Farewell to a Bosie summer

Close friends Frank and Ann Sexton moved to Boise almost three and one-half years ago. This gave Frank an opportunity to climb into management in the construction industry and move his family far away from the California rat race.

Ann began writing a weekly email letter to friends and family a month before their June 2006 move. She purposed in her opening letter to "keep in touch with the people I care about the most" and to motivate herself to write.

"It seems ridiculous that a woman who wants to be a writer can't make the time to write to the people she loves!" expressed Ann.

With over 120 letters to her credit, Ann's letter writing "campaign" has paid off. She graciously allowed me to share yesterday's letter, written on the heal of a Bosie summer that faded weeks ago.

Farewell to a Bosie summer

By Ann Sexton

October is no longer around the corner, fall is definitely come to roost for a while around here. It was rainy and cold last night and this morning I haven't so much as ventured a toe out the door yet.

It's 8:04 and still barely light, which means it's cloudy at the very least. The days grow shorter, even before the time change, and suddenly hot soup and a warm snugly afghan sound awfully good to me.

For the first time in many years (probably since childhood), I regret summer abandoning me. Usually I can't wait for it to scamper off and leave in its wake falling leaves and cold wind. I don't know, this year is different.

I enjoyed the summer so much, between my projects and walking every morning in the cool new air of a summer morning. I'm going to miss it.

I'm dreading the bad weather because that will make it much more difficult to get myself out the door for a walk ... yep, it's going to be a long winter. (I'm beginning to understand much better why Frank doesn't care for winter ... since he HAS to be out in it daily.)

Barely October and I'm already feeling hibernation mode kicking in ... stay home, stay in, eat, sleep more, snuggle. I will have to fight those urges if I'm going to continue my quest to get "fitter."

And I AM determined to keep on ... NOT give in, just because it's autumn. But still, I'm making a big pot of chili for lunch!

Hope Valley

In a bit of irony, the operators of Sorensen's Resort couldn't have engineered a better display of fall colors. I found the most colorful aspen trees as we turned the corner on Highway 88 at the roadside cabin resort this afternoon.

As we climbed Carson Pass from the west, it was obvious that we'd missed the peak of the fall colors in the Sierra Nevada Range. Many aspens in the surrounding area had turned brown. And a number were already bare.

Our descent into Hope Valley -- a picturesque photo spot in its own right -- nearly confirmed my suspicion. But halfway down the grade, I spotted a few isolated aspen groves that were ticked against the mountain.

The vibrant colors of Hope Valley seemed to turn from bright auburn to spotted brown in a week. A motel deadline kept us from stopping on our recent trip through the area. A quite day with my wife was reason enough to return to the valley.

"A few weeks ago was better," said our young waitress at Sorensen's Cafe. "It's been coming and going really fast."

"We've seen better seasons," she added as she shuttled off to attend to other diners.

She's right. The colors in the valley were certainly past their prime today.

But there's hope for Hope Valley. As we drove up Highway 89 toward Luther Pass, I noticed a band of soft green aspens at the 6,500-foot level. The highway cut right through the large grove at the abandoned Dangberg Ranch.

Given the right conditions of cold, frosty nights, the valley -- long known for an annual color show -- could yet ramp up its display.

The most vibrant groves hug the base Waterhouse Peak and the Willow Creek drainage this year. While we may still see some colors along Willow Creek this season, we may have to wait.

Your best bet is to tour the south end of Hope Valley for the best fall colors, right along Highway 88 as it climbs up to Carson Pass.

Many groves and individual stands still quake in the afternoon breeze. Fall colors abound. You'll enjoy the yellow, brown and green hues.

The warm slopes of the eastern side of the Sierra Nevada Range will enlighten you as it warms your body and colors the image in your lens.

You'd better act fast. This weekend may be too late.

Centered

I often view centered subjects in pictures with a jaundiced eye. After all, my artistic side of tells me that I must to apply the rule of thirds to all my photographs.

Centered pictures often lack interest. The object of the camera lens just seems to sit there. You don't get the sense that the subject is doing anything.

But the more I gazed at the picture of a local Native American bark tee pee, the more I like it. The picture almost looks like the trunk of a towering redwood that's reaching for the humid coastal air.

If you're looking for application of the rule of thirds, it's there. The native hut may be centered. But the leaves from the nearby liquid amber come alive at the proper points in the grid.

This shot shows the photographer that you can mold the rules -- like the long venerated rule of thirds -- to fit your artistic style and interpretation of the scene.

