I took another ride through the blueberry fields last Friday to photograph them with the Fall colors. Although I have always found Autumn to be a little garrish, I must admit that its beauty was far from lost on me as I bounced along the dirt roads in my little Ford. In fact, ever since I was in Vermont during peak foliage season years ago, I have come to appreciate Maine's colors more. The evergreens break up the relentless yellows and reds so that one can actually see them rather than being overwhelmed by them. Although I am glad to have experienced Vermont and found it enchanting in its way, I have always thought I might as well have stood in front of a Mark Rothko painting for a week. The barrens, which I have come to think of as my own, did not disapoint me. I knew it would be wonderful, and it was. Every year I am amazed at the red of the blueberries, and even though I remember that I am amazed, I never remember how red they actually are.
I don't know how many of the fifty or so pictures I took I will actually paint. Despite its beauty, the landscape is, as I have said, so intense that I can't imagine it will take many versions of October to make the point. There is very little sublety, or if there is, it is hard to find it. I suppose it is like putting red pepper in a delicately seasoned sauce. The other seasonings may be there, but all you can taste is the hotness of the red pepper.