Monday, October 2, 2017

Autumn Convinces Me

I play this game where I imagine packing up and moving my family somewhere completely different, to start fresh, better our lives in one way or another. You play it too, I'm sure. Sometimes it's Vancouver Island, where we become a surfer family vibing fireside with guitars, sometimes it's a Nova Scotia homestead where we live off our own produce and raised meats. It's usually a coastal locale, where our lives are tied to tides and briny air, but sometimes my imagination is taken hold by international adventures, too. This game takes on a fervent urgency in the late months of spring when I feel I live in the most wet, cold, dreary climate conceivable. 

A bouquet garni to season to ketchup as it simmers
Summer is my hands-down clear favourite, where I soak up everything my city and backyard have to offer, venturing on day trips to beaches and trails, or road trip to the coast for ocean adventures. My decision to pack up and move is back-benched in light of this renewed vigour, courtesy of the sun. Autumn is a special time, though, and I don't think I could ever live anywhere without an autumn. I hear geese honking before I see their V-shaped flock fly overhead and am, for a moment, tempted to flee to southern climates alongside them, knowing the long, cold winter will arrive and stay. But the bounty of harvest time (my own and the farmers), the return to routine after a cacophony of summer melee, the foliage colour changes and waning daylight hours lend themselves to an air of change that, to me, is important.

We harvested about 40 pounds of tomatoes this year, and counting
I am in the kitchen a lot more, feeling pulled to harvest the tomatoes before they are unusable, bringing in the herbs to preserve for colder days. I am cooking things for later: this week, this month or the long winter ahead, stirring and chopping with the kitchen windows open as long as possible. It isn't often I find myself with free time between new work projects, fall house cleaning/putting away, making our own daily meals and being with the girls, but when I do, I am at the counter. There are sweet potatoes to puree and make into biscuits, soups to simmer, cool and freeze for later, zucchini bread and muffins to bake for school lunches. I don't have to do any of this, of course, but I feel pulled to. These are priorities I re-set each autumn, and in deliberately choosing what to do with my time, I feel better about the direction my life is taking, regardless of what locale my family and I are living.

Oh, hello little buddy
Autumn hikes, trail runs and park visits leave us ready to come home with cheeks rosier from crisp air, wanting to sip something hot, eat something warm from the oven. We go out, we cool down, we come inside, we eat nourishing, warm foods, and we go to bed happy. We have pared down the number of activities we do as a family this year, opting to keep things simple, routine, leaving more room for visits with friends, fall cooking and eating. These things feel like they matter more, at least in this season of life. I crave those comforts more than I crave working more contracts for more money, more than training the girls in various skills at extracurricular lessons and classes, more than binge-watching a show, taking on more responsibilities, or making plans to move away.

Day hike in Gatineau
Comparison, they say, is the thief of joy. As much fun as it is to escape into a fantasy where we live somewhere different (better?), this is where we live, where our people are, where we live out the seasons and take from them what they have to offer us. We have long, cold winters. We have hot, vibrant summers. And oh, we have the most beautiful autumns, surrounded by beautiful native maple, oak and birch trees. Autumn wins me back, convinces me everything's going to be alright. As long as we have a warm home to return to, nourishing food to eat now and later, and good people around us, we'll be alright.

May we know them, may we be them, may we raise them
Song for Autumn
By Mary Oliver

In the deep fall
don't you imagine the leaves think how
comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
nothingness of air and the endless
freshets of wind? And don't you think
the trees themselves, specially those with mossy,
warm caves, begin to think

of the birds that will come-- six, a dozen-- to sleep
inside their bodies? And don't you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
vanishes, and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
its blue shadow. And the wind pumps its
bellows. And at evening especially,
the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.

1 comment:

  1. Sounds like a game worth trying out for sure, triggered by Dorothy Parker's quote about the cure for curiosity.Its always advisable to start a fresh because a famous scholar said change is as good as a rest.


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