In the eight years I’ve lived in Southern California, the one season I miss is autumn. By October, summer is often still in full swing. You’ll get few chillier nights, followed by scorching days well into the 90s.
That isn’t to say I don’t like it here. In fact, my biggest gripe with California (Los Angeles, specifically) is simply its residents complaining about it. I do my best to make the most of things. I spent 24 years enduring Minnesota winters, and my seasonal depression doesn’t dip quite as low somewhere I can still hike in January.
Because of those years growing up in Minnesota, my heart yearns for fall. At my place in L.A., I burn fall-scented candles — whatever amalgam of scents that is. I watch spooky movies. I try to craft for myself a season of change; time moves quickly when the days are harder to distinguish from one another.
Advertisement
Since first visiting the region, I’ve loved the Eastern Sierra. I’ve driven through during autumn and felt the familiar pull of endings and beginnings. The gold rush towns of California feel the closest we have to the charm of East Coast villages. Contrary to popular belief, fall foliage does indeed occur in California. Maybe not to the degree as farther east, but if you know where to look, you can find it.
So, with longing, I decided to search for fall along Highway 395.
Advertisement
I kept my trip confined between Bishop and Bridgeport, Calif. I had my campsite near the mountain town June Lake booked since June — and hoped that my timing would be decent. I tend to be less of a road trip planner and more of a road trip doer. The popularity of certain California campsites can hamper that impulsivity. Rule No. 2 of road trips: Be open to change. (Rule No. 1: You will never leave as early as you plan.) The June Lake Loop is popular among leaf-peepers. When timed correctly, the loop bursts into shades of gold.
At my campsite, yellow aspen leaves waved and danced against monolithic pines in the distance. The nostalgic, sweet smell of detritus greeted me.
I am not the most outdoorsy of people, nor am I the least. I comfortably solo car camp a few times a year. I’ve become an avid backyard birder. I have a healthy respect for the wilderness, which includes a healthy fear. But I also let curiosity guide me. When camping without service, I write down every question that pops up, so I can research it later. This is, perhaps, a control issue — a discomfort with the unknown. Yet still, I relish that we have more knowledge at our fingertips than any human has in history.
Did you know aspens live between about 150 to 200 years? Did you know they are the most widely distributed native North American tree?
When looking at their habitat range, it is no wonder I feel so at ease in their presence; aspens are prolific across my home state of Minnesota as well. The autumn of California will never compare to that of the Midwest or East Coast, but then again, it shouldn’t have to. I went to Eastern Sierra looking for some nostalgic comfort, and I found it.
Linnea Bullion is a photographer and writer living in Los Angeles. To see more of her work, visit linneabullion.com or find her @linneabullion on Instagram.
ncG1vNJzZmivp6x7uK3SoaCnn6Sku7G70q1lnKedZMGzrdWeo2hqYGeAcH2PaGlqZ5OWuaqyzqulopldm66tuIyemKyslae7br%2FInqmrmaNk