Posted tagged ‘fall’

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“Shedding late-summer tears for the end of cherry season. Patiently and hopefully waiting for pumpkin pie season.”

August 25, 2015

The weather has broken. We have sun and a breeze. It is still hot, but the breeze makes the deck the best place to be. I’ll sit under the umbrella, read and watch the birds. The feeders need attention so I’ll fill them again today. The red spawn was on the deck rail, but it jumped onto branches then scooted away when it heard me. I guess all the hosing worked.

The summer is nearly over. There are fewer cars on the road this week. Some schools have opened and others open next week. Labor Day is in two weeks. That used to be the official end of the tourist season here when most motels and restaurants closed, but not anymore. The season now extends into October and the Columbus Day weekend.

The fall, the nicest time of year here, is probably called the shoulder season, but I always think of it as bus season. Tour buses, filled with older people, retirees, take over where the cars used to be. You can usually see the guide standing in the front of the bus chatting with microphone in hand.

The mums are here, one of the first signs of the changing seasons. They are on display at every garden center, and the ones I’ve planted the last few seasons have buds and flowers. I never noticed flower garden when I was a kid. I don’t even remember mums or a local garden center. I do remember farm stands selling pumpkins and corn stalks. We used to pass them on our Sunday drives to my grandparents. In those days much of the ride was on side roads until we connected with Route 1, but even then we drove through a few neighborhoods before we’d hit the oil tanks where the ships were moored. I remember the farm stand in Revere right near the church. The stand was set at an angle and pumpkins in piles filled both sides of the front. Inside the stand we could see those oblong fruit baskets filled with apples and vegetables. We never stopped there. We never even asked. We just knew my father would say no. He hated stopping. He was a straight here to there sort of guy.

Categories: Musings
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“Autumn…the year’s last, loveliest smile.”

September 22, 2014

Summer is busy packing. Gone are days on the deck, the flowers in the front garden, movie nights, hotdogs and burgers on the grill and the bright, warm sun. Fall is impatiently waiting in the wings for its big arrival tonight. Colorful leaves, crisp mornings, mums, pumpkins in all sizes and shapes, gourds and bales of hay are waiting their turn. Warm days and cool nights are already here. At 10:29 tonight fall is official.

My windows are open as summer is leaving with a flourish. It will be in the mid 70’s today. The day is lovely and smells of flowers.

When I was a kid, the start of school was the start of the year for me. It meant the end of carefree days, bike riding, bare feet and playing outside after dark. New rules applied. The street light turning on meant the end of playing outside for the day. Homework had to be done, and we were forced to go to bed early. Mornings started all too soon. Breakfast was first, then getting dressed for school then leaving with book bag and lunch in hand.

The school day never changed. We had the same subjects at the same time except art and music which were random and not every day. In music we learned songs like My Grandfather’s Clock. In art we used colored pencils or crayons. We made cards for our parents for every holiday. I loved art but I was horrible. I never moved beyond stick figures. In music I couldn’t carry a tune, but I enjoyed singing. The academics were my strongest suit.

Even when I was young, I thought fall was the prettiest season. Front steps had pumpkins and sometimes sheaves of hay. The red and yellow leaves were glorious. On Saturdays we could smell the burning leaves and see the smoke from so many fires billow and curl into the air. Fall was a feast for the senses.

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“Autumn’s the mellow time.”

September 19, 2014

Where are the cheers, the accolades, the parades? This has been my most productive week in a long time. I went off cape one night and was busy every day doing errands and chores. I even paid the dreaded bills. I feel so accomplished.

Fall is so much quieter than summer. Kids are in school so I don’t hear them playing outside any more. The lawns don’t get mowed as much. Nobody is out on their decks at nights. Windows are closed as the nights get downright cold. I always think of this time of year as a dress rehearsal for winter.

Today is dump day, and I need to go to the grocery store for just a few things.

