Autumn On Monadnock
Everyone is a little scared of what comes next. But what if everything is going to be alright? What if what comes next is beautiful? Camus said that Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower. It came early this year. The leaves do not seem to be changing, so much as they are rusting away. Streaks of orange and red here and there, creep upward from the base of the mountain. Like a fire struggling to spread. Until all is aflame with color. Leaving only sticks and silence awaiting winter snows.
The thing about fall in New England is how clear it is what the best of the season is. Because they are things which only happen in fall, and are so brief you will miss them if you do not make time. It is not only catching the leaves at peak color. Around here it is stretching the short growing season. The last few summer tomatoes from plants you limped through September. The perfect ripe apple straight from the tree. Fresh pressed cider from the harvest. There are so many good fresh things in part because the land here is ill suited to industrial monocultures.
Autumn is the time for harvest and community festivals across the region. My town and the neighboring one have Depot Day. Which celebrates their founding in 1773, and later division into two towns in 1815. With events on the town commons and a 5 mile fun run between their B&M railroad depots along the line that connects them. There are festivals to celebrate apples and pumpkins and beer and seafood. As crab, mussels, and oysters are all coming into peak season this time of year. So those who come for the foliage are well served to stay for dinner.
I love fall. But something about a crisp autumn morning sends my lizard brain into overdrive. Telling me I must gather all the food and warm things or I am not going to make it through winter. Do not fight your survival instincts. Start that fire. Wrap yourself in flannel, and wool, and corduroy. Double that batch of chili, and bake an extra load of bread. Now is the time for warm comforts. We should be able to stand back, and admire all we have done this year, and not rush through fall until winter stops us dead.
If more of us organized our lives around the seasons and not calendar years and fiscal years there would not be such a sense of loss when the last leaves fall. The world is moving too fast. I might need to accept the idea of being left behind at some point. But the thought of it bothers me less and less. I live in a place like that, too small to keep up. Small is beautiful. We should defend small against big. Small towns, small businesses, small interests. Choosing what is niche over what is popular and dull. Loving a thing because it will not last is the whole point of autumn.