Appalachian Autumn chronicles the beauties of the fall months, small and large. But Marcia Bonta’s quiet mountaintop life is shattered by a lumberman who clear-cuts a neighboring property. The massive bulldozers and skidders crush every tree and shrub, weed, and wildflower, leaving only rubble in their wake. Fleeing from the whine of chain saws and the crash of falling trees, she roams the mountain, watching wild turkeys forage in the field, flocks of migrating birds feast on wild grapes, and does and bucks eye each other in their mating ritual. “Autumn is a bittersweet time,” Bonta writes, “a season of good-byes, when, after the flaming leaves fall and start the inevitable process of decay, we are left with only the bare bones of nature.” If we are not careful, she warns, there may come a day when autumn’s dusk and winter’s night no longer lead into spring’s morning.