My happiest time of year is fall. It seems that the natural world sort of lets go with a sigh and a quiet celebration. It decorates for the party with confetti of spice colored leaves and a huge mellow harvest moon. I accept my invitation every year!
As a child, I was happy to choose a few 'fall cottons' that Mother sewed into school clothes to accommodate Houston's tenacious September heat. The night before my first day of school, I would scrub summer from behind my ears with extra care. I would tuck myself into bed and anticipate wearing that fresh dark plaid cotton sleeveless jumper that Mother had just hemmed and pressed. (No need for a blouse for at least a month!) By Autumn's end there would be cozy knits and corduroy. Joy!
In my world, a generous armful of meaningful events happen in the fall. Thanksgiving has long been my favorite holiday. It's a simpler home time of reunion, football, and a groaning family table. Another ritual that I remember warmly: my Dad and I sang Happy Birthday to each other somewhere between November 15th (his) and 16th (mine) for 65 years. To round out my love of Autumn, my husband and I married 45 years ago over a Thanksgiving weekend; and our firstborn arrived on the heels of the first 'Blue Norther' in October two years later.
Fall foods are some of my favorites. Mouth-watering apples are at their shiny, crisp peak. Sharp winds can be tamed with a hearty meat and potatoes stew or spicy venison chili. It's simply not Thanksgiving without my mother's cornbread dressing. And don't get me started on my husband's mother's Pumpkin Cake with Cream Cheese Drizzle. It's a dense, creamy, cinnamon party in the mouth.
But the icing on my autumn joy comes every year on the day I witness an age-old miracle. I will be walking outside or hands deep in the dirt, planting some fall flowers when I hear faint puppy
sounds--little barks from a distant unknown place. Breathless, I stand and search the sky. I follow the insistent yelps to their source above. There I find a large, wavy, living V formation floating against a bright sky. While I take in the majesty of these migrating geese, I'm always overcome with awe and joy. I welcome them with teary praise for my faithful God, and am reminded once again--He directs their path as well as mine.
Oh, the Celebrations!
