Autumn Begins

During the past couple of weeks, we have witnessed the transformation of summer into fall.  The days are shorter, the nights are cooler and the leaves are beginning to turn colour.  Life seems to return to normal and routines are observed once again after the laid-back summer season.

Autumn was my Dad’s favourite time of year.  I never did agree with his choice of favorite season, as to me fall is a stark reminder that winter is coming.  I have to admit, however, it does have a beauty which must be appreciated. Walking or driving down tree-lined streets shimmering in gold and red is breath taking.  In gardens and backyards, the view turns from green to multi-coloured.  Bringing in produce from the garden, emptying flower pots and raking leaves are melancholy reminders to enjoy those last few days of beautiful weather before winter winds start to blow. 

 My vision of autumn is one of my dad raking leaves and stopping to lean on his rake to tell me how this is his favourite season. That picture of him is ingrained in mind forever.  He loved fall.  He enjoyed the change in weather from the hot days of summer to the crisp, clean air of autumn. Perhaps fall was the only season he really could take the time to enjoy.  As a farmer, spring was busy with calving and seeding, summer with all the demanding work of farming, fall with its tension-filled days of harvesting, and winters meant cold days of feeding cattle and getting things ready for spring.  Once harvest was completed, he had time to enjoy nature and to appreciate fall days.

 My dad died in fall. Today is the anniversary of his death. The day of his funeral, my older sister and I commented to each other how fitting it was his life ended in the season he loved.  As we buried him, red and gold leaves flew, and the air was crisp and clean.  Harvest was done.  Dad’s work was completed. 

Over the years since he passed away, autumn is the time of year I feel closest to Dad and when my memories of him are the strongest. As I rake leaves, clean flower beds and bring in the garden, my mind races back over the many fall seasons I enjoyed with him.  Without fail, every year when red and golden leaves blow across the yard and the air turns cool, in my mind’s eye I see Dad, leaning on his shovel wearing that old flannel-lined denim jacket, telling me that fall is his favourite time of year.  Having special memories for special seasons . . . it's a good thing!