I have no great love for the summer weather where I live (the southeastern part of the United States). It can be hot and humid to the point of enervation. But there are compensatory things available to us, like the possibility of getting away for a trip to the beach or the mountains. From time to time, even the muggy weather takes a break. The air is cool and gentle after an evening thunderstorm, and in the stillness of a balmy night, we can sit out on the deck and watch the flying squirrels as they hit the bird feeder just a few feet away. Flying squirrels are bold little critters, and why not? I would be bold too, if I could spread out my front feet and soar away at a moment’s notice.
And then comes autumn, just in the nick of time to put an end to summer’s wilt and fecklessness. Even now that I no longer have to “ready” a classroom for yet another batch of unknown children whom I will – mostly – learn to love, autumn is energizing. A teacher’s pay may be lousy, but anyone who has ever had a hand in enabling a child to read his or her first written word, or seen how a face lights when math concepts suddenly make sense, will understand what drives school teachers to gear up and start all over again, year after year after year.
At our house, autumn comes with a slew of family birthday celebrations in addition to the holidays, along with a double-slew of leaves that need raking on a crisp, cool, dry day. I’m not sure which activity rates highest (so long as at least one of my sons is around to give me a hand with the raking: solitary raking is just work). Consider the cheerful sight of pumpkins and squashes and scarecrows by the doors of my neighbors’ houses; consider a good fire in the fireplace to chase away the early dark and warm both toes and heart; consider the face of a small grandchild seen by the light of a candle-lit birthday cake.
And winter? We love to watch falling snow, or, on a clear night, the moonlight and shadows in our whitened yard. Bright winter sun in the morning reveals that the birdfeeder wears a toboggan cap of snow, which doesn’t bother the voracious finches and cardinals and chickadees perched on nearby branches, taking turns driving one another away from the feeding ports. But winter comes with a fine balance of plusses and minuses. This morning, the thermometer read 7º, and there was ice on the front walk, which made fetching the paper a bit challenging. We enjoy lighting the gas log of a dark morning, but we also leave small wraps and pillows around the house where they can be snatched up at need.
We do a lot of reading in winter, and we keep hand-cranked lanterns nearby in case the power lines suddenly go down. There’s no getting around the fact that cold isn’t fun for old bones and joints, but we concentrate on enjoying things like the wonderful smell of a really good stew on the stove, or the lightweight warmth of a big down comforter as we snuggle beneath it. We remind ourselves that in winter, at least, one can just keep adding layers of clothing in order to stay warm, whereas in the heat of summer, there is only so much you can take off before someone turns you in to the vice squad.
The seasonal changes seem to me to be worthy of special notice and celebration, even though I know the scientific explanations about the purely physical turning and tipping of the earth as it circles the sun, year after year. Those changes may be predictable, but then, in human terms, that predictability is comforting and at times close to thrilling. The age-old need to celebrate each season in full measure returns as a brand-new gift. I am aware of having piled up many memories, over the years, but I greedily want to add to them. I find myself quoting Emily Dickinson’s "O World, I cannot hold thee close enough!" — and then laughing at my own dramatics.But damn, it's good to be alive!
©2014 Julia Sneden for SeniorWomen.com
Details from Hendrick Avercamp ((1585–1634) paintings: A Winter Scene with Skaters Near a Castle, c. 1608–1609. Oil on panel, National Gallery, London.
Colf Players on the Ice, c. 1625. Oil on panel; Mrs. Edward Speelman
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