It is a truism that here in northern New England we don’t have four seasons, we have six. Of course we have Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall. But we also have those awkward hump seasons: Mud Season, after the snow and ice have melted and before the earth has greened, when the ground lies soggy and brown; and Stick Season, after the last foliage has all fallen, before the world is blanketed in white, when the trees stand bare and gangling.

One of the pleasures of being at the farm full time this year has been getting to watch the arc of autumn from the first hints of color to the last leaves clinging to the trees. Here are a few poems that reflect moments of that progression.

Autumn in the MidCoast