Seasonal Shift
In September I notice the days are shorter and the world seems duller. I briefly lament the loss of summer. I want to hold on to the long care-free, sun-soaked days with their vibrant green color and energy. But there is also something oppressive about that season; the days when it feels like I am too close to the sun and suffocating from the heat, the frenzy, and the rapid growth. And just when it feels like too much the seasonal shift begins.
The shift from summer to autumn brings a feeling of calm as the nights lengthen and the days cool. The vivid green of the leaves begins to fade. The blooms in the flower garden drain of color; the pink of the Echinacea is washed out before the petals fall to the ground. The vines and stalks in the vegetable garden halt their upward climb as their remaining energy goes into the literal fruits of their labor. The plants begin to wither but not before the last harvest is gathered and soon the gardens will be full of brown stems, prickly seed heads, and shriveled bean pods.
The look of the land is constantly changing. The pumpkins are turning orange on wilting yellowing vines. I can see the maples behind the house beginning to show some yellow too. Soon the dull green leaves that brush up against my bedroom window will fill the frame with a kaleidoscope of gold. This is what I’m most excited for - the fall foliage! Soon my monochrome surroundings will be bursting with a variety of color. The mountains in the distance will no longer be a blanket of green but a patchwork of reds, golds, oranges, and olives. Forget about (pumpkin spice) everything else, it is the change in color that the majority of us love the most about autumn. That and the cool air, crisp apples, and the bounty of seasonal produce. It is the season of the aging year that makes me feel most alive.
The world outside my door also sounds different. No longer do I hear the birdsong and chirping of chicks. The new symphony I hear comes from the crickets and grasshoppers. They are vibrating with anticipation; their ceaseless songs exclaiming that the shift is upon us. The constant stridulations of wings and legs tell me that summer is over. The squirrels too hear this song. They skitter and dance up trees, across limbs, back down the trunks, and across the yard as they collect acorns and hickory nuts. They scramble and scurry as they move each precious piece of larder to some secret midden for safe keeping. I, too, heed the insect song and get a little hustle in my bustle. After all there are apples, tomatoes, beans, and squash still needing to be picked and prepared.
This time of year brings about a sense of purpose in me. Like the squirrel I must prepare for what lies ahead. But doing the work is enjoyable when sweat isn’t immediately dripping and the threat of heat stroke isn’t looming. We will be splitting wood and storing hay for the next month or so. It is tedious at times but easily and efficiently handled when our little work party of four gets in a groove. Also, one crew member tends to complain when we are doing the same work with numb fingers and toes so I’ll try my best to keep on schedule.
Some people resist the transition from summer to fall and miss the subtle changes. They wake up one morning complaining about the colder temperatures and they begin to worry about what type of winter they will have. But they don’t appreciate the beauty in all of the seasonal processes. Instead of focusing on the miracle of a seed head or taste of a fresh picked apple they are busying themselves with sales on seasonal décor and stocking up on Halloween candy. No, I refuse to miss the glory that is September. I will enjoy the sweater weather mornings, the buzzing warm afternoons, and the blanket worthy nights. But most of all I will appreciate subtle shifts that occur day in and day out as daylight decreases and with it the plants’ production of chlorophyll. Because without this transition time we wouldn’t enjoy the fabulous show that nature puts on for us every year.
I look again at the Echinacea, with its pale petals, its seed head all dried and prickly. I think to myself that it is more beautiful now than when it first bloomed. I know that this splendid favorite of bees and butterflies will be reduced to plain brown stalks that some people might rush to clean out of the garden. But I realize that the plant is far more valuable than the beauty if provides during the blooming season. Those cones will supply food to the gold finch; their feathers adding a splash of color where none remains. Each cone holds a multitude of seeds and if left alone they will feed the finch and add more coneflowers to the garden come spring. What can possibly be lovelier than the multiplying of such loveliness?
I can relate to what Mother Nature is currently going through. I, myself, seem to be in this transition period. The days of frenzied growth and showy blooms are over. Instead, I hear Jiminy Cricket speaking to me and telling me it’s time to let go of what was and embrace what is and yet to be. It’s time for a cooler, calmer, more colorful and fruitful season of life. I will embrace this time and not mourn the loss of those summer days filled endless weeding and pruning. Do not misunderstand me - I have no intentions of treating myself like some neglected garden no longer worthy of daily maintenance and watering. No, I fully intend on valuing the prior seasons’ growth. But there is something about aging (yes my dear siblings I too am growing older) that excites me. Sure, some of my colors and sounds are changing. My dark brown curls are turning gray. My lips like the flower’s bloom are not as full and pink. The creases upon my face show a lifetime of laughter and smiles. Some of my crackles and pops, earned from a lifetime of horseback riding, rival the insect song. But I have been blessed to live a life that has allowed me to cultivate knowledge, compassion, kindness and respect as I observed some people live out all their seasons while others’ lives were cut short like some coveted blossom.
I am indeed fortunate to be in this season and I will not waste it looking back on sunnier days or dreading the darker ones that are (hopefully) decades away. I am here in the now, in this season of miraculous change, and I intend to enjoy every bit of brilliance it has to offer. Like the coneflower I can be much more than a pretty fixture. I can serve long after my bloom has faded. Instead of seeds I will spread my words and deeds which will hopefully germinate and grow among the people I love most. After all, what would be the point of all the years of growth, filled with lessons of joy and sorrow, if I did not allow myself to mature and ripen, to bear fruit from a lifetime of experiences, to nourish the lives of those around me?
