Fall

Fall has always been my favorite season. For Southerners, it is a break from the incessant heat.  We can finally go outside and enjoy being outside. We watch for any slight color change in the leaves, hoping that this will be the fall that we always read about in children’s books. Usually we just go back in and turn the air conditioning back on.

I always felt somewhat of a disconnect with the rest of America (or my perception of it) when it came to seasons.  Our birds didn’t fly south for the winter. Everybody else’s did. We didn’t get brilliant colors of gold and scarlet, just a tease of yellow on brown and green leaves. And rain. A lot of rain.  We just didn’t get fall. Life was not fair.

Now that I live in Utah, I realize that we DID get fall, or at least a version of it.  That slight drop in humidity and subsequent coolness was the start of something special.  The afternoon light took on a different look, pouring gold on everyday surroundings. Mornings brought out dusty cardigans and sweatshirts, slightly musty from being in a plastic bag in the attic for 8 months.  I could finally wear THAT sweater.

Most people go to the beach in the summer, but I headed for the ocean as soon as the temperature went down.  Walking on the beach on an autumn evening, I didn’t have to worry about bugs or heat exhaustion. Since we lived on the east coast, we didn’t get the brilliant, lingering sunsets.  Our sunsets were a reflection, an echo of the neon streaks of color our western neighbors saw. Purple and perriwinkle blue would be shot through with threads of pink and gold, turning the water to a shimmering opal.  My worries seemed to float away on that precious gem and disappear with the sunlight.

For me, fall also holds a lot of personal connections.  Fall meant going to Grandma’s and watching Gator football.  I had a Gator shirt from the time I can remember, and spent many happy Saturdays cheering with extended family way before I ever understood football.  However, I did understand that we did NOT cheer for the Bulldogs, unless they were playing a non-SEC team. Even the it was tentative…….

If it was fall at my house, hunting season was close. For me, hunting season wasn’t about personally shooting deer (although if somebody did that fried meat sure was good).  It meant being with my daddy. Getting up at the crack of dawn, I learned to eat my eggs runny and my coffee black. It meant riding in the pickup truck with dogs in the back, the smell of gasoline, tobacco and the morning all rolled into one. For hours I would tromp behind him in the woods, watching for snakes, listening for dogs, and just happy to be outside with him.

It also brought Thanksgiving, the low- stress holiday that was just about food and family.  No worrying over gifts or money, just load up whatever you committed to bring and to Grandma’s house you go.  Oh, and don’t forget the empty Cool Whip and Country Crock bowls to put those leftovers in! Candied yams, homegrown beans, and a complicated secret dressing recipe were just some of the wonders of which we partook.  After dinner, when we could finally move, my cousins and I would dutifully wash out the Red Solo cups my grandma had kept for the past 15 years. We did this until one of them snuck in a new package.

Now that I live out West, I can see a rainbow of leaf colors and carve pumpkins that won’t rot in 2 days.  Snow starts up in the mountains in October, and sweaters come out in September. I see flocks of birds flying, you guessed it, south.  I still watch the Gators play and dutifully don my hat and shirt. But sometimes I miss the rarity of those cool days, and the times I only needed one sweater and one coat. I live for the days when the sun comes from behind the clouds and warms me, body and soul.