Ruska in a poor year

The autumn colour was supposed to be dull this year. Nobody told the birches.

August was wet, the way it is sometimes wet here — not dramatic, just eleven days of drizzle that never quite turns into rain. Then a clear night in the first week of September with the temperature at minus two, and the whole thing was decided. A poor ruska, the papers said. Short and brown.

What actually happened is that the colour arrived on a Tuesday and was gone by the weekend. That is not the same as dull. It is just that if you wait for the weekend, you miss it.

Where to look when the forecast is bad

Bogs go first and are the least fussy about the weather. The cotton grass and the dwarf birch turn a rusty orange that photographs badly and looks extraordinary in person. Forests on dry ground go a week later and are much less predictable.

Two things I have learned to check before deciding it is worth the drive:

• Whether there was a frost after the first week of September. One cold night turns the maples early; a warm September turns everything slowly and brown.
• Whether the wind has started. Two windy days after the colour arrives, and the birches are bare whether the colour was good or not.

You cannot plan the colour. You can be there when it happens, which is a different skill.

What I brought home

Three kilos of lingonberries, a wet notebook, and a photograph of a single birch against a grey sky that is, honestly, better than any of the bright ones I took last year.

The mushrooms were disappointing, but that is a different entry.