Is anyone else more impatient than usual for autumn crispness? Do others feel as though that “season of mists and mellow fruitfulness” will never arrive? Might you be “making a list and checking it twice” of early proofs that there really is such a thing as fall?
I have begun my own Autumnal Chronicle. Despite assiduous attention, however, this tally is pretty meager. It is particularly challenging this year to differentiate between the season for which I am longing and the effects of drought. Sycamores are turning. But, these puzzle-trunked beauties require ‘wet feet’, almost as urgently as willows. No New Jersey trees are receiving sufficient moisture in dire 2016. Shocked by dessication, sycamores began dropping huge loud leaves in August.
I’m seeking first wild spurts of scarlet and crimson: Virginia creeper, otherwise known as woodbine; and its usual neighbor, poison ivy act as restaurant signs for migrating birds. These vines employ the most vivid hue the minute they’re ripe enough to nourish. In nearly mid-September, both species remain relentlessly forest green.
My fall list begins with the very loud, entirely too audible, crunching of crisp leaves under my car wheels along Fackler Road in Lawrenceville.
I was forced to acknowledge autumn as I passed the Lawrenceville Community Garden. Every towering sunflower is bent and spent, like people who neglect osteoporosis.
Driving past Loews to reach Trader Joe’s, there was the first inescapable bank of mums.
As I carried TJ purchases back to my car, however, I thrilled to an endless river of dark birds, coursing and coursing as though they fleeing an impending storm.
I realize that none of these examples contains the ecstatic outpouring I would expect from myself as the season turns. And that NJWILDBEAUTY readers have come to expect from me.
This year, the coming season is marred by the very serious illness of my 20[year-old great nephew, James Weitzel. His heroism is striking. But this shining young man; this consummate, initially intuitive musician (percussion especially); this person who’s touched the heart of everyone with whom he interacts in Springfield, Illinois, has been abruptly stricken in his prime. Now James has a bald head, and not because it’s chic. Now James has to relearn the very simple process of walking. So my own heart and feet are not skipping.
Autumn meant new beginnings, for this foolish one who couldn’t wait for school. I lived for first lavender smoke rising from chimneys, and especially from towering bonfires of leaves we’d raked all day.. And harvests were the heart of the matter.
Today, I’ve tried to fill a treasure chest of autumn memories. Maybe it will lift NJWILDBEAUTY spirits, as well as my own. Maybe you’ll even comment on favorite aspects of this laggard season for you.
Parties meant bobbing for apples and sipping new cider. Popcorn turning white and sometimes a little black in the long-handled black corn popper over coals in our family room fireplace. New loves began at pep rallies and the subsequent Homecoming Ball. Happiness swirled in on every fresh breeze.
Maybe, seeing these NJ fall views, you’ll get out on (preserved, of course) trails, and create new memories.
Maybe it’s color for which I am longing.
Or is it that September and October represent constellations of change?