Let’s get this out of the way — fall is hands down my favorite season. I know, I know. Those of you who know me are probably rolling your eyes and saying, “But you love winter!” Well, you’re right, but fall, it just hits different. It’s like the cozy sweater of seasons. Especially here in North Dakota, where the air turns crisp, the fields are golden, and the trees put on their own little fashion show.

Now, why does fall win my heart? I think it’s because fall takes me right back to those harvest days as a kid. Picture this: me, riding on the buddy seat in the combine with Dad or Grandpa, while Grandma’s kitchen smells like heaven as she’s canning the season’s garden haul. Ahh, simpler times, right? And who could forget the ultimate fall activity — leaf collecting? Yep, I was that kid, hauling zip-lock bags of colorful leaves to show and tell. Seriously, I had quite the leaf collection growing up, and yes, I still geek out over the changing colors. I’m the person stopping mid-walk to pick up a perfectly yellow leaf, studying it like it holds the meaning of life.

One of my all-time favorite family traditions growing up? When the weather said, “Not today, harvest,” and Dad decided it was time to unleash our kid-energy on a hike. Where else but to the top of Butte Saint Paul, the Turtle Mountains’ crown jewel.

Now, this was the ’80s we’re talking about, back when the place was in its prime. There were two distinct paths to the top. One was the “I’ve-got-something-to-prove” path that my brother Steven always took, while the rest of us stuck to the easier, less dramatic route. It was always a family race to the top, and no matter what, my brother — conqueror of the tough path — would be sitting smugly on the bench when we arrived, already enjoying the view. And what a view it was! Trees decked out in their full fall fashion, rolling prairie as far as the eye could see, like one of those Bob Ross paintings come to life.

I was there just last weekend, and let me tell you, it was an adventure! Thanks to some local ATV riders, the Eastern route now looks like the only option — but don’t let that fool you. It’s significantly more challenging, unless you’re secretly part mountain goat. The Western route, which I fondly remembered as the “easy way,” is now overgrown and blocked by a few fallen trees and is quite difficult to establish. Naturally, we took a wrong turn navigating it on the way down and ended up deep in the trees. Thankfully, I was able to rely on the trusty ol’ car horn to guide us back like some twisted wilderness version of Marco Polo.

On the bright side, signs of life (besides us, lost in the woods) included a new bench under construction at the summit and a freshly replaced sign in the parking area — nice to know someone’s still out there caring. But hey, tread carefully! We were on high alert for poison ivy, because nothing says “fun fall hike” like an itchy, post-adventure rash.

Despite the obstacles, the view? Absolutely worth it! Even better than I remembered actually. So, if you’re planning to tackle it, come prepared: sturdy shoes, water, and maybe a walking stick. (I left a makeshift one near the sign as a gift for the next adventurer.) You’re welcome!

As for the history of this place, the old sign I remember giving the backstory is long gone. Thankfully, the internet provided a little more information!

Historical Footnote (because it’s too cool not to share):

In January 1850, Rev. Belcourt and some Ojibwe friends got caught in a blizzard while passing through the area. They did the only sensible thing – dug into the snow and waited it out. Belcourt, probably feeling extra thankful, decided to stick a wooden cross on the summit and named it Butte Saint Paul, since it happened to be the Feast of the Conversion of Saint Paul. Fast forward to the 1930s, and the remains of that cross were found, leading to the creation of a 10-acre state recreation area, complete with a stone cairn to commemorate it.

So, if you’re up for some history, a little adventure, and the kind of fall magic you can only find in North Dakota, head over to Butte Saint Paul, just 7 miles northwest of Dunseith. Maybe I’ll see you there!