Skip to main content

Autumn Color

In this episode – Autumn Color . . .

I'm sure you've noticed the leaves on the trees are changing. This science update from howstuffworks.com by Jennifer Horton gives us some insight as to why - join me.

For most of the year, leaves are a tree's workhorses, constantly converting carbon dioxide, water, and sunlight into energy in a process called photosynthesis. The special ingredient for this process, the pigment chlorophyll, gives leaves their bright, green color. But while chlorophyll is the star of the show, it has some help in the pigment's carotene and xanthophyll. Xantho is Greek for "yellow," and carotene gives carrots and egg yolks their orangish color. These two pigments are always present in leaves and help absorb sunlight, which they transfer to chlorophyll for photosynthesis.

As the days get shorter, the increased amount of darkness stimulates trees to prepare for hibernation. Leaves won't continue photosynthesizing during winter due to the dry air and lack of sunlight, so the tree does two things.

First, it forms a separation layer made of cork-like cells at the base of each leaf to seal it off from the tree.

Second, it stops producing chlorophyll since it won't need this pigment until the days start to lengthen once again in the spring. With chlorophyll out of the picture, the yellow and orange stains get a chance to shine.

The red hues, which come from pigments called anthocyanins, are slightly more complicated. Whereas all trees contain chlorophyll, carotene, and xanthophyll, not all of them produce anthocyanins. Even the ones that do have anthocyanins only make it under certain circumstances.

Remember that layer of cells at the base of the leaf? Its purpose is to protect the tree during the colder winter and prevent it from drying out. When the separation layer is complete, the leaves fall off in the tree's attempt to conserve energy. But before the leaves fall off and the tree closes shop, it wants to pull in as much sugar and nutrients as possible from its leaves, which is where the anthocyanin comes in.

Although scientists offer several reasons why some trees produce anthocyanins and autumn leaves change color, the prevailing theory is that anthocyanins protect the leaves from excess sunlight and enable the trees to recover any remaining nutrients.

The reason you'll see more vibrant reds during some years is that lots of sunlight and dry weather increase the sugar concentration in tree sap, triggering the tree to release more anthocyanins in a last-ditch effort to gather up the energy to get through the winter. In addition, near-freezing weather, low nutrient levels, and other plant stressors seem to trigger increased levels of anthocyanins.

If it's been stormy and overcast, you won't see much red foliage. Without bright sunlight, the trees don't need the added protection that the red pigments provide, so they don't bother producing them.

So, if autumn just isn't the same for you without the occasional splash of red, hopefully, the weather will cooperate. If not, you'll just have to make do with the more reliable yellows and oranges. Or you could always join the leaf-peepers in New England in their endless search for the ultimate display of fall color.

So, won't you be my virtual neighbor? If you enjoy our weekly visits, please share them with a friend.

I'm Patrick Ball; thanks for listening. See you in the next episode.

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

Confidently Wrong: The Art of the AI Tall Tale

In this episode, A chat with Adamas the Chef on hidden recipes causing digital hallucinations. Pull up a chair and pour yourself a fresh cup of coffee—and please, for your own sake, taste it first. We need to have a quiet chat about why your computer sometimes decides to reinvent reality with the confidence of a five-star chef who has clearly lost his mind. In the world of technology, we call it a  hallucination . It sounds pretty dramatic, doesn’t it? As if the computer decided to ignore your instructions altogether in favor of a vivid, technicolor imagination that simply hasn’t met reality yet. But in truth, an AI hallucination isn’t a breakdown; it’s just a very confident, very polite mistake. Think of it like our friend Adamas , the Chef. Adamas is a master of the kitchen, but he is also a bit of a romantic who refuses to say “I don’t know.” When you ask him for a classic recipe he hasn’t made in years, he doesn’t stop to consult a cookbook—that’s far too pedestrian. Instead, ...

Ode To Gemology

For over 80 years, students of gemology have struggled with spectrums, bewildered by birefringence, and simply plagued by pleochroism. The following sonnet is guaranteed to bring a smile to your face, a glow to your heart, and a simple reminder that students of life and gemology rediscover nature's gifts every day.  Ode to Gemology , by a GIA on-campus student. Dispersion, fire, adventurescence. Orient, sheen, or iridescence. Refractive index, high or low. The luster should indicate that, you know. Polarization, double or single. What to do now, they intermingle. Pleochroic colors you really should see. Was that only two, or actually three? Birefringence should help you a lot. Use your polarizer and watch the spot. Now, did it jump most on low or high? Sure, you can get it if you really try! Your liquids should be an aid, I think. Does it float, suspend, or slowly sink? Just use your imagination now. (He doesn't see me wiping my brow.) Solid inclusions or only bubbles? Huh, th...

The Cowardice of Corporate Jargon

Picture this: an email lands in your inbox. A colleague—maybe even a friend—needs a favor, a second set of eyes, a moment of your time. You sigh, stare at the glow of your monitor, and type: “I’d love to help, but I just don’t have the bandwidth right now.” Hit send. Problem solved. Conscience clear. Except it shouldn’t be. Most of us have said or sent that line at least once, hoping it would land gently. On the surface, it’s perfect—efficient, polite, even self-aware. And that’s exactly the problem. It lets you decline without ever quite telling the truth. You didn’t just say no; you softened the discomfort of being human until it barely felt like a feeling at all. Instead of admitting, I’m overwhelmed , or I don’t have the energy , you reach for the sterile vocabulary of a server room. You turn a feeling into a metric. A boundary into a system limitation. Apologies, my data transfer rate is capped. Please submit a ticket to my emotional help desk. It’s a clever little trick—and an un...

Tuck, Roll, and Rain

In this episode, the interactive obstacle course of the San Marcos bike path. (Sunday, April 12, 2026) It started out as a beautiful day for a ride—our usual 30-mile Sunday trek to Escondido. The weather was moody, with brooding dark clouds threatening rain, but the streets were mostly empty. The traffic was light, and the bike paths were eerily quiet. It gave off the distinct, yet entirely false, illusion of a peaceful sanctuary. We were headed home, and I had settled into a smooth, hypnotic cadence on the path across from Palomar College in San Marcos. I was listening to a Cubs game at Wrigley Field, minding my own business, and dressed to be seen. Between my colorful jersey and my cherry-red vest, I was illuminated like a human traffic cone. You could spot me from low Earth orbit. Apparently, that wasn't visible enough. Up ahead, I spotted another cyclist. He was cruising along in a state of pure, unhelmeted zen—completely unburdened by the earthly concepts of peripheral vision ...