Indian summer winds blow through the hills, As the autumn sun shines on your hair; I will always remember the day that we met, In that wonderful time of the year.
So, will you dance with me tonight, my love, Beneath the September sky? Will you sing with me tonight, my love, And we’ll waltz for the rest of our lives.
~ excerpt from the song September Sky by Louise Morrissey
I will never forget the night we met in September of 1994, when “I fell head over heels in LIKE,” and how my whole life changed. Thank you for being you.
I’m sharing one of my Evergreen Posts today, because much of its content still applies to my life right now. Between berry-picking, bread-making, and gearing up for more writing this fall with a plan to take part in November’s NaNoWriMo—National Novel Writing Month—I expect to be busy. If all goes well, I will complete the first rough draft of my fifth novel (I have two published, two un-published) by November’s end. Thanks for reading!
I know our Atlantic Canadian summers are short and I treasure the warmer days while they’re here, but there is something about this season of change I truly love as well.
Late summer and early fall has a uniquely different quality, where on a sunny day the air lends a crisper, more metallic edge to the natural world. (This love affair hinges on one important caveat: that the northeast wind doesn’t blow too much and turn our world chilly and wet for days on end.)
The outlines of clouds against the steel-blue sky look sharper, heralding the approach of what is to come. Most foliage and grasses are still summery green. I relish them all the more, knowing the colours will soon transition into vibrant shades of red and gold before finally fading to the cool grey and white hues of late autumn and winter.
It is a season of harvest and renewal, a time of new beginnings and the dawning of fresh ideas. The kiddies are back in their classes. Though my own school days and child rearing years are well behind me, I still feel that push of motivation into new plans and goals, to make the transition into a stricter work schedule, to get back to writing more in the coming months. November and NaNoWriMo are still a ways off, but I strive to clear up all loose ends in preparation for – dare I say it without jinxing myself – a 50 thousand-word first draft of a brand-spanking new novel. But hey, I did it before, so why not?
Then there are the berries. Where would this season be without the berries?
fruits of the first trip
…and fruits of the second
In two afternoon jaunts, the blueberries are now picked, and it won’t be long before we are in on the barrens again to pick partridgeberries. (In other parts of the world, these lovely bitter, relatives of the cranberry are called lingonberries or cowberries.) I make plenty of the jam for my other half since he likes it on his morning toast all year round, not to mention in the occasional pastry tart with a generous dollop of thick cream.
Especially anticipated, besides an excursion on the barrens, is picking the plump, juicy partridgeberries that grow right here on our land. I checked all around the Point last week and it looks like a bumper crop this year, probably a sign of how plentiful their growth is everywhere else.
My boy and me back in the day
Coinciding with the cool-down in temperature is a return to more bread-baking. There’s nothing like the smell of a fresh batch from the oven to take the chill out of your day.
“Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
What do you like the most about this time of year? Relief from the heat? A return to a more orderly schedule? Getting the children out from underfoot and back in school? Or are you sad because the summer is nearly spent? Do tell!
This post was inspired by Ailsa’s Travel Theme: Seasonal.*
Tomorrow, Monday September 23rd, is the first day of fall. Specifically, the 2019 fall equinox will begin at 3:50 a.m Eastern Standard Time on that morning. We tend to think the season starts September 20th or 21st, but the date varies. It ranges from Sept. 21 to Sept. 24.
Aside from this, I’m still trying to figure out where summer went. While I sulk over its all-too-brief appearance on my patch of the planet this year, I’m wistfully sharing this snap taken from my back deck on one of our loveliest summer days, August 4th.
While everyone else seems to have embraced fall and are busy with their updated plans and schedules, I’m here wishing I could turn back the calendar. 🌞 🌞 🌞
I wrote the following in September of 1994. It was a time of great transition for me.
I wanted to express my readiness for the next chapter, and my anticipation of what good things might come my way. When I wrote it, I had no way of knowing I would be meeting my future (and now present) husband later in that same month.
To me, these heartfelt words of my younger self are still fresh and very much alive. They have no expiry date.
September’s Song
The September sun falls warm upon my face
as I blink back a lonely tear.
