Who doesn't love the season as it changes from late summer to early fall? I can't imagine not being inspired by the gradually cooling temperatures and the changes we see on our hills and in the valleys as deep green turns to yellow and orange and red. The garden is yielding its late season crop of lettuce and beans. Some tomatoes are ripening and some will need to be picked before frost.
Did I say frost? I look forward to that first frosty morning. The wood stove may need to be started to banish the chill in the house. Warmer jackets, longer pants, heavier coats. All hanging in the closet ready and waiting.
My mother loved fall. It was her favorite season. Since she lived in Florida, she always made it a point to make a three month visit from late August until after Thanksgiving. She loved to pick up walnuts, hull them and leave them out to dry. She adored the drives we would take up on the Glade Top Trail. She would talk about her own girlhood in Illinois, a trip to Shook's Timber, walking along the railroad on her way home from school in Panola, hog-butchering time. It was her time of year.
I guess I must have inherited my affection for the season from her. Football games where my brothers played in a valiant effort to beat a near-town rival. As a cheerleader, bundled up against the cold, leading the crowd as we yelled and screamed as the final touchdown was made as time ran out. Then making my way home under the streetlights...the trees over the road outlined in purple with orange and red leaves rustling in the wind. Trips on my bike to Bishop Hill. The little town itself a storybook picture of beautiful homes and a park where we roasted hotdogs and made s'mores.
Now I look out my window and see the leaves of a few trees beginning to turn. My lighter sweatshirt is ready for the chilly morning even though it will be discarded by noon if not before. I sense an urgency in me. I can't quite put a name to it. Change. The season is changing. And I am looking forward to what fall may bring.
