November deserves the last flourishes of fall. Too many people go directly into Christmas from Halloween as though guided by commercialism.
Not me. “The trail doesn’t end here,” I tell myself. Yet some folks will skitter away, their energy flagging, their enthusiasm waning, their journey complete. November is upon us and so is the choice: to chill or not to chill.
Many have a tendency to turn inward. People begin to burrow, persuaded by the fading daylight and cooler temperatures. No doubt these nesting instincts are a reflection of nature as the animal kingdom recedes and the plant world winds down.
Yet there are those of us who would still like to venture out and be a part of this fabulous season. As I set out on my bike ride Saturday, I took in many similar-minded people; walking, cycling, even skateboarding. The life around me continues as before. The neighbor’s children are heard in some outdoor game, and over the other side, my neighbor Jim is still tending his glorious gardens, just as energetically as he did in June; digging, potting, tending – making it look so easy and so worthwhile.
Of course, I can’t pretend it’s June, though one can have moments that are summery in the fall, depending on the day’s disposition. Sunday was one such – spent sailing Buzzards Bay – like reenacting July… the sun kept us warm, apart from when the sails momentarily blocked it out. We returned home to the warmth of a blazing fire pit – a creature comfort that we will rely on through winter.
The inescapable inwardness will eventually happen – whether huddled in your eiderdown or outside in the bracing air. Fall invites reflection, even on a warm day. Personally, I prefer to experience it out in the fresh air – taking the wicked with the gentle. Fall is a season of textures and every one of them rekindles a memory…
The leaves underfoot take us back to those that we waded through in the schoolyard. It’s a familiar pattern ingrained in us, magnified by their acrid, decaying scent. The noisy rustle they made as we raked them up high and jumped in is readily retrievable. Because we were children once, we dared touch everything and that left an impression that can still be tapped.
Aromatic pine needles and cones that blanketed the front yard are associated with pumpkin carving, as this is where my children and I set up shop, carving our jack-o-lanterns every year, often having to blow on our hands to keep them warm. In fact, the smooth flesh of the pumpkin makes an interesting counterpoint to the delicate resiny needles… in a weird way, they were meant to be together.
On the banks of ponds, the milkweed pods are bursting open to reveal their fluffy, silky, seedy floss that we used to scatter, then would watch it in fascination, floating through the air, unwittingly planting more in the process.
The tactile forces of nature abound: The velvety cattails out in the marshes, the showy seed heads of various ornamental grasses and the ubiquitous goldenrod – now rather scrappy looking – which seems to have a reverse pointillism – the flowers become more defined as you get up close. Just think, these plants are the very descendants of our childhood landscape! We might not have known what they were called, but we took the time to notice them, to hold or pick them, as they were part of our dominion.
Even if we follow a hand’s off approach, fall’s motherlode of sensory details enlivens us. The muted colors of once vibrant asters and ferns indicate their expiration date, while the tangled shoots of untended roses resemble fiendish tentacles from a children’s fairy tale. And hark, the sibilance of leaves coupled with the groan of a tree limb further animate the scene. You can be totally alone out on the trail and still feel the company of nature. Fall doesn’t fade meekly away. Nor do I want it to.
I will continue to light the jack-o-lanterns for a few more nights and find a purpose to pursue out in the garden. That is something I never lack.
“Like the fruits, when cooler weather and frosts arrived, and we shifted from the shady to the sunny side of the house and sat there in an extra coat for warmth – we too were braced and ripened.” – Henry David Thoreau
The Seaside Gardener
By Laura McLean