Q uietly, cradled by Hamden woods, is how the West River begins. Soon, it trickles into Bethany, where it pools as Lake Bethany. Wending through Woodbridge, it pauses to gather as Lake Watrous, Lake Dawson and Konolds Pond. In New Haven, it becomes Lily Pond, then Edgewood Pond, then a long marsh known as West River Memorial Park. Widening gradually like a herald trumpet, it marches double-time to the ocean, into a little bay called Winter Harbor.
There are senses in which Thanksgiving, too, ends at winter. Symbolically, the holiday marks the finish of the fall harvest. Culturally, it’s the last day of autumn that isn’t consumed by Christmas. Coincidentally, it accompanies the final, dimmed blush of the colored leaves that so indelibly define our experience of fall.
Growing as if to highlight the point is a needly vein of trees between Lake Dawson and West Rock Ridge. Surrounded by a browning, graying sea of faded deciduous glory, these evergreens appear as green as ever. Winter is their time, and as far as feeling goes, the balance has all but tipped.
This isn’t a bad thing. It’s just the way of things. But if you’re looking for something more to be thankful for today, charming, fleeting autumn might just be it.
Enjoy the holiday—
—Your friends at Daily Nutmeg—
