It's got to be fall
By PAT WICK
© Another Day in the Country
Summer was all too short this year and I long for more! I'm not ready for fall. This morning when I looked out my bedroom window, the ash tree was bathed in golden yellow. "What?" I said to myself, "When did that happen?" I blinked, rubbed sleep out of my eyes, put on my glasses and looked again. "Oh, that's just the very early morning sun shining on that tree and turning it that golden hue." Relief flooded over me — there's still a little time before winter.
It is that time of year, though — fall! Betty was out early this morning cutting down the last of her corn.
"It's time. We've got to pick those punk'ins — bugs are in 'um," Tooltime Tim said last night. Is it time? With visions of grandeur, I wanted those pumpkins to keep on growing. Pumpkins were the one thing we had good results with in that field and I longed for those golden orbs to make up for all the corn that didn't work out. A bunch of piddly pumpkins would not do — I want GRAND pumpkins; but I think the pumpkin population has reached its peak. They're done.
My flowers are about done. Already, as I water the last of my flowers, I'm thinking thoughts of spring. "I'll get more daffodils and plant them now." Spring! I remember spring with its flurry of growth, color galore, freshness everywhere. Yes, in spring this abundance starts all over again. "So, rest little bulbs. Be patient strong roots. It's time for you to relax and replenish."
"I want to relax and replenish," says my sister. "Why can't we be like the seasons?" I screw up my brow and think long thoughts. Fall has a tendency to do that to me. It's the winding down season, the settling of accounts in the garden, the tally-time when gardening is done.
Maybe the reason I feel unsettled is that fall also is the season of my life. This is fall for me and next comes winter. Will I ever be done?
Mom is in the winter of her life — she recalls her fall season with gratefulness. She and Dad pruned and nurtured their little farm, they planted huge gardens and dug a new well. They cleaned out the pond and mowed the pastures, enjoying every moment of it. When their winter years arrived, the gardens shrunk, someone else chopped the trees and brought in wood. Now, someone else owns the farm.
In the fall of my life, I love taking on projects. Ms. Fall and Mr. Summer are flooring the porches on Mom's new house. Mrs. Winter says, "Can I do anything to help?" and Ms. Fall blithely suggests, "Nah, Mom, just sit in the rocker and watch." I wonder! What does it feel like to sit in the rocker and watch? Mrs. Winter gets restless and checks on what we're doing. I can tell, she likes to be in the mix of this building project — useful, necessary. Mrs. Winter brings water, makes lunch. She'd be Mrs. Fall again, in a moment, if she could choose.
The last of the lily stalks stand forlorn. As I cut them down, spring's on my mind. This was a bulb from flowers Uncle Hank had received for Easter one year. "Here, plant this in your flower bed," he'd instructed. I had no great hopes that bulb would ever bloom again — but here it came in all its glory. Perhaps next year, the trumpets will be even more spectacular — the seasons in my yard, mirroring the seasons of life. If lilies are more glorious next season, perhaps I, too, will be more vibrant.
"Consider the lilies," scripture admonishes. Yes, I do consider them. When my winter season comes I plan to be loving as I relinquish, patient, content, snuggling in, grateful for mulch — like I imagine the lilies to be. And then when spring returns, whatever that means, I'll bloom!
It's another day in the country and it's got to be fall — even though the trees have not all really turned — I'm thinking long fall thoughts. Lilies are lucky that way — they don't think, they just follow their destiny. So will I!