The town where I grew up had a dump, but I never went there. The trash was picked up off the sidewalk by men in big trucks so there wasn’t any need for a dump run. My friend’s house was right near the dump, but it wasn’t what you’d expect living close to the dump because you couldn’t smell it. The dump wasn’t for household trash but for things like fridges and old furniture. The cape has no trash services, no trucks, no men hauling barrels. We all go to the dump or pay for private trash companies. The old dump had giant hills of trash. From the highway you could see the trash hills and the seagulls circling them hoping to find food. From way off you could smell the dump and you could hear the caws of the seagulls, noisy birds. You found a spot and you threw your trash bags. That was my father’s dump. He wouldn’t enjoy going to the dump much now. There are bins for trash and no trash can be loose. There is a huge line of recycle bins. There aren’t any seagulls.

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“And falling’s just another way to fly.”

March 31, 2014

I did it again. I fell this morning, and it was a doozy. The bush was all roots which looked easy to walk through and over, but I didn’t. My foot got caught, and I went down hard. My glasses broke and the right side knee and hand took the brunt of the fall. Two people helped me up and walked me back to the car where I sat feeling perfectly miserable and in pain with tears coursing down my cheeks. Gracie stood on the console, rubbed her face on my cheek then sat down. My first thought was to go right home, but I had must-do errands and decided to do them regardless, to shoulder on in pain. I had trouble walking into CVS, but I made it to the pharmacy then back to the car. The next stop was Agway where the best people work. They carried all the canned dog food and cat treats to the car. I limped behind. My hand is better, but my knee isn’t. These other glasses keep slipping down my nose, but I’m glad for the spare pair. I’ll recover. I always do.

The first real fall I remember was when I was three or four and living in South Boston. I had been jumping off the fence backwards for a while. I told my mother to watch me, proud as I was. It was a tall chain link fence and the gate was my jumping off spot. I got ready, jumped and used my hand to stop myself from falling. I cried a little then went right back to playing. My mother told me she checked my wrist while I was sleeping, and it didn’t seem to bother me, but my grandfather told her to get it x-rayed anyway. It was a buckle fracture of the wrist. I was really proud of that first cast and have a couple of pictures of me showing it off. When I was ten or eleven, I fell down the stairs, hit my chin on a table and slashed my chin open. It was sleepiness which caused the wrong turn out of my bedroom. The bathroom was in the other direction. I walked back upstairs, woke my mother and told her I had fallen. Seeing I didn’t mention an injury she asked if I was okay to go back to bed. I said sure. There was blood all over my pajamas, and I had to sleep sitting up because of the pain, but I did fall asleep. My mother took me right to the doctor when she saw the results of the fall. He couldn’t stitch it as he was afraid of infection so he cleaned and butterflied the cut. I have a great scar under my chin.

Falling is genetic in my family, and I have had some spectacular falls. I have broken a bone three times, counting my childhood break, knocked myself out three times, sprained my ankle and broken a couple of teeth. It was the day my dental insurance took effect. That was lucky, I suppose.

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“All seasons have something to offer”

April 7, 2013

Still a bit on the chilly side, but the weatherman promised 50˚. I, however, am skeptical. Breakfast was tasty at the diner this morning: French toast with Canadian bacon, sort of an international meal says I with tongue in cheek. Gracie and I made one stop on the way home, and that should do it for the day.

On my way home I got to thinking about the seasons. Maybe it was all the flowers I saw as I passed by front gardens. I decided spring is a flamboyant old woman who wears boas and flowing scarfs and dresses. She is bright with color. Her movements are  exaggerated. She speaks quickly and her hands are always in motion. Her purple boa is around her neck like a scarf and the fluffy part waves from her breath when she speaks. Spring’s clothes are never color coordinated. That’s not her point.

Winter is an old man hunched by age. He wears a long dark coat almost to his ankles. It has large black buttons. He wears a hat, a fedora, which doesn’t cover his ears. They are perpetually cold. He keeps his hands clenched in his coat pockets hoping for a bit of warmth which doesn’t come. His fingers are stiff from the cold. Winter shuffles when he walks. He wears galoshes which are never snapped and barely stay on his feet. Winter is always sad-looking.

Summer wears orange and yellow and flip-flops. Her shirts are covered in huge flowers that look like orchids. Her face and arms are tanned. Her freckles have returned. There is a lightness to her, a reflection maybe of the warmth of the sun. She is joyful at the beauty of the day.

