(The poet William Cullen Bryant called autumn “the year’s last, lovely smile," and, as I can’t think of a better description, I hope his soul won’t mind my stealing it as the title of this post.)
Hooray! My favorite season has arrived.
Well, not officially, but it's in the air. And yes, this photo, taken in October of last year, is aspirational, but it’s keeping me going.
Sure, there's something to be said for each season. Winter has its charms, at least until after the holidays. And I love spring with its lengthening days and explosion of blooms. (I'll get to summer in a moment.)
But it is autumn that has my heart, autumn that suits my soul. And it's not just that I am in the autumn of my life. I have loved this season for as long as can I remember.
When I was a child, autumn signaled a new school year, new school supplies, new clothes, and – in those days before such burning was illegal – the smell of leaves going up in smoke. As an adult, I love the rituals of getting out sweaters, preparing the garden for winter, and planning indoor projects. I love the chill in the air and the change in the light, as it slants low across the late afternoon sky, showing scarlet and orange leaves to their best advantage. I welcome the early closing in of each day. I feel called to turn inward myself, to allow the introvert in me to prevail.
This year in, particular, I have been longing for autumn since July, so, please bear with me while I detour to address what has become my unfavorite season. As I trudged through midsummer this year, I heard myself saying more than once, I don't like summer. I was surprised. And then I wasn't. It wasn't a case of hyperbole.
I meant it.
Before you start in on me, let me explain. I used to like summer. I liked it until four or five years ago. Here is the back story. I left New Jersey almost 50 years ago, in part to get away from the miserable heat and humidity of its summers.
Moving to the Pacific Northwest was a good choice. Such a temperate climate. Maybe one snowstorm and one heat wave a year here in the Willamette Valley. Yes, it rains in the winter, but summers are dry, and all that rain means we are living in a paradise of greenery.
Well, we were.
This beautiful place is changing.
Instead of one heat wave a year, we now have several. And then there's the smoke from forest fires. Not here in the valley, but close enough for it to come our way. I am now running two air purifiers whenever the smoke starts to drift in.
And don’t get me started on watering. Oh, the watering. As noted above, our summers are dry, and for reasons unclear to me, I have never installed a sprinkler system in the 31 summers I have lived in my current home. Watering was a chore in the past, but now, with episodes of extreme heat, it is overwhelming--my garden beds and large trees are facing an existential crisis. What was once "native" flora is no longer suited to our changing climate.
But enough about summer and its discontents.
Give me autumn, with its occasional rainfalls. Give me changing seasons, especially this one. Let me exchange summer’s toils for the year’s last, lovely smile.
And allow me to leave you with these words, put in the mouth of her young heroine, Anne Shirley, by the author L. M. Montgomery: “I’m so glad to live in a world where there are Octobers.”
Me too. So very glad. And grateful.
How about you?
