I’m always going on about the Flat Road, but Babs has been taking the high road. She writes: This was taken about two weeks ago when the color was just beginning. We’ve had very little sun since then, and lots of rain, so even though the color is good a sunny picture is hard to come by. This one was taken north of here on Maple Hill Road. Happy Fall.
I know that house . . . . The first time I drove past it Nora Metz was riding shotgun, keeping up a running commentary on walking to Maple Hill School with Bobby Woolverton in 1921, the sound of her Québécois grandfather’s voice, the way cars used to get stuck and have to be hauled out by someone with a good team of horses . . .
Maple Hill Road has not changed a whole lot in 90 years and it crossed my mind to wonder how I would ever get Nora home if we broke an axle. I was pretty sure there would be no rescuer coming by with a team. Still, it was a fine thing to be going for a ride with my very own storyteller.
I keep meaning to find out if that house belonged to Civil War veterans Oscar and Amy (Jackson) Whitney. My head is full of meaning to. I am trying to turn it all into meaning. Stay tuned.
Torch Lake Views 
Heather
October 15, 2012
We certainly have had rain. I think I’m just going to go take cloudy/rainy fall pictures. I’ll show Mama Nature that I can play in her game 😉
Gerry
October 15, 2012
I know exactly what you mean. The colors just glow in the dusky light, but getting the camera to capture it is quite a challenge.
kiwidutch
October 15, 2012
Wow, you can see the history and the story begs to be told…
Gerry
October 15, 2012
The whole trouble is that stories begging to be told positively litter the landscape Around Here. It’s driving me crazy.
Martha J
October 15, 2012
I keep hoping the rain replenishes the bay!
Gerry
October 15, 2012
It’s a start. What would really make a difference is a snowy winter, but I must be getting old. I just can’t bring myself to wish for enormous snowpiles.
shoreacres
October 15, 2012
What a great photo of a still-reverberating past. I’m curious about those sticks? poles? at the lower left. And old fenceline? No-longer-producing fruit trees that have been strangely pruned? Very interesting.
As for that litter of stories – isn’t it just the truth? I can just see you making your way down the road with your tote sack and picker-upper, thinking, “I don’t have a clue what this means, but I’ll pick it up, take it home and sort it out later.” 😉
Gerry
October 15, 2012
The sticks are indeed lopped-off trees. Tart cherry trees reach the end of their productive lives at about 25 years. Cherry farmers regularly replace whole blocks of trees with new ones, and then wait five years for the new trees to get established, and another 5-7 years for them to grow to peak production. After 10-12 years of peak production the decline begins, and they start all over again. Farmers have to take a long view.
The trees in the cherry orchard next to the house are nowhere near as old as the house is. But there has quite possibly been an orchard there for 100 years. Another thing I should find out.
sybil
October 15, 2012
I’m nutty for old abandoned buildings. Babs really took a lovely shot of this one.
OK.
I’m waiting, (tapping foot). Waiting for the back story on this old home. 🙂
Gerry
October 15, 2012
Don’t know it yet. May never know it. But if I find out, you will be the first to know. Among the first.
Dawn
October 15, 2012
Wonder what the inside looks like…
Gerry
October 15, 2012
Don’t know. Will definitely never know.
P.j. grath
October 16, 2012
We are tuned….
Gerry
October 16, 2012
Like a fine violin . . .
Babs Young
October 16, 2012
I’d go inside. Don’t know when, but one of these days I’ll make way up the hill and look inside. I’ll send a visual report.
Gerry
October 16, 2012
I will ride shotgun. Perhaps we can get Nora to come with us.
Belinda
October 16, 2012
Oh How Gorgeous! What a beautiful picture. Please write down all of Noree’s stories while you can and take pictures of the olden days.
Gerry
October 16, 2012
I will definitely write down the stories. Alas, taking pictures of the olden days is beyond my capabilities. I will take pictures of the traces I find. They’re everywhere.