Autumn Memories

I love vacation in the autumn. I usually wait until later in September, but this year, I needed it sooner. I've been burning myself out, and it is time to listen to what the body has to say.  Now it will be a  time to sleep-in and savor some very quality alone-time.  Hubby will be working, and my son is on a trip to Michigan, so basically, until Wednesday when my son returns, the house is all mine.  And, I have been blessed with much cooler weather.  It seems as if when the hurricane passed us by, it took with it the heat. Ah, it feels good to be able to breathe again. Soon I will be able to use my oven...and cooking will go much faster.

 

 "The summer days are fading, as they must
From endless hours to short and fleeting light
The bird's once bright, immortal tune, now cries
A melancholy aura to the dusk
The children fiercely climb, and dream, and race
Before their wild and unchained days depart
And yet beneath the zeal lies a half heart
For there isn't time, there's only enough space
The sun seems low, a hazy orange sphere
Now reminiscing sweetly of the days
When endlessly before you summer lay
And as in the deep, crimson dusk you stir
Your soul joins with the birds in wistful brood
Crying for lost summer days, for childhood."
-  Shannon Georgia Schaubroeck, The End of Summer
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Harvest time is upon us, and when Autumn comes, so do the memories. I am reminded of my grandma. Some of my fondest childhood memories revolve around that special lady.  I think about her all the time; she was like a mother to me. She offered me that safe and loving feeling that I never had at home. When I was a little girl, this time of year was extra special; this was the time we were finally allowed to pick from the grapevine and the raspberry bush...I, working side by side with my grandma and grandpa; I felt so important, so loved ... as I popped as many of the fruits into my mouth as I was putting into my pail.  And never have I tasted any sweeter fruit...that sweetness that appeared to burst on your tongue.  Afterwards,  grandma would get busy; She never made wine from her grapes; instead she chose to make jellies and jams...and raspberry pies....always making sure that nothing was wasted...working down in that basement...the basement I had once painted with turpentine.  Sometimes I would be allowed to help, but when I was particularly rambunctious, grandma would shoo me out to play.

In life, there is a cycle that plays its own tune. Everything changes, and to everything there is a season. Grandma passed on when I was 16 years old, and I still miss her so; grandpa two years later. I guess he just couldn't live without her. Gone now is the house that was filled with so many fond and loving memories...gone now is the vine and the berries from long ago.  Gone, too, are the woods behind my grandparent's home where I could get lost for hours....and never be afraid, the place where I could go and pretend to be anyone I wanted to be.  And I knew I was never alone, for I could see the flashes from the corner of my eye.  The fairies were there, and they were watching out for me.  But all of that is gone, the trees are gone and the fairy lights that used to flicker in the night have been traded in for the neon street lamps.  The land was needed for homes, or so they said.

No matter what we do, and no matter how hard we may try, life is going to move on; time will pass, and people will come and go. Some will leave such a great impression on us that we will remember them always, while others may just be a fleeting memory. We are born into this life with so much love and wonder, but as we grow, we discover that life is filled with its bumps and bruises.  We grow older, marry, and have children of our own.  Sometimes we make the wrong decisions, and as we struggle to make sense of our lives and try to find a way out of our mistakes, we tend to forget those wondrous memories of our past.  They move deep into our subconscious for our conscious mind has far too much to think about.  Sadly, my sons will never have some of those memories, but they will have their own, hopefully.  They were raised in the city so they will never know the joys of a harvest, but I have tried to incorporate other things into their lives that will one day enable them to savor their own happy memories.

And as I am passing through harvest time of my own life, I once again take time to remember what was...and in those times when I need to draw upon strength and inspiration, I can close my eyes and go back to that special place, the my grandparent's home and see it just as it was, when I played there... when I was an innocent child. I can see the vines, the bushes, the woods, even the pathway that would take me through the woods to my mother's job.  I see the long shadows drawing at twilight, darkness falling upon the forest...and once more, I dream of a happier time at grandma's house.


Thank you, grandma, for all the memories...your love and your patience.