Fall in full tumble gives us a kind of X-ray vision. We see that a leafless land is a lovely land, a surprising land. We see what leaves hide. What we miss summer when we drive blind. Green clusters of mistletoe festoon the barren crowns of oaks. Abandoned shacks and mansions. Silos commandeered by woods. It’s like driving through a place for the first time. Really seeing. Seeing the ghosts of winter.
We tire of winter’s barren days but they bless us with rare images. When the days shorten, we trade leaves for visions. I glance at the old Hard Labor Creek Bridge on Hwy 378 in McCormick County. Unveiled, there it stands, that old ghost bridge bereft of traffic, save the occasional deer hunter or coyote. A favorite to photograph, too, is the old Hwy 25 Bridge in Edgefield County, but it requires a good walk.
Imagine this. You’re driving a country road on a December morning. To your left the sun lights up hardwoods and within them smooth white sycamores blaze up. For a moment, no other trees exist save those chalk-white trees. You stare because you cannot help it. Where have these beauties been? Well, we have other white-bark trees down here … river birch and paper birch come to mind, but sycamores have no rivals, not in my mind. Aspens out West seem rival worthy but they’re out West. I would love to find aspens and sycamores in one setting. Only then could I settle this matter of tree brilliance. I should add that photographing sycamores in winter light often tints them blue. Snow too…