As with my last three or four pictures, this photo was taken in the yard of the El Dorado County Historical Museum on Octover 13, 2007.

Shot settings: f/11, 1/30 second shutter speed, 39 mm focal length, ISO 200 in aperture priority.

Room with a View

The cupola to the Camino, Placerville and Lake Tahoe Railroad's only caboose stands empty on a pleasant fall day. I'm sure the brakeman and conductor admired the fall colors along the eight-mile line between Placerville and Camino. The subdued yellow oaks with the occasional bright red tree helped the crew pass the time as the train rambled up the grade to the mill.

The gutted standard-gauge caboose sits in front of the El Dorado County Historical Museum in Placerville.

Shot settings: f/16, 1/60 second shutter speed, 30 mm focal length, ISO 200 in aperture priority.

Cemetery of Lost Souls

These headstones -- long separated from the graves they once marked -- mark imaginary graves in the Cemetery of Lost Souls in the courtyard of the El Dorado County Historical Museum. They remind us of the frailties of life. And they remind us that men die and go to the grave.

Someone asked the apostle Paul, "How are the dead raised up?" (1 Corinthians 15:35a). Perhaps they were thinking of what can happen to the body before death. Some, after battling cancer for months, leave a body that's ravished by disease. Others are be burned with fire, dismembered in accidents or drowned and lost at sea. And they knew the body decayed in the grave.

These thoughts may have led them to ask, "And with what body do they come?" (1 Corinthians 15:35b). The Corinthians were questioning the reality of the resurrection of the dead. It seems they wandered how God would put a body back together after death had destroyed thier earthly bodies.

What kind of body will a man have in the resurrection? The answer is simple, according to Paul. He said, "But God gives it a body as He pleases, and to each seed its own body" (1 Corinthians 15:38).

Just as God gave each creature a body that's fitted for their habitation on earth, He is able to fit us with a body suited for a heavenly existence. The simplest answer to their question is this: we will have the same kind of body that Jesus had at His resurrection, as Paul said elsewhere:

"For our citizenship is in heaven, from which we also eagerly wait for the Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who will transform our lowly body that it may be conformed to His glorious body, according to the working by which He is able even to subdue all things to Himself" (Philipians 3:20-21).

He concludes our earthly body, which is sown in corruption (that is to say, the body is subject to decay), "cannot inherit the kingdom of God" (1 Corinthians 15:50).

No matter the condition of our body upon our death, God will raise those who believe in the death, burial and resurrection of our savor, Jesus Christ (1 Corinthians 15:1-5). God does not need our earthly body to raise us as He is able to give us heavenly bodies the resurrection.

Fall Colors in the Sierra

The fall colors in my little piece of the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range aren't as spectacular this year. Colors range from a faded green to light brown as the deciduous trees shed their leaves. The spectacular red and orange hues are missing in the forest as the nights grow colder and shorter.

My hike along Blue Gouge Mine Road was intended to capture images of some of the fall foliage. The old mining road, located just to the south of Mormon Emigrant Road in the Eldorado National Forest, seemed the idea location. It has a nice mixture of conifers and oaks on the north-facing slope of Camp Creek canyon.

Although I snapped some 41 images, the hike turned into an exercise marathon. Blue Gouge Mine Road exists in two segments. The first is paved and is used as the access road to the Fleming Meadow Trail System. The second is a dirt road that heads northeast from the parking lot. A forest-green gate blocks vehicular traffic.

The dirt mining road looped to the south and ends -- on the Forest Service trail map -- just shy of the crest of hill 3920. I discovered that the road continued along a north-south ridgeline, over the highest point of the ridge and down into canyon.

Thinking the road would meet one of the nearby trails, I followed down it into the canyon. After a 30-minute walk, the road dead-ended into the side of the mountain.

The climb back up the hill preoccupied my mind as I hiked. If the road ended, I'd have to reclaim some 500 feet in elevation to the crest of hill 3920. Each time I checked the trail map, I told myself that I'd soon meet up with one of the trails in the Fleming Meadow system.

Once I reached the bottom, my first thought was to locate a trail along Camp Creek. But the realization that two hunters had recently fired their rifles kept me from going cross-country. I feared my dark colored clothing (blue jeans and a blue T-shirt with a grey ballcap) could confuse the hunters.

So at 4:30 p.m. I reversed course and trudged my way back to the truck. The trail switched direction four times before it turned to the north. Once on top I walked the old mine and headed for home.

For beautiful fall colors, especially those around Hope Valley, check an Sierra Foothill Magazine aricle here.