Traveling in Place

Cleaning the Gutters

This weekend, I engaged in an autumn ritual and one of the true joys of home ownership: cleaning the gutters.

Every year, I think to myself in early autumn, “Well, you might as well wait until all the leaves have fallen before you clean out the gutters, so you only have to do it once.” And then, in the last half of October, I always decide I’d better go ahead and clear them because, even though they will fill up with leaves again, it might rain soon, and they won’t be much good if it does. (I never seem to remember that I go through the same thought process every year.)

As I was clearing away about a month’s worth of fallen leaves, I was reminded of other reasons not to wait. The leaves that sit in the gutter break down into a foul-smelling muck, which is much more unpleasant to remove than just leaves. And during cold nights near the end of autumn, the muck begins to freeze in place. So waiting until the leaves stop falling to clean out the gutters is clearly not a good idea.

Believe it or not, all this led me to the following theological reflection:

God’s creation is moving slowly but surely toward its own fulfillment. That is to say, God’s reign in creation will prevail. This is the promise of scripture, summed up in Ephesians 1:10, which speaks of “God’s plan for the fullness of time, to unite all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth.” Embedded in this

Living Water

When I drove up into the mountains last week for my annual spiritual retreat, I was disappointed to see muted autumn colors robbed of their usual brilliance. An unseasonably warm September devoid of any significant rainfall stifled what is typically a splendorous display of color. In the Western part of the Adirondacks, many trees were already bare, while others looked rather sickly with their pale yellow and orange leaves, and in the place of bright red was a flat pink. I enjoyed the short climb up Coney Mountain and the 360-degree view from its open summit, but it was clear from that vantage point that this was not a banner year for fall foliage.

I arrived at Silver Bay on Lake George just after sunset Thursday. The next morning, the sky was overcast. Clouds hung low around the mountains on the other side of the lake, and the wet air became misty. The fall transformation had just begun there, but as I walked the grounds around the retreat house, I noticed that some trees were showing off bright, bold hues. On Sunday, after rain had passed through giving way to sun and clouds, I made my way into the High Peaks, just about an hour from Silver Bay, and was thrilled to see vibrant
colors on the lee side of the mountains stretching down into the Champlain Valley. I hiked up Hurricane Mountain just outside of Keene. In all directions from its windy summit (the inspiration for its name) stretched out carpets of deep red, bright yellow, and orange foliage amid the evergreens as far as the eye could see.

The previous day and a half of rain cannot explain the rich color, which had been begun to turn in late September. I’m going out on a limb here, but I suspect that at least part of the reason the colors were so different in the High Peaks region than in the lower elevations of the Adirondacks was because those higher mountains make their own weather. The phenomenon is called “orographic lift.” A surface air mass is forced upward by the rising elevation, causing it to cool rapidly. Humidity rises to 100%, creating clouds and precipitation. So even when lower terrain suffers from a dearth of rainfall, the higher elevations stay hydrated. That’s why, on a perfectly sunny day, clouds sometimes encircle the tops of mountains. It’s also why hikers ascending past the tree line sometimes experience dramatic, unexpected changes in the weather.