Fall is the season with the most difficult of all personalities. It is a bit of summer and a hint of winter. The last flashes of color are in the garden. The trees are ablaze with reds and yellows. I always think fall is giving us a warning of what is to come and is playing with us a bit. The mornings have a chill while the afternoons are warm, and, once the sun goes down, the evenings are cold. Fall dresses in muted colors and, after the summer, seems quiet, even contemplative.  Sometimes I think of fall as a long line of monks wearing brown robes with their cowls over the heads as they walk slowly and sing a Gregorian chant.

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“I saw old Autumn in the misty morn Stand shadow less like silence, listening To silence.”

November 4, 2012

As fall days go, this one is just about perfect. The sun is sharply bright, the air is clear and it’s chilly, around 45˚ chilly, not quite coat weather yet. When I went to get the papers early this morning, I could smell fall. I could smell the fallen leaves and the crispness of the air. Someone had a fire going. I noticed the yellow maple leaves had fallen on the grass in a pattern drawn from a painter’s palette. I stood and took in my little bit more of my world then grabbed the papers and went inside to a house filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. My senses were in overdrive.

Gracie got loose this morning. We had just gotten back from breakfast and were on our way into the house when she pulled her head out of her collar and took off down the street. She did me the courtesy of looking back at me as she ran. I called her and was totally ignored. I took out my phone and called my friends, but no one was home. Then I saw my neighbor moving his car and asked him to call Gracie. She, of course, went right to him, gave him a hug and a bunch of kisses. He held on to a wiggly, happy Gracie until I could put her collar back on. Right now she is sleeping, resting from her exploits.

Sunday has a different feel about it than any other day of the week. Saturday was the day for errands so Sunday is a slow day, a day for taking time. On Sunday mornings, breakfast with my friend is a ritual for us. It is when we catch up with one another. Our breakfast is slow by intent and always has plenty of time for an extra cup of coffee. When I come home, I finish reading the papers. The crossword puzzle is saved for last, and I keep going back to it during the day until I finally give up. A nap is inevitable. Tonight my friends and I will play a few games, eat some appetizers as we play then we’ll watch The Amazing Race together.

I love traditions and rituals. They are connections over time, and they are to be cherished even in such simplicity as a morning breakfast or a game of cards.

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“There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm.”

October 26, 2012

I woke to a lovely day, warm and sunny. The birds were in full voice, and they drew me to the deck. I watched Gracie sniff the driveway already covered in yellow leaves and pine needles. On the outside branches of the oak tree the leaves have browned. Most will soon fall but some will hang on through the winter fluttering in the cold wind. It is the oak tree I can see best through the window in my den. It is a barometer of the changing seasons.

Today is dump day, Gracie’s favorite day. I haven’t told her yet, but she’ll know soon enough. Right now she is sleeping beside me on the couch and snoring. Life is good for Gracie

Sandy is the headline on the TV news and in the papers, but we are in a wait and see pattern as to how destructive the storm will be here though it has already been dubbed Frankenstorm and described as ghoulish. Utility crews have been out cutting branches and making sure lines are cleared anticipating wind and trying to prevent power outages. I doubt they’ll be too successful. Power outages are common here even without the wind. I often hear the loud bang of a transformer just before the lights go out. I have an empty larder so I’ll hit the supermarket today before the crowd arrives to buy all the water and the batteries. The water part still amazes me. I get that people with well water will lose their pumps but most of us have town water which will flow regardless of electricity. My list has the everyday items, the boring ones, but I’m also including crackers, a variety of cheeses, dips and chips. If I have to sit and read by the light of the lantern, I want my taste buds to be happy.

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“Bittersweet October. The mellow, messy, leaf-kicking, perfect pause between the opposing miseries of summer and winter.”

October 25, 2012

Mornings this time of year are chilly but not yet cold. I could easily see Gracie’s breath when she was sitting on the top back step surveying her yard. She looked more like a steam engine than a dog. When I went to get the paper, I saw my neighbor, and we chatted a bit. Both of us agreed winter is out least favorite season.

