Vermont in autumn had always called to me. My goal wasn’t just to capture the season’s brilliance but to frame it like it had never been seen before—iconic and unforgettable. Every year, though, the odds seemed stacked against me. I lived halfway across the country, and my packed schedule rarely aligned with peak foliage. Autumn’s beauty is fleeting, and even in Vermont, the display varies year to year. Still, when friends invited us to stay with them this fall, promising the most spectacular season in memory, I knew this was my chance.
As we drove into Vermont, the landscape unfolded like a storybook. Fiery reds, glowing oranges, and vivid yellows blanketed the hills. The air carried a crispness that hinted at frost, mingling with the earthy scent of fallen leaves. Apple cider donuts at a roadside stand offered a warm, spiced sweetness against the chill, and every curve of the winding roads revealed new panoramas.
But I didn’t want just pretty pictures. I wanted extraordinary. Iconic. I scouted tirelessly, driving for hours each day. My friend suggested the Creamery Bridge in Brattleboro, one of Vermont’s few red covered bridges. It was beautiful, but the idea seemed almost too easy—too cliché. Plus, its location in town made it hard to envision a shot without modern intrusions. Yet, something in me refused to let the doubt win.
I rose before dawn, the air biting as I scraped frost from the windshield. The drive to Brattleboro was quiet, the early light brushing the treetops in gold. As I approached the bridge, my fears were confirmed. Roads crisscrossed the area, traffic buzzed, and manmade structures cluttered the scene. Still, I parked and began to scout, refusing to give up.
Then I saw it. Morning sunlight bathed the bridge in a soft glow, and a backdrop of vivid autumn foliage framed it perfectly. From this angle, there were no roads, no cars—just the bridge and nature’s palette. My heart raced as I set up my tripod and snapped the shutter, capturing the scene just as I’d envisioned.
Later that day, I showed the image to my friends. “Wow,” one said. “You made it look better than we’ve ever seen.” Their words warmed me, but the real triumph was the lesson I’d learned: doubt is the enemy of vision.
The bridge was iconic, yes, but the shot came from determination—a willingness to push through doubt and see what others overlook. In the end, Vermont gave me more than a photograph; it gave me a story of persistence and discovery.
