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With just a week left before the kids and I head back to school, we've been getting in our "one lasts" this week.  One last bike ride to get Italian ice at the stand downtown. One last walk to the beach with friends visiting their grandparents across the street.  And one last trip to Copperas Pond, one of our favorite short hikes in the Adirondacks, ending with a gorgeous, clear mountain swimming hole.  But it turns out, the mountain started autumn already, while nobody was looking...



Quick-moving clouds and a chilly breeze meant only the brave went swimming!  (I was happy reading an ARC of Megan Crewe's GIVING UP THE GHOST on a rock.)

We looked for frogs -- this pond is usually hopping with them -- but only saw one, tucked in between some rocks and looking like he was ready to call it a summer.  The air even smelled different than it did last time we were here, just a couple warmer weeks ago.  Crisper, and with that mix of earth and leaves crushed under hiking boots.

I know for many of you reading this, it's still summery-warm, still bathing suit and cookout weather. But this week, we saw sure signs that fall is just about here.  The mountains always know first....

Rattlesnake Mountain has long been one of my family's favorite hikes around the Adirondacks.  It's always had a great mix of the things we love in a hike: a great view for a moderately challenging climb, cool mushrooms to look at, the occasional garter snake, a rock shaped like a chair that's located at a perfect spot for a water break, and a tree that we've been calling "our tree" for ten years.  Here's a picture of it we took a few years ago.



Rattlesnake Mountain was the first mountain my son ever climbed as a toddler. He was two and a half, and we made it as far as this tree before he was too tired to go on.  We played hide and seek around the tree for a while before heading down; he hid in the hollow, and I peeked around from the other side.  At one point, he lost his balance and started rolling down the hill until my husband caught him. 

On other climbs, as he got older, we'd pause at the tree and remember it as the milestone he reached on that first climb and talk about how much bigger and taller he was on each hike. And when my daughter came along and got big enough to go hiking, we told her the story and played hide and seek here, too. This strange-looking tree has become a Rattlesnake Mountain landmark for our family. A place to stop and catch our breath and say, "Remember when...."

J is 13 now, as tall as I am, and beyond fitting in the hollow tree, but he came along with E and me on our hike up Rattlesnake today.  Right away, we noticed something was different about the trail.  There's been some serious logging on the mountain, which is private land, and there are scars.  Trails that are muddier. Tree stands that are more sparse.  E was immediately furious.  We reminded her that it is indeed private land, that the owner has the right to cut some trees, and that it's been great that they've kept the mountain open to hikers all this time when it's private property.  And the logging wasn't irresponsible; nothing was clear cut. 

I thought I was doing a great job being the voice of reason, but then we came to this.



Our tree.

We were all so very sad. I felt like we should have tacked a little sign on it when we were here last fall: "Please leave this one. It's important."  But that's not the way the world works.

We continued to the top, where the view of Lake Champlain was as spectacular as always and had the added benefit of being filled with giant, prehistoric-looking dragonflies.  Can you see them?



It made us feel a little better.  Sort of.

But tonight, I can't shake the feeling that a little bit of my kids' childhood got chopped down along with that tree. Even here at home, hours later, I can't believe how much I miss it.

What do you do when your middle grade novel about a 7th grade kid whose leaf collection is ruining her life is off in New York City being edited?  You head for the mountains to collect leaves, of course!

THE BRILLIANT FALL OF GIANNA Z won't need my attention until copy edits are complete, and the Adirondacks were postcard-perfect this morning, so we headed out for a morning hike so my own 7th grader could work on his school leaf collection project.


An American Beech greeted us at the trailhead to Mount Jo.


With almost no wind, Heart Lake was a perfect mirror for the foliage.


I kept tripping over roots because I couldn't stop staring up at the leaves against the blue sky.


When we hiked Mount Jo a few weeks ago, this view from the summit was shrouded in fog, but today made up for it.

Our leaf collector came home with six new specimens -- Mountain Maple, Striped Maple, Bigtooth Aspen, American Mountain Ash, American Beech, and Balsam Fir.  The rest of us came home with pockets full of rocks and pine cones, tired legs, and lighter hearts. 

In honor of the first day of fall tomorrow, I'm sharing a few photos from today's hike up Mount Jo in the Adirondacks.



We decided to climb, even though it was drizzling when we got to the trailhead.



This is the view from the summit -- not exactly what we'd had in mind, but pretty in a hazy, climbing-into-a-cloud sort of way.  If it were clear, you'd see a  handful of the High Peaks and Heart Lake beyond the trees.



E noticed this little guy on the trail and moved him to safety so he didn't get squashed.

And this one is for blog readers who live where the leaves don't change color, or where they haven't changed just yet. 



A branch full of maple leaves to launch you into autumn. Have a terrific week!

We hiked Rattlesnake Mountain in the Adirondacks on Sunday, one of my family's favorites. Here's why...



You don't find too many picnic spots with a nicer view.

In case you're wondering, the mountain doesn't really live up to its name. Eastern Timber Rattlesnakes have been spotted on Split Rock Mountain, further south in the Adirondack Park, but not here. We did find a tiny garter snake.




I was amazed by how close he let me get to take his picture.  Maybe he knows that living on a mountain called Rattlesnake requires a little extra courage.