Tuesday's Reflection: An Ode to Fall

The other day my husband tempted me away from my desk with an invitation to take a drive. "Maybe we'll find pumpkins." He did not need to say one more thing. Besides, it was a gorgeous fall day, and I had already been at my desk for a chunk of the morning and after all, how many more days will we have to ride in his little car with the top down?

Off we went, and of course, we did find pumpkins. I asked the owner of the pumpkin patch and apple orchard if it is a good pumpkin year and he said quietly, "I am grateful for what we have." Ah, yes, to be grateful for what we have. 

I restrained myself, only adding to my pile of small orange and white ones for one of the apothecary jars in our sun room, but also selecting the palest of orange pumpkins for the front stoop. One more front step is now pumpkined --my apology to all word purists. 

             Summer's loss seems little, dear, 
             on days like these.
                                 Ernest Dowson

I love this season, and I know I am not alone in that. Sitting at my desk in the garret I see patches of red leaves, tempting the others to turn red and amazingly, when I glance up from my laptop again, it seems as if more have decided to join the red team. 
             
             Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to
             it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the
             earth seeking the successive autumns. 
                                  George Eliot

One year when we lived at Sweetwater Farm we grew pumpkins, and I filled our open front porch with them, inviting anyone to help themselves. Another year our son was marrying our dear Cricket, and we had the rehearsal dinner on a gorgeous fall evening at the farm. Vintage fall tablecloths and white pumpkins stenciled with hearts decorated the tables under the tent. Pumpkins were every where, for I had made many trips to my favorite pumpkin stand, filling the Jeep each trip. A bounty of friends and family joined us that evening to celebrate a new season of life. 

I remember the time a friend sent me a large box of bittersweet from the mountain behind her Pennsylvania home. I swagged the white picket fence from driveway to backdoor with an abundance of bittersweet. Our fall drives always included sweeping the landscape for signs of bittersweet, hoping we remembered the garden shears and if some were spotted, like the flash of a red tail hawk, that it could be reached without danger to life and limb. This year I am content to have a bunch hanging on the front of an old painted cupboard, loving the splash of orange against the faded aqua.

My decorating is more spare now, but there is still the urge to make sure the house knows the season has changed. On the entry table along with a bouquet of hydrangeas and pheasant feathers I have opened a vintage copy, given to me by a dear friend, of Thoreau's Autumn. 

          Some single trees, wholly bright 
          scarlet, seen against others of  
          their kind still freshly green, or
          against evergreens, are more 
          memorable than 
          whole groves will be by and by. How beautiful 
          when a whole tree is like one great scarlet fruit, 
          full of ripe juices, every leaf, from lowest limb to 
          topmost spire, all a-glow, especially if you look 
          toward the sun. What more remarkable object can 
          there be in the landscape? Visible for miles, too fair
          to be believed. If such a phenomenon occurred but 
          once, it would be handed down by tradition to posterity 
          and get into the mythology at last.
                                    Henry David Thoreau

Vintage candles--pumpkins and witches and black cats, oh my!, make me smile from their perch on the kitchen windowsill. In the evening battery-lit glass pumpkins keep us company as we close the door and pull the blinds till morning sun returns. A throw on the leather couch, a tumble of velvet pumpkins, a candle with the smell of cinnamon--all reminders for me to pay attention to the change that is happening outside and to be mindful of changes going on in my own spirit. A tucking in. A release from the fullness of summer. 

The temperature has been summer warm today, and I enjoyed having lunch and reading at the patio table. A squirrel chattering at me reminded me, however, that it only had so much time to gather and hide nuts for winter, and I was in its way. Yes, there is almost so much time, and I, too, need to be mindful of how I spend it. Right now being present to the changing of the seasons seems the very best way. 

An Invitation
How do you mark the changing of seasons? What are you mindful of as you move from summer to fall? I would love to know. 

October Reflection: I Never Met a Pumpkin I Didn't Like!

Delicious autumn!
My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird
I would fly about the earth seeking successive autumns.
                        George Elliot

My sentiments exactly. Or almost exactly, for Elliot forgot to mention that the bird would be looking for pumpkin patches!

I love every aspect of fall, but perhaps my favorite part of fall is the pumpkins. 

Pumpkin Diversity
How ironic in the season that we focus on words like "dying" and

"surrender" and "letting go" and "moving into darkness," there are pumpkins. What could be sillier than something big, round and orange? And what about all the varieties of pumpkins: Cinderella, Aladdin, Baby Boo, Jack Be Little, Lumina and Red Warty Thing. And what about the one that looks like peanut shells have been attached with a glue gun? 

Furthermore, pumpkins just aren't orange any more. They are pale green, almost grey, and darker green and peach, and white, and yellow and red. I love them all. 

Light on the Meaning. 
For once I am not going to do a deep reflection here.  I won't meditate on the meaning of my love of pumpkins.  They make me smile. They bring me pleasure, and I like to think that people walking by our home experience a touch of pleasure when they see my collection of pumpkins as well. 

Pumpkins are playful. Yes, I could turn them all into pies or soups and stews. Recipes abound, and maybe I will do one or two, but I am content with the way they seem to smile back at anyone who notices them. "Yup, I know I look kind of silly, but that's my job."

Pumpkin Memories
Of course, as with anything now that I am in my mid 60's, there are memories attached, even to pumpkins. Perhaps my favorite is remembering our son and daughter-in-love's October wedding. The rehearsal dinner was outside under a tent at our farm, and your eye could not rest without seeing a pumpkin --in

the gardens, on the tables, stacked outside the garage and at the entrance to the tent. I loved roaming the countryside, scouting out every Amish farmstand and loading the back of my Jeep with pumpkins. Maybe just one more. And then as if that weren't enough, a friend of the bride's painted a tiny pumpkin for every guest as their place card and favor at the wedding reception! Loved it. 

I also recall that it was my mother who enlightened me about white pumpkins. many years ago.  I didn't know there was such a thing--had never seen one. When Mom and Dad came to visit us in Ohio one fall, we headed into the countryside on a mission to find white pumpkins. Now they are everywhere, but at that time, we were trendsetters! 

I Lied! 
Of course, I can't close without at least a little reflection. Pumpkins remind me to see the beauty, to allow surprise to enter my life, to play, even for a few minutes. 

Pumpkins offer me an opportunity to consider what I have been gathering in these last months and to ask myself what I will make of what I have gathered within. 

Pumpkins, in their bounty and their individuality, remind me to give of myself. Generously. To reveal my own inner riches. 

Invite a pumpkin to come home with you and let it entertain you. 

An Invitation
Many people love fall, but dread winter. What is it about fall you love? Do you have pumpkin stories to share? Or pictures? 
What does fall mean to you emotionally? Spiritually?