Laurel the Lion, in her natural morning state: reading Calvin & Hobbs
The last few days have reminded me just how close autumn is. The temperature dropped in that dramatic way it sometimes does in late August, a temporary respite from a blindingly hot summer. Still, the 60s temperatures signal an impending end to summer vacation. Only a few more weeks to enjoy spontaneous adventures with kids, to spend hours not knowing what time it is, and days where tracking the date is unimportant to our scheming.
The signs are all pointing to Fall as my town prepares for the change in season. We counted more cars parked at the school across the street from our house, and we can spy people going into the front doors with their arms laden with boxes. We received letters from new teachers, little notes telling us how much their teachers are looking forward to meeting our kids at the beginning of the new school year. The town reservoir closes next week to swimmers, and the Fall soccer league sent out its annual email, preparing parents for the upcoming schedule of practices and games. Soon, the ice cream trucks cease making their every 30-minute rotation. I envision the trucks being cleaned out and put into the garage for repairs for next summer’s hard work of making every little kid in town smile and every grown up cringe. I wonder what the smiling man who sells me rocket pops and fruit bars does when the season turns to thoughts of warm apple cider and pumpkin bread.
Little things in my home remind me of how life changes in subtle ways at the end of summer. The coconut oil in my pantry turned from liquid to solid. The oil burner clicked on for just a few minutes last night, reminding me that it’s time to set up an account with a local oil company. And as I folded clothes fresh from the dryer, I noted the pile of long-sleeve shirts that I had set aside in June. Consistent short-sleeve weather does not last terribly long here in New England. The tights and sweaters live year-round in our bureaus and closets, but we don’t SEE them. We have eyes only for summer dresses, for the big basket filled with swimsuits, floaties, beach blankets, and goggles.
What I love about living in New England is the excitement at the beginning of a new season. It’s a feeling I missed in the 23 years I lived in Florida, where seasons have an indeterminate end. I remember swimming in October when we first moved from Marblehead, Massachusetts to Pensacola, Florida in 1980. It was an unsettling but amazing feeling to body surf in the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico at a time of year leading up to Halloween. I felt like we were breaking the rules, the rhythms of the life I knew in the first 10 years of my existence. The warmth of summer never broke to make way for Fall the way it does here. I know that there will still be hot days left in the last weeks of summer living here in the Greater Boston Area. But those days are numbered.
Soon, our family calendar will be filled with schedules and plans as the pace of our lives picks up. There will be homework. And arguments about taking the time to do the homework. But there will also be playdates and birthday parties, ballet classes for the little girl, soccer games for the big girl. I will have to find shoes as my little guy starts to take his first steps in cooler weather. I know that I will miss this time of crawling baby, this time of bare-footing, this day of children dressing up like lions and princesses, reading for hours on the couch as the morning passes into afternoon. And I also look forward to going from 3 children to 1 for 6 hours each day.
I see you, Fall. You are right there, just beyond the horizon. And there is so much to look forward to, and so many things to mourn. That is the way with change, isn’t it?