This morning I woke up underneath our giant, fluffy, white duvet. We’d put it away for summer back in May, opting to sleep under lightweight blankets for much of the summer. We’ve only just pulled the duvet out from the depths of our closet and, upon peeking my head out from under it this morning and blinking into the face of an anxious HuskyMutt, I realized I could never live anywhere that didn’t have seasons. I’d miss them too much.
I’d miss the daffodils that pop up out of the earth each spring, the flocks of geese heading north and south, the beautiful blooms of dogwood trees and crepe myrtles, the snow, the leaves falling, the crispness of the first frost, the brilliant clear nights that winter brings and even the heat of a July day in Richmond. I’d miss pumpkin picking, the shift from flip-flops to boots, kicking up leaves along the sidewalk and the flurry of activity that spring brings each year.
And what’s more than simply missing the cycle of seasons, is that I’d likely be lost without them. I live my life by the seasons, categorizing projects into winter, spring, summer or fall, making plans based on the seasonal availability of snow or sunshine, dividing tentative adventures into seasons that match. We’ve even started to eat seasonally, opting to get most of our food from local sources and cutting down on things that aren’t grown on this continent, opting instead to grow our food-knowledge and create meals from things that grow here, now. It’s a pattern and a rhythm I’ve grown accustomed to, one that suits me and that makes me feel connected to the Earth in a sort of crunchy, hippie way.
With fall there is so much for me to love. I’ve already written about it once this year, about five of my favorite fall things, but my love of this season goes beyond that. There’s something about fall, and the impending winter, that makes me want to nest. I can’t explain it any other way, other than to say that when fall creeps in I want nothing more than a good book, a large cup of hot tea, a blanket, and maybe even a cat or a dog or two to curl up with on the couch. It’s like there’s some part of me that begs for hibernation.
There’s something primal about living by the seasons, something that makes me feel connected to the world in a profound way I can’t exactly explain. Times have changed from our cave man beginnings, surely, but there’s still a tradition of gathering friends and family in warm spaces to celebrate the changing of the seasons and all that we can be thankful for this year. Maybe it’s that part of autumn I love too, the part where we’ve created traditions based around friends coming together and creating wonderful things together, things like Thanksgiving meals and traditions.
In my heart, I’m a hippie. All other evidence to the contrary aside, in my heart I want to feel close to the earth, close to the beats and rhythms of the turning calendar, and it’s the start to fall that makes me feel so close to that, and maybe, more than the leaves and the boots and the sweaters and the cups of hot tea, that’s what makes me so fond of it.