When I was a kid, on mornings like today, we used to pretend we were smoking cigarettes and blowing out the smoke. We’d hold the pretend cigarettes in pretend cigarette holders between our fingers, and in exaggerated gestures we’d take puffs and let out the smoke. Our conversation was lah-di-dah. I think a young Bette Davis would have recognized us.

This time of year my mother and I would argue about what I’d wear to school over my uniform. She wanted me warm in the chilly mornings for the walk to school so she insisted on a jacket, useless in the warmth of the afternoons. I knew I’d shove the jacket into my school bag or tie it around my waist for the walk home. I wanted to wear a sweater. We’d go back and forth and many mornings my mother just gave up. Her parting words were, “Don’t blame when you get cold.”

Cool summer mornings are my favorites but mornings this time of year are a close second. I love the way the sharp sunlight stabs through the leaves picking and choosing places to shine. The light is brightest at the end of the branches facing the house. The rest of the tree is in shadow. Maybe it’s a metaphor for this time of year.

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“Happily we bask in this warm September sun, Which illuminates all creatures…”

September 23, 2012

It must have rained during the night as the street and driveway are wet, but I never heard the rain. The morning is warm. The sun rose without being seen, hidden as it is behind clouds. I went to bed really early and woke up in the dark. I can’t seem to shake the last time zone. My newspapers aren’t even here yet.

This is my favorite time of the year. The Cape stays warm. Red leaves dominate the trees, the scrub oaks, which are everywhere. Tourists are gone for the most part. The weekends, though, will still be a bit busy through Columbus Day when the Cape closes up for the season.

This is also the tour bus season, and every bus is filled with senior citizens taking advantage of the off-season rates, the still open souvenir shops and the all you can eat restaurants. The buses pass me as they go down cape, and I can usually see the tour guide standing in front with microphone in hand. On Route 6A, I figure the guide is describing the captains’ houses and places like the Edward Gorey house. That is the prettiest road on the whole cape, and it extends from the bridge to Orleans. I usually take that road when I’m going down cape.

I need to buy some mums. I noticed they are blooming in my front garden, and I think I’ll add a couple of different colors. The mums always seem like the last gift of the season from my garden, the memory I’ll hold onto until spring.

I have a wonderful memory. I can see things as they are and how they used to be. I was giving directions to my friend and told her exactly how many lights she’d go through: seven of them. I just closed my eyes and saw the road and each light. I have the worst accent when it comes to languages, but I remember the vocabulary, even my high school French. I may mangle the sounds, but I get my point across.

Nothing tastes better than sweet, fresh fruit. Pineapple is my favorite, but the paw paw in Ghana I ate this trip moved up to a close second. I keep bananas around for a quick snack. I love them in my cereal. They even perk up corn flakes. Cold, crisp apples scream of fall, but it’s pumpkins which are fall’s best fruit. They stand out in every farm shop usually lined up in the front inviting us to stop. I always do.

 

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“Silence is a sounding thing, to one who listens hungrily.”

November 20, 2011

This morning was warm, sunny and quiet when I left for breakfast. When I got home, my yardmen were just finishing clearing the pine needles from the front lawn and the oak leaves from the deck and driveway. I could see grass and pavement for the first time in a long while; however, soon after the men left, the wind started again, and the pine needled have begun reclaiming the lawn. Now the clouds have rolled in and the sun has disappeared. The day is much like yesterday, drab.

While I was talking to my sister, I watched out the window at one leaf twirling at the end of an oak branch as the wind was swinging it. The leaf would turn from left to right then back again. I was rooting for that leaf, but the wind was too strong. It took the leaf which drifted to the ground to become one of many in my backyard. I thought about that leaf and realized why I always think of this season as fall.

I buy flowers for my house this time of year. I start to crave color, and flowers always seem to pull me from the grayness of late fall and winter. The flowers I buy tend to yellows and pinks. They are the bright colors, the colors of my summer garden, and they always remind me that winter is but one of four seasons.

The only sound I hear is the deep breathing of Gracie as she naps on the couch.  It will be a quiet day. It is the essense of me today.

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