling a rented crossover down the Kancamagus Highway at eleven miles an hour with a bus on the bumper, catching roughly four seconds of actual foliage through the windshield. I have been … Read more
There is a stretch of the Sierra Nevada where the calendar stops mattering and elevation starts running the show. Every September, while New England is still arguing about whether October will behave, the aspens on the eastern slope of the Sierra turn gold in a wave that starts above nine thousand feet and works its … Read more
Every October, something quietly absurd happens about forty miles south of Rochester. A river that spent ten thousand years carving a 600-foot canyon through western New York gets framed by a few million maple, oak, and birch trees that all decide to ignite at the same time — and somehow, most of the country still … Read more
Every August, without fail, my inbox starts filling up with the same question from friends and readers: when should I book my fall trip? And every August, I give the same answer — wait for the forecast. This year we didn’t have to wait long. The Old Farmer’s Almanac just released its 2026 fall foliage … Read more
There’s a moment on the Cabot Trail, somewhere between the 40th and 50th lookoff of the day, when you stop reaching for your camera. Not because the views get worse — because your arms give out. This is the road Nova Scotians have been quietly bragging about for a century, a 185-mile loop around the … Read more