John Pepin, Michigan Department of Natural Resources

The character of this charming landscape reminds me of something one might see in an Impressionist painting, especially were it to begin raining.

The colors were only just beginning to blush autumn, with a few accents of red, orange and yellow scattered amongst the still bright green leaves of maples and oaks.

As I stood leaning on the rusted rail of an old, dilapidated bridge, the river below was rolling out in front of me, scarcely making a sound.

What I did hear took me a little bit by surprise at first.

It was a soft but abrupt sound that drew my attention to the sloping riverbank to my left. Then there was silence.

Then I heard it again and then again in much more rapid succession.

I listened intently for a couple more minutes and then I heard it again.

The identification of the sound came over me like a bucket of water; it was a sudden and cold realization, direct and to the point.

This noise was sound of plump green acorns — some with caps, some without — falling to the ground. Literally, fall had arrived.

That side of the river was flanked with granite outcroppings that were lined with bands of igneous rocks. The rocks were covered with green and yellowish moss.

This old river was cutting through these rocks and a surrounding northern hardwood forest as it has done for thousands of years or more.

I recall this place from the older side of my childhood. My folks took us here to fish a couple of times.

There is a boat launch here at one of the dozens of bends in this slow-moving river.

Back then, these waters were home to brown trout and bass.

I’ve heard stories that an occasional trout can still be caught, but the fishing quality has diminished greatly since those decades long ago.

This watershed is manipulated by dams as humans have raised and lowered the water level to suit the needs of the electric company.

On this day, the water in the river is maybe the lowest I’ve seen it.

I decided to take a few casts from the bridge to see if anything would smack my lure.

After more than a dozen tries, I had no strikes and saw no fish.

I wasn’t seriously fishing anyway.

I just was kind of doing it for old-time’s sake.

It would have been great to have hooked into a big brown trout. That would have been a cool way to connect the present with the past.

The sky has taken on its autumn silver tone today portending a loneliness and sadness that will occur once all the leaves are downed.

There’s a little bit of snap in the wind today, which tells my mind this is the time of the year to be getting out fishing for salmon and steelhead.

I love the autumn. It probably is still my favorite season of them all. I wonder how it can be so difficult to decide which season is the best.

There are only four.

I think it is difficult to choose simply because I love things about each one of them.

One thing I don’t like about autumn is the geese flying south. It’s a not-so-subtle reminder, punctuated by the honks of thousands of birds, that wintertime is on its way.

But before all that, it’s nearly time for corn mazes, pumpkin spiced treats, scarecrows, Halloween, hot apple cider and a big, old harvest moon.

I leave my Jeep parked near the boat launch and walk a trail that heads upstream along the river. I walk down a side trail that moves out to a massive boulder settled along the shoreline.

From the top of this boulder, I can see a good distance in both directions. The upstream view shows me another in a series of wide bends. This one has riffles at the top that flow downgrade into a pool that hugs the riverbank.

There are fallen branches and logs here that have been pushed down river to this point in the procession by the force of the water in times of higher flow.

The tops of black and gray boulders stick out of the water looking like the plates covering the back of a stegosaurus.

I take some more casts but still come up empty.

There are more banded rocks here, more moss and grass covering these giant stones.

At the boat launch, the expansive width and muted but grand look of the river is one reason this landscape lends itself to my comparison to the works of Impressionist painters.

Tall, yellowed grasses line the banks of the river here.

The surrounding trees harbor blue jays that are jeering loudly in my direction, but remain largely invisible to me, my view of them obscured by the foliage.

The whole scene along this big, twisting and slow-moving river looks like it could start tearing up and crying at any moment, smearing the paint, causing it to run and blur.

When I was a kid and came here, the old bridge was the only bridge. The rails, even then, seemed to be in disrepair and at least a little bit rusted.

Today, a new bridge carries the cars and trucks that venture down this way to access spacious homes along the ridgelines with their million-dollar views overlooking the water.

The road also brings folks closer to a good number of hiking and biking opportunities found weaving and ducking throughout the forests here.

There’s also a small but picturesque waterfall that tumbles down out of the hills toward the river at the edge of another river bend.

Underneath the bridge, graffiti artists have used the vertical concrete abutments as a canvas to display their artwork and messages.

Next to a painting of an 11-starred, seven-striped “American flag” is a spray-painted disparaging message about the police. On the other side of the American flag is a Brazilian flag.

There are also weird cartoon-type creatures and people painted on the concrete. One character that is colored baby blue and white is an oblong, jellybean shaped creature with four eyes and one big mouth and 10 teeth.

On the other side of the river, the graffiti art is more ominous with scary monster or misshapen faces of people depicted.

There is also a good deal of painted lettering, symbols and other art detailing secret messages to readers who possess the key to understanding this work.

I see why graffiti is often derided as defacing public property, but in many cases, the work is done by talented painters. I spend a couple of minutes looking and wondering where they learned to paint like that before moving on.

Today is a transitioning day, where late summer is shifting, if only slowly now, into autumn. I can feel that inside me today too. I think I am aligned with the changes.

Seeing the colored leaves doesn’t trigger me to be happy or sad or really have much of any feeling really. It just is.

The same is true of the silver-lead sky, the chill of the wind in the mid-morning air or the browning and crumpling of the bracken ferns and other understory plants.

It seems like the river is even slowing down already, likely because of the lower depth I noticed earlier. It will be a while yet before it will freeze over to wait for the snow.

If I was a scarecrow in a farmer’s field today, I’d be one of those scarecrows who doesn’t mind the crows landing on his outstretched arms.

Maybe they would talk to me and tell me what is on their minds at this time of the season. What are they always cawing about and why?

I think I would also like the view, being hoisted and held up high above the corn fields where I could probably see the two-lane divided highway and its passing cars.

I could count the various vehicle types or the license plates from different states. I would get a bath when it rained, and I’d be warmed in the sun.

And as time passed, I believe I would grow wiser and older with the aid of my viewpoint on the world from up here above a lot of things.

I’m sure the seasons would have plenty to teach me, year in and out.

Maybe a young boy or girl walking along the top of the wooden fence around the cornfield would stop to talk to me. Maybe I would hear a farmer’s prayers.

Here at the boat launch, I see dead crayfish on the floor of the river. They are lying on their backs amid numerous rocks and sticks that are visible on the river bottom.

Their season is over.

Let the withering of autumn commence in all its resplendent glory.

EDITOR’S NOTE: Outdoors North is a weekly column produced by the Michigan Department of Natural Resources on a wide range of topics important to those who enjoy and appreciate Michigan’s world-class natural resources of the Upper Peninsula.