Fall in the Northwest

Among all seasons, Fall is my favorite.

Having lived in Florida almost exclusively until I was 47, I grew up feeling somewhat deprived of all the seasonal changes I read about in my "Dick and Jane" primers, and even yearned for the cold, blustery, bone-chilling winters of Laura Ingalls in "Little House on the Prairie." In Florida, there are really only two seasons: summer and not-quite-summer. Let the thermometer drop below 70, and I was pulling out sweaters, wool skirts, and whatever could serve as a coat. I wanted cold!

I did spend one fall in Portsmouth, VA when I was 17, but was really not aware of the beauty of the season. I'm sure it must be lovely there in the fall, but I have no memory of it. And I spent another fall in Indianapolis in 1991, where I reveled in the beauty of the season, the chill in the air, the smells of woodsmoke. But when I moved to Portland in 1994, I truly soaked in the marvelous colors that grace our landscape as the weather begins to change.

I especially love to be on a winding mountain road this time of year, when the oaks, maples, and birches show off their glorious colors against a backdrop of graceful fir and pine trees. I love to watch the birds coming to our feeders and birdbath in search of food and drink - and a quick bath in the late afternoon. I love to watch the squirrels frantically digging places to hide their treasured food, knowing that they will only find it again by sheer luck; but knowing, too, that I will replenish their feeders during the fall and winter months, so they won't suffer hardship.

I love the way the sunlight comes through the trees in the afternoon; that's usually the first sign for me that the season is changing, and I always feel a thrill of anticipation when I first notice it. I love my quiet evenings with Jim in the family room, basking in the warmth of our woodstove and the joy of each other's company. I even like to cook in the fall - a big concession for me! I love the smells of pots of vegetables and beef, or Great Northern beans, and I enjoy the fragrance and taste of freshly-made applesauce.

Right now, as I sit in Ben & Briana's living room, I can see the tall trees swaying in the wind, their leaves sailing across the sky like small boats being tossed to and fro. I can see birds battling the currents of air as they seek a place to land and shelter from the rain that will be arriving soon.

There's something satisfying to me about this beautiful place I live as all of its inhabitants prepare themselves for the fallow season.

I love Fall best of all!

Turn, Turn, Turn

Fall is arriving in the Pacific Northwest! I love all the seasons: winter with the chance of snow, spring with the beautiful budding of life, summer's lazy days and cool drinks on the deck. But fall is far and away my favorite.

We've had close to an inch of rain over the past couple of days, filling up the birdbath and washing summer's dust from the leaves and flowers. My roses, which only last week were stretching and preening in the warmth of 89 degrees, have bowed their lovely faces to the weight of rain and wind that have bombarded them.

Aspen leaves tumble wildly from the sky, chasing each other down the street in excitement at their freedom, landing on our lawn like confetti at a political convention.

The fruit on the dogwood is turning a bright red, as if in preparation for an early Christmas.

I hear the wind soughing through the high branches of our majestic fir trees. Fir cones blow down, rattling across the roof to an ignominious resting place among the flattened grasses and seed husks left by the birds and squirrels that brightened our lost summer days.

The leaves on the vine maples are beginning to turn as these lovely, graceful trees gird themselves against the loss of sunlight and warmth. Soon, they, too will float to the ground, landing thickly beneath barren branches and providing warmth for their own roots this winter.

Later today, I'll bring in the season's first load of firewood. Tonight I'll bask in the heat from the woodstove, enjoying the fragrant reward of last summer's back-breaking efforts.

To everything, there is a season. (Ecclesiastes 3:1a)