Richard Reiss

The trees in Pittsfield State Forest show off their peak fall colors in this photo from October of 2022.
STEPHANIE ZOLLSHAN - THE BERKSHIRE EAGLE

Four deer. A really big snake. Twenty or so wild turkeys. A snapping turtle. Many cows. A half-dozen horses. A whole bunch of llamas. A great blue heron. Not a visit to the local petting zoo, but a 24-mile bike ride with my friend Helene.

We often see animals on our rides because we live in an area where animals flourish. Deer are the most common, but I have also seen porcupines, beavers, foxes, bobcats and bears, too. Yet, this many animals on one relatively short ride is unusual.

Maybe it’s the weather? What started out as a chilly and wet fall has suddenly lapsed into warmth and sunshine. We are two weeks away from the full brilliance of autumn colors, but the early reds, which are the first to appear, seem brighter than usual, as if nature has infused the earth-bound trees with an injection of fiery sunshine. Have the animals come out to look? Maybe.

The deer, their heads low to the ground, graze on an open hilltop field. It’s nice to look at them from a distance. As a cyclist, I’ve seen them up close, leaping from the woods and across my path, grateful to not run into one.

The deer, their heads low to the ground, graze on an open hilltop field. It’s nice to look at them from a distance. As a cyclist, I’ve seen them up close, leaping from the woods and across my path, grateful to not run into one.

Next, we are climbing a hill. It’s long, steep and difficult, but the reward is the joy of going fast on the downside, allowing gravity to do its job. Nearing the bottom and still moving quickly, we press on the brakes to allow a family of wild turkeys to cross the road. Clearly, they were never taught to look twice. They are unaware of our presence. Coming in all sizes, from very large to very small, with the small ones strategically placed in the middle of the flock, protected, if necessary, from a hungry coyote or bobcat. Who knew turkeys could be so smart and cute?

A few miles later, we come upon a car parked on the side of the road. I slowed to pass the car and, as I did, I noticed a woman in the driver’s seat. She seemed to want to say something, so I stopped. She said that there was a large snapping turtle in the road and that a man in a truck stopped, got out of his truck and began kicking the turtle to get it off the road. Despite the man having left, his unusual act of violence on an innocent turtle frightened the women. She was afraid to get out of the car and asked me if I would look to see if the turtle was OK. I got off my bike, walked to the side of the road and, sure enough, the turtle was slowly clawing its way back to a nearby pond, its long pointed tail swaying with each purposeful step. And, yes, that was strange.

What wasn’t strange was the herd of cows walking in a line along a hilltop ridge. Behind the cows were the horses, also moving along the same path. They walked slowly, taking in the warmth of the day and maybe even the patches of red among the green trees. It was a scene right out of John Ford’s classic western "Red River." The only thing missing were the cowboys and Dimitri Tiomkin’s rousing score. I can just hear John Wayne saying, “The big house will be down by the river, and the corrals and the barns behind it. It'll be a good place to live in.”

The llamas were not roaming freely. They were corralled beside an aging red barn, huddled together, feasting on a large pile of cut grass. Nonetheless, it’s not every day you see llamas in the Berkshires. I was reminded of the wonderful children’s book "Is Your Mama a Llama" by Deborah Guarino that I often read to my three sons. At the end of the story, a young llama, who had been searching for her mother, finds her. Much to her joy and relief, the little llama is swaddled in love and affection, which is often how I feel when I am fully immersed in the beauty that surrounds all of us who are blessed to live in the part of the world.

With only a few miles to go, we begin to pedal along the shores of Queechy Lake in Canaan, N.Y. Blue skies reflect off the still water. A few birds can be seen flying about. Yet, standing majestically on a raft that has yet to be pulled in for the cooler weather to come, is a great blue heron, its long beak pointing slightly upward toward the morning sun.

It’s a perfect coda to a perfect bike ride on a perfect day.

Soon we are off our bikes and sitting on my front porch. Helene says, “I just can’t believe we live here! It’s so beautiful!” She is so right. It really is.