But to be alone isn’t so bad.
A decade of fragile dreams, dashed,
had prepared me for this season of solitude.
Hadn’t you known it was inevitable,
poor battered heart?
The gulf I see ahead is blue, unknown,
and strangely comforting.
I knew I would face it someday.
As surely as I had faced the impossible gulf
of a love that could no longer support us,
like a ropework bridge – frayed, rotted,
stretching into a sadder tomorrow.
No, it couldn’t be trusted to help us across.
I finally accepted its condition and turned away.
The summer of change has passed,
and an autumn of new beginnings beckons.
A crisp welcome breeze blows
the last stray doubts from my mind.
I watch a dry russet leaf skitter and dance
to a uniquely different song, of a September that holds
the inviting promise of a life not ending,
but reborn.
I know our Atlantic Canadian summers are short and I treasure the warmer days while they’re here, but there is something about this season of change I truly love as well.
Late summer and early fall has a uniquely different quality, where on a sunny day the air lends a crisper, more metallic edge to the natural world. (This love affair hinges on one important caveat: that the northeast wind doesn’t blow too much and turn our world chilly and wet for days on end.)
The outlines of clouds against the steel-blue sky look sharper, heralding the approach of what is to come. Most foliage and grasses are still summery green. I relish them all the more, knowing the colours will soon transition into vibrant shades of red and gold before finally fading to the cool grey and white hues of late autumn and winter.
It is a season of harvest and renewal, a time of new beginnings and the dawning of fresh ideas. The kiddies are back in their classes. Though my own school days and child rearing years are well behind me, I still feel that push of motivation into new plans and goals, to make the transition into a stricter work schedule, to get back to writing more in the coming months. November and NaNoWriMo are still a ways off, but I strive to clear up all loose ends in preparation for – dare I say it without jinxing myself – a 50 thousand-word first draft of a brand-spanking new novel.
Then there are the berries. Where would this season be without the berries?
fruits of the first trip
…and fruits of the second
In two afternoon jaunts, the blueberries are now picked, and it won’t be long before we are in on the barrens again to pick partridgeberries. (In other parts of the world, these lovely bitter, relatives of the cranberry are called lingonberries or cowberries.) I make plenty of the “patchy-berry” jam for my other half since he likes it on his morning toast all year round, not to mention in the occasional pastry tart with a generous dollop of thick cream.
Especially anticipated, besides an excursion on the barrens, is picking the plump, juicy partridgeberries that grow right here on our land. I checked all around the Point last week and it looks like a bumper crop this year, probably a sign of how plentiful their growth is everywhere else. They, along with the blueberries and the cod from the food fishery, will go a long way in keeping our deep freeze full for another winter.
Coinciding with the cool-down in temperature is a return to more bread-baking. There’s nothing like the smell of a fresh batch from the oven to take the chill out of your day.
“Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.”
– F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
What do you like the most about this time of year?
Relief from the heat? A return to a more orderly schedule?
Getting the children out from underfoot and back in school?
Or are you sad because the summer is nearly spent?
Do tell!
This post was inspired by Ailsa’s Travel Theme: Seasonal.
She was the girl, the self-conscious new student who had her chair pulled out from under her in morning assembly.
She was the teen they loved to humiliate for being human, had ugly words about her scrawled inside her textbooks.
She was the young woman, the doe-eyed bride who rushed in,
got in over her head. She wondered
where the vows of love went, or what she did wrong.
She was the jaded, weary soul bullied by family, by pain,
by life. Sometimes
it all comes back on her
in waves. She dreams of being nowhere.
***
It’s that time of year, the long Labour Day weekend, the last chance for many of us to pay homage to fun, sun, and summer vacation. September is firmly in place and the majority of children will head back to their classrooms this week.
This is not meant to sound preachy or ranty. It is simply a plea. Whether you are a student, a teacher, a parent, a spouse, a co-worker, a community citizen, or a bystander-witness, please consider taking a conscious stand against all forms of bullying.
Why? Because whatever action you take – or don’t take, someone’s well-being, someone’s future, SOMEONE’S LIFE just might depend upon it.
Jennifer's Journal 