“I like my football on
a Saturday, roast beef on Sundays…”
You could feel it every
year. The first signs of Autumn arrived with a tickle of wind past your ear,
the smell of fresh apple cider or the touch of maple leaves stacking the
sidewalks. The leaves would soon be airlifted, swaying around, sometimes
hitting you in the shins as you walked.
Growing up in New York,
Autumn was the most spectacular time of year for me. Everyone went apple
picking in September and pumpkin picking in October. Most often, this time of
year also signaled post-season baseball. The early Autumn days spelled out a
new tennis season for me when I was in middle and high school. I can remember
rushing out of my ninth period class to the locker room and onto the tennis
courts every weekday. Prior to September, everyone wore shorts and tank tops to
practice. The August weeks leading up to the start of school were still the
hottest days of the year. But how quickly and quietly the seasons crawl in when
you live in New York! Players on the tennis team began bringing sweatshirts,
warmup pants and jackets to matches in September. Occasionally, there would be
a football game going on behind the courts. Cheers could be heard and you would
sometimes see the breath of the panting players in the brisk air. In October,
blankets filled the tennis bleachers and everyone who was smart packed their
hats and gloves (and an extra pair of socks). During late evening matches, the
night would begin to set in and we’d be lucky to still see the ball arriving
over the net. The days seemed to get shorter quickly in New York.
Weekends were filled
with lazy mornings. The crisper the air, the better the hot chocolate tasted.
Autumn meant pantyhose season on Sundays in church and turtlenecks throughout
the week in school. It was always a thrill to break in a new pair of jeans. Autumn
was raking leaves, coming inside before dusk and bundling up to ride a bike. If
you’ve never lived in a cold-weather state, you may not appreciate the feeling
of returning to a heated bedroom, thawing out your feet and curling into bed at
night during the late October and early November Autumn days. Bitter winters
can be a drag but the few months leading up to it are the most wonderful. I
miss the change of seasons now that I reside in Texas. I miss the falling leaves
and the pumpkins on every porch. I miss the days of hearing my dad’s car murmur
in the morning as he went to warm it up. I almost miss waiting for the first
snowfall, which usually occurred well before winter began. Autumn has a
different feel down south. Under foot, there are no acorns or crabapples. The
sky is rarely overcast and the breezes are mild compared to the whipping
northern winds I recall from my youth. There is football here, of course. But it just
isn’t the same football. I never see the players’ breath or their noses turn
pink from the cold air. The air down here never really has that Autumn feel.
“When the dawn begins
to crack…it’s all part of my Autumn almanac”
