Being a spring kind of girl, I am always surprised by people who say fall is their favorite season. But with summer turning to autumn, I’m focusing on what’s good about this new season. It didn’t take long to come up with this top ten list:
10. Longer nights mean my morning walk begins by moon and starlight. Beautiful!
9. Acorn squash, Hiram’s favorite side dish, is in season. Menu planning is easy this time of year.
8. Earlier sunsets make it perfectly acceptable to put on jammies after supper and curl up in bed with a good book.
7. Early fall=perfect sleeping weather
6. The does and summer fawns are less skittish and easier to photograph.
5. Apple season is here!
4. Deal’s apple cider is in the grocery store.
3. The dry, spicy scent of fall leaves and crops drying in the fields.
2. This time of year feels like the world’s being tucked into bed for a good night’s sleep.
1. Our grandson’s birthday and the opportunity to celebrate his young life.
What do you like about fall? Leave a comment.
What comes after an early spring and a summer of drought? An early fall, of course. My morning walks have been full of signs that autumn is right around the corner, and here are the top ten in my book.
10. The begonias on the north side of the garage are lush and full.
9. The leaves of the burning bush outside the kitchen are tinged with red.
8. Sunrise comes later each morning and sunset comes earlier.
7. The sumac is starting to turn.
6. We’re planning menus for the Labor Day Extraveganza.
5. The goldenrod’s got the Man of Steel sneezing.
4. Rain doesn’t make the pond scum disappear.
3. The spots are fading on this summer’s fawns.
2. The parks department drained the swimming pool.
1. The trees,
What signs of fall are appearing where you live?
Though I’ve been back in Iowa for more than a week now, I’m still wrestling with culture shock. The rudest reminders that I’m no longer in sunny Califorian, but back in the Midwest, are the soy beetles.
These tiny critters first made their presence known around these parts in the fall of 2000. (I know this because they showed up the year Allen was a senior and our foreign exchange student, Adrian, lived with us.) The nasty little insects look like lady bugs, though they’re more orange than red and stinkier than all get out. They don’t do any harm, but they don’t do any good either.
Most of the year they stay outdoors, until the farmers harvest the soybeans and obliterate the soy beetles’ summer homes. The homeless, stinky bugs stay in the fields, shivering and immobile, as long as the weather stays cold. But give ‘em a sunny day to warm up their innards, and they become heat-seeking missiles, swarming the southern walls of every house on the outskirts of town, including ours.
But when the sun goes down and the temperature plummets, the bugs drop to the ground in small, orange drifts. The orange drift on the threshold of our kitchen door was my rude, culture shock reminder.
At the sight, I sprang into action, grabbing the broom and sweeping away the nasty proof of my return from paradise. Every sunny day, I sweep another drift away, humming while I work…I’m California dreaming on an autumn day.
In the last seven days I’ve seen so many beautiful things: California sunrises and sunsets, rolling desert mountains, palatial homes, the Pacific Ocean, the posh resort where the classic movie Some Like It Hot was filmed, the San Diego Zoo, Balboa Park, the Coronado Bridge.
But yesterday, between trips, I was home for 24 hours and spent one of them walking through the park. The leaves on the trees were brilliant, and I took picture after picture, trying to capture their beauty without much success. But when I left the park for home, walking on an ordinary small town sidewalk, I looked up at a tree so richly yellow it gleamed.
My heart skipped a beat, then I walked on. Seconds later, I retraced my steps, unwilling to abandon the shining moment. Ignoring the cars passing by, I aimed my camera up until the viewfinder was a solid mass of gold, and clicked. When I reviewed my pictures later, this one – the one I almost didn’t take, contained all the beauty of an Iowa fall morning.
In the past few days I’ve seen oceans and mountains, great cities and marvelous feats of engineering. But nothing has been more lovely than the pure gold I saw on an ordinary tree on an ordinary street in my ordinary little town.
The ordinary blessings, if I take time to see and appreciate them, are the greatest blessings of all.