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Fall Comes to New EnglandOctober 01, 2009 It's here, and I've got Cheryl Wheeler's wonderful song running through my head. If you don't know Cheryl Wheeler or "When Fall Comes to New England," check out this YouTube video. I just discovered it and have already replayed it four times, even though I can see some of the same things out the window. The post-and-board fence in the video looks like just about every pasture fence on Martha's Vineyard. "The leaves are Irish setter red" -- exactly right (except for the ones that are sunflower, egg-yolk, or lemon yellow), though for years I thought Cheryl was singing about her Irish setter, Red. She's usually got a dog in residence, but I don't believe she's ever had an Irish setter. The leaves haven't turned yet, though there's plenty of color in the undergrowth: poison ivy, huckleberry bushes, and ferns make a vibrant bouquet of magentas, yellows, and greens. Right around the equinox, though, the oak leaves took on that dry dark green that tells you they're thinking of turning. So it's October 1 and this morning I pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt to go walking with Travvy. Travvy didn't change his clothes; his winter coat is growing in at the same time his summer coat is shedding, and so far the late summer blow is far less dramatic than the spring one. It was 44 bracing degrees F when we stepped out. In fall you've got the sun in your eyes in at least one direction if you walk early or ride late, which I usually do. The horses at Misty Meadows have their blankets on already. Misty Meadows has a heated indoor arena; they do the clip-and-blanket thing. I'm of the "keep it simple" persuasion; swapping blankets two and three times a day strikes me as a waste of effort. Allie, bless her, is a low-maintenance horse. She's well on the way to her fuzzy winter self; her coat fluffs up when it's cold and lies flat when it isn't. Where she is now she can come inside when she wants and stay outside when she doesn't. Unless it's howling windy or pouring down rain, she usually doesn't. When I got back into horses, I was amazed by all the blanketing, and by the cost of the high-end blankets that everyone seemed to swear by. The idea of dressing my horse in anything called "Rambo" didn't appeal to me either, so I asked around and did some research. For horses, I read somewhere, the ideal temperature is about 39 degrees F. Just because I throw a sweatshirt on doesn't mean Allie's better off wearing one too.
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