An Autumn Foray and a Season of Fragility

October 24, 2024  |  Topics: Stories

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By Eddee Daniel

Photography by Eddee Daniel (ED) and Kris Gould (KG)

I’ve been missing October, my favorite month. But the tragic story began five months and two seasons ago.

It happened so quickly I had no time to think. I was out hiking when my foot slipped on a muddy slope. Pure instinct led me to reach out and grab … for anything nearby. But there was nothing. And then there was pain. I was lying in the mud I’d tried to avoid, having wrenched my right arm. I didn’t know then how badly. What I did know was a sudden and unfamiliar feeling of fragility.

At first, the injury seemed like a bad bruise. I drove gingerly all the way home to Wauwatosa from Doctors Park. By the next morning, however, the pain had worsened; the arm felt broken. X-rays proved otherwise, however. I’ll save you the blow-by-blow, which would be tedious. (Believe me when I say it’s been tedious!)

Cutting to the chase, it turned out that I would need surgery to repair a torn rotator cuff—a phrase that invariably elicited solicitous looks mixed with horror and compassion. The unanimous conclusion, from my orthopedic surgeon on down to strangers on the street, was that I was in for a long and painful ordeal. One that, among other things, would seriously impede my ability to enjoy the outdoors.

Not being able to go outside and enjoy nature is a kind of death. That may sound like a lament born of privilege; if so I own it. However, which is worse, I have to wonder, having the privilege of enjoyment of nature taken away or living for reasons beyond your control in an impoverished and degraded environment? Here in SE Wisconsin, as you know dear reader, we are privileged to have a wealth of opportunities to enjoy nearby nature in public parks—no matter what your economic circumstances.

I’ve long thought the reason I take photos was to share my vision of and value for what I like to call the urban wilderness with as many other people as possible. It now occurs to me that perhaps the real reason has been to bank them against the day when I can no longer take long walks outdoors, so that I have a store of images to remind me of how fortunate I’ve been for so long.

After many frustrating delays, my surgery finally took place two weeks ago. I had imagined beforehand, since my legs would be unaffected, that I would at least be able to walk. But all strenuous activity, including walking, has been forbidden. It was only a week into this forced vacation when my physical therapist, knowing my active lifestyle, asked “Are you bored yet?” It was rhetorical, since she knew the answer.

As I said, I’ve been missing my favorite month. Peak autumn in SE Wisconsin happens in October, when the trees put on nature’s greatest, most dazzling and most accessible spectacle for free. Beyond that, there also is the crunch of desiccated leaves underfoot, accompanied by the dry scent of their deaths and decomposition. Every step I take in the forest swirls with the memories of every autumn I’ve ever lived. And if it rains, well that just speeds up the decay and adds a poignancy of pungent, earthy putrefaction to the autumnal aroma. But it hasn’t rained in a very long while now. The fragile leaves tinkle like multitudes of tiny dry bones.

In his book, The October Country, Ray Bradbury describes it this way: “The October Country is the place where nightmares and dreams intertwine.” Unlike Bradbury, I’m not generally a fan of the macabre, but so far the surgery recovery period has been a bit of a nightmare. Sleep does not come easily. And my dreams hew toward the gold of autumn.

Finally, I did get out to tinkle the bones and go for the gold on Saturday, after almost two cooped-up weeks, thanks to my new collaborator Kris Gould. Kris has contributed several stories to The Natural Realm and graciously offered to drive me. We chose Wehr Nature Center because she hadn’t been there. It turned out to be an auspicious choice, as you can see in our photos. Not only was Wehr resplendent in a radiant autumn palette, but unseasonable warmth brought out some unexpected reptilian wildlife along with predictable crowds of people.

With my dominant right arm in a tight sling, the phrase “shoot from the hip” suddenly took on a new and personal meaning for me. Try as I might, I couldn’t get my left hand alone to snap a photo, which meant I could only hold my cell phone camera at waist height for these shots.

I love outings with other photographers. We understand and respect each other’s slow pace and frequent stops. And while we walk the same trails, seeing the same scenery, I’m always fascinated to see how different the images can be. It is more surprising often when we end up with very similar compositions. This happened when we spotted some kids climbing on fallen logs in an ephemeral wetland (which is characteristically dry in autumn). I took several shots. I don’t know how many Kris took. But when we shared them with each other they not only looked similar (her telephoto lens brought the kids closer than I was able to get with my cell phone), but we seem to have caught the exact same moment with the kids in the same positions.

It may be my own new feelings of vulnerability, but I find myself drawn in by the complex fragility of the scene. For one thing, the freedom that I imagine the children must be experiencing as they clamber wildly on this natural jungle gym is vanishingly rare these days. There was a mom watching from the boardwalk where we were taking the photos, so the kids’ freedom wasn’t as absolute as it was when I was their age. Until now I’ve never lost that childhood sense of infinite possibilities while traipsing about in the urban wilderness. I fear a new-found caution already taking hold after my consequential slip in the mud.

On another level, ephemeral wetlands among the most endangered of habitats on Earth and their loss has been accelerated by climate change. More than that, for the first time in human history the Earth itself, along with the processes that make life possible, are understood to be fragile, breakable. Suddenly, we all are on a slippery slope and it is profoundly unsettling.

“A collection of one photographer’s work is an unquestionable record not only of the exterior world, but of [their] sensitivity and inner reaction to that world. [Their] collected photographs are truly the reflection of [the] mind’s eye. It is this reflection, or second image, superimposed on every photograph that gives photography its richness, and this second image that gives us a composite picture of the [person’s] creative soul.” –Alexander Liberman

The headline photo at the top of the Wehr Nature Center building is by ED. Wehr Nature Center is in Whitnall Park. For more information go to our Find-a-Park page.

Related stories

Wehr Nature Center:

Accessibility is front and center for the Wehr Nature Center Healthy County Challenge!

Vernal and Ephemeral: These Ponds Are Essential Habitats!

Area Nature Centers Tap Maples for Syrup—and Fun!

Kris Gould selections:

Pollinator Bioblitz: How you can help save endangered pollinators!

Nitschke Mounds County Park: History and Nature Combined

Hausmann Nature Center: A Unique Location for Fun and Nature Education in Lake Country

Kris Gould is a writer and landscape and nature photographer based in Wisconsin. Eddee Daniel is a board member of Preserve Our Parks and a free-range child at heart. Milwaukee County Parks is a project partner of A Wealth of Nature.

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