It was in Ohio where I
became enamored with autumn, started measuring time by its approach or
departure. I’d left Kansas that
morning in a t-shirt. Hundreds of
miles east and slightly north, I found myself rubbing my arms to warm up while
stopped at a gas station that evening, rummaging through my backpack for a
sweatshirt and a bit caught off guard by the bite in the air. The sun had begun to set and, with the
wind picking up a bit, the scenery took on a different character as I left the
interstate for older roads leading up to Mt. Vernon. On narrowing lanes alongside farmland, leaves already
showing shades of red and orange that would not visit Kansas until closer to
Halloween waved in the wind. It
was as if a portal was opening up, drawing my eyes away from the road for
increasingly dangerous intervals.
Soon, it was nearly dark and I was lost, in a bit of a panic but at the
same time entranced, wondering how there could be a place so beautiful that I’d
never heard a word of. Back on
track and passing through Mt. Vernon toward Gambier after nightfall, leaves
still fluttering in bunches showed their colors intermittently just above
street lamps as if a light switch were being flipped off and on. The feeling, like playing hide-and-seek
in gardens of the wealthy as a child, was quietly electric.
Kristina Dutton - Violin
Andra Kulans - Violin
Andrew Morgan - Guitars / Piano / Harmonium / Melodica / Feedback Bed
Recorded summer 2012, Lawrence, Kansas / spring 2013, Chicago, Illinois / summer 2014, El Cerrito, California.
Mixed and Mastered by Matt LaPoint.
Image: Hartford, Connecticut (from Thalman family archives; restored by David Marquardt).
