Autumnal Moments

You know it's fall when. .
-you have the urge to bake apple pies and fresh doughnuts
-you feel the need to shop for deals on mechanical pencils and line paper (even when no longer in school)
-you open the dresser drawer reserved for long sleeves and chunky sweaters
-you watch the backdrop of mountains around the house blushing with reds and russets
-you harvest the last armloads of yellow squash and string beans from your passing garden
-you find you are often stuck behind out-of-state cars going 35 on the way home from work
-you pull the fan out of your window and return it to its attic home
-you walk by the rock wall and smell a sweet mix of apples, fallen leaves, and damp dirt
-you find the beehives heavy with honey, ready for coming cold
-you pick up your knitting needles (or other crafty indoor projects)after months of neglect, and dream of ambitious projects like cable-knit sweaters and Swedish wool hats.

I find this fall different from any I can remember as it is the first September that I have not been entering a new year of classes and assignments. Instead, this autumn finds me looking towards a season of pouring coffees for leaf-peepers and preparing my resume for further adventures. I may be sharpening my kitting and well as sewing skills as I recently picked up a few more hours helping at a quilt shop in Londonderry. The shop is funky and fun with bright inspiring quilts that just might convince me to try my hand at my mother's Bernina.

Amidst work, my plans for volunteer service abroad move forward this week as I head to Boston on Tuesday for my interview for the Peace Corps! All my paperwork so far has paid off to get me a chance to meet with a recruiter and discuss opportunities and my qualifications. I only hope I can calm my nerves and that the journey will be free of car-problems. (You know the reputation that a Davis car has...)

Now I end with a fallish quote from Thoreau concerning autumn leaves, from the book I am working my way through, Second Nature: A Gardener's Education by Micheal Pollan.

"How beautifully they go to their graves. How gently they lay themselves down to turn to mold. . . . They teach us how to die. One wonders if the time will ever come when men, with their boasted faith in immortality, will lie down as gracefully and as ripe."