Leaf Peeping
I learned a new term last year: leaf peeping. Like most people, I’ve been leaf peeping my whole life, I just didn’t realize that there was an official term for it—or, for that matter, that the official term would sound like a game to be played with babies. It turns out that leaf peeping is the bona fide term for standing around looking at fall leaves. Who knew? I also didn’t realize how big of a big deal it is in New England. I’ve lived in plenty of places with deciduous trees before, but none of my former stomping grounds include businesses in the region that hang banners that say things like “Welcome, peepers!” and “Get your peeping snacks here!”
To be fair, the hype is not baseless. The leaves do seem to be brighter-prettier-longer here. I don’t know why, and my extensive research on the subject (read: two minutes on Wikipedia and another two on Google) has not revealed any answers. I once talked to a random guy at a retirement party for my former boss who claimed it has something to do with an enzyme found only in New England soil that causes all the leaves here to change at the same time. Again, thirty seconds on Google didn’t provide any info one way or the other on this possibly fictitious enzyme, which clearly indicates that the answer cannot be known by humankind.
I’ve had three autumns here now, and to celebrate peeping season we have gone apple picking, driving through western Mass, hiking in New Hampshire, and free food sample chasing in Vermont. As I write this, I’m realizing that this whole leaf peeping thing might sound lame, but it’s really quite charming. I guess you just have to see it to get why people like it so much. Okay, I can’t resist—you just have to peep it. Okay, I’m done. I’m not going to say another thing. Not another. . .peep.
I can’t help it. Peep.
- Erin
