Fall Reflection
Fall is here in the Pacific Northwest, well sort of. Technically we passed the Autumn Equinox a week ago on the 22nd of September. Schools are back in session, college students have returned to their campuses and Halloween/Christmas decorations are out on display in all their mixed and confused glory. (What is it guys, fall or winter? Pick. I can’t buy a pumpkin and Santa shaped Reeses at the same time. Dear Lawd.)
As I write this, however, our following ten day forecast is projecting mid-70 degree days. I am not complaining to be clear, this Second Summer is a delicious way to ease ourselves back into the wet months. Seattle had an unseemly wet May and June this year so we will take this blessing of sun without any further questions.
This afternoon Hudson and I were playing soccer in the backyard (which in reality is playing catch with a football, the poor boy is confused). We have two large Douglas Fir that loom over our backyard from our neighbors yard to the west. By this time of year, the sun is well tucked behind those trees by two in the afternoon. Between the delayed heat and the flickering sunlight I was jolted back to a memory, it gave me the feeling of deja-vu.
I was maybe three, possibly four and I was living in Aurora, Colorado. I was on a walk with my grandparents at their town-home. I remember it was too warm to be wearing my cardigan and my hand was sticky in my Grandma’s hand. We had walked from their patio to a pond a few 100 yards away. The pond was freckled with trees and I kept skipping to each shady patch in a vain attempt to stay cool. I can still hear my Grandma’s warnings to be careful of the duck poop. Nothing special happened that day, but somehow that memory got stored deep in my subconscious until its reemergence today. Memories are funny that way.
This got me thinking. Today was a “nothing special day”, it was simple and may or may not be remembered by Hudson. In fact, up until this time, he probably will have zero memories. But we are entering an era when memories may begin to get stored. What do I remember from early on? Well, Fall in Colorado. I remember the smell of pot roast from the tiny kitchen, sawdust lingered in the air in the backyard. I remember bitter windy soccer practices at the elementary school down the street. Once we moved to California, fall became synonymous to eucalyptus and cinnamon. To this day, I cannot walk into a Michael’s craft store and not feel transported to my six year old self around Halloween.
Something I have talked to Lucas about a lot is how odd, even hard it is to raise your children in a different place from where you grew up. Lucas reminds me that, although he grew up here, the place and people have changed so much it doesn’t feel the same. But then there are the invisible seasonal milestones of a region you cannot ignore. Seattle smells different throughout the seasons, and every Fall I’m affronted by how different it smells from my Fall, the Southern California Falls.
Jack is too young now, but in time, how will he remember Fall? Aside from sensory memories, I wonder what Fall will mean to them? Will the memories be chalked full of nerves because of all those first days of school? Or will they feel more excitement because of new friends and new teams? Fall is a season of newness, it is a step toward maturity. It is intense and requires bravery and somehow we all come out on the other side for the better. I think this is why so many love and romanticize the season.
As I grew and moved through elementary school to junior and into high school, Fall always meant new soccer teams or aging up into a new swim group. It was new teachers and classmates, new schools even. The potential in all the new gave me so much hope and excitement. And so it makes sense that when I sit in the warm sun on a day so close to October, my mind wanders quickly from the present to the hope, and bravery and joy in the past.
The Falls to come will welcome new experiences, people and life, not just from the inherited experiences of my children. And yet I still wonder, why are the Falls of our childhood so well cherished?
