Wow, the Day of Fall Happens Here, Too
I've written before about the Day of Fall that we had when we lived in Texas. (Basically, the Day of Fall in Austin is the one day when all of the leaves (which had turned brown in July due to lack of water and an abundance of foliage-searing heat) suddenly fell from the trees, as if the leaves suddenly got the memo stating that it was time to change seasons. It's pretty much the only fall we got there and if you happened to be out of town, you missed an entire season. Bummer, that.) And I've written before about how enamored I am of the fall season up here in the Northeast, now that I've experienced the fancy dress ball that constitutes the turning of the leaves up here.
Since they seemed so vastly different in their approaches to fall, I didn't expect the two parts of the country to have much in common season-wise, especially when I've always said that Austin has two seasons: Hotter than Hell and Road Construction. Imagine my surprise to find that New York has a Day of Fall, too. (I think maybe it means the END of fall up here, though, and isn't so much an entire season in one day.)
My backyard on November 1
Sunday, November 9:
And today:
Maybe there is a SEASON called fall, (which in New York has this glorious turning of colors and in Texas is really just an excuse to watch college football) and then there is the ACT of Fall. And the ACT of Fall is universal. No matter what part of the country you live in, the leaves are going to all fall off of the trees all of a sudden, leaving the trees looking oddly naked and vulnerable.
I feel a little wistful about the onset of winter, actually. All summer, we've been surrounded by all of this green --this lush foliage. We've enjoyed our garden so much. We watched Jane's tiny sunflower seeds turn into enormous sunflowers. We ate cucumbers and tomatoes and bell peppers fresh from our own yard --I'd never experienced that before. And then fall arrived, bringing a feast of colors and new bounty from the land as we went pumpkin and apple picking.
Now, everything is dying back. The sun sets at 4:30 and I feel this primal urge to make soup. I'm putting the tomato cages in the shed and thinking about laying in more firewood. (And wishing I was a faster knitter. Dudes, we are really going to NEED mittens, hats and sweaters up here--and soon!) Suddenly, books like Little House in the Big Woods become guides for preparing for the long winter--you know, when we'll have to hike five miles through waist-deep snow to our nearest neighbor and tap the trees to make our own syrup...
It's interesting that there are these necessary losses that come with each shift of season but that it's all just part of the rhythm of the earth. Somehow, living in Austin, it was easy for me lose touch with the natural progression of the cycles of death and rebirth--and that each season contains its own beauty and blessings.
Since they seemed so vastly different in their approaches to fall, I didn't expect the two parts of the country to have much in common season-wise, especially when I've always said that Austin has two seasons: Hotter than Hell and Road Construction. Imagine my surprise to find that New York has a Day of Fall, too. (I think maybe it means the END of fall up here, though, and isn't so much an entire season in one day.)
My backyard on November 1
Sunday, November 9:
And today:
Maybe there is a SEASON called fall, (which in New York has this glorious turning of colors and in Texas is really just an excuse to watch college football) and then there is the ACT of Fall. And the ACT of Fall is universal. No matter what part of the country you live in, the leaves are going to all fall off of the trees all of a sudden, leaving the trees looking oddly naked and vulnerable.
I feel a little wistful about the onset of winter, actually. All summer, we've been surrounded by all of this green --this lush foliage. We've enjoyed our garden so much. We watched Jane's tiny sunflower seeds turn into enormous sunflowers. We ate cucumbers and tomatoes and bell peppers fresh from our own yard --I'd never experienced that before. And then fall arrived, bringing a feast of colors and new bounty from the land as we went pumpkin and apple picking.
Now, everything is dying back. The sun sets at 4:30 and I feel this primal urge to make soup. I'm putting the tomato cages in the shed and thinking about laying in more firewood. (And wishing I was a faster knitter. Dudes, we are really going to NEED mittens, hats and sweaters up here--and soon!) Suddenly, books like Little House in the Big Woods become guides for preparing for the long winter--you know, when we'll have to hike five miles through waist-deep snow to our nearest neighbor and tap the trees to make our own syrup...
It's interesting that there are these necessary losses that come with each shift of season but that it's all just part of the rhythm of the earth. Somehow, living in Austin, it was easy for me lose touch with the natural progression of the cycles of death and rebirth--and that each season contains its own beauty and blessings.
Comments
Ohmygosh! I can hardly wait.
I think today may be the Day of Fall here in Austin, 'cause it finally rained.
One of the pleasures of winter here is the sprouting of the first bulbs (usually snowdrops, mini-irises, crocuses and glory of the snows). And the flowering of the hellebores (aka Lenten or Christmas roses -- but watch out, they're poisonous) and of camellias. Some will flower all winter. Somehow flowers in snow are special, as are those tender sprouts coming through the ice. Welcome to the wonders of seasonal gardening.
(And learning to tolerate the depredations of squirrels. Yes, those ARE my teeth you hear grinding.)
Hey! You'll have the Mrs. G scarf to keep you warm!
I hate to tell you this, but it just is plain old cold and gloomy til may in NY. Although when the snow comes it is so beautiful and you have the perfect sledding driveway!!!
lin
I've always said that the two seasons of Texas are Hot and Christmas. Note that, sadly, one does not exclude the other.