I have always loved the Autumn. As a child, the smell of burning leaves was always the signal that the season was upon us. That, and a certain cold, damp mistiness that seemed to exude from the very earth.
Even these days, in this climate, when the nights close in early I get the urge to make stew and cornbread, pot pies and pot roast. I want to knit scarves and blankets, and store up firewood.
Of course, when I was a child, the storing up of firewood was the preoccupation of days. My mother and I would tromp through the woods, dragging home branches blown down in the early Autumn storms. It was cold and wet. Every twig or leaf we touched dropped its icy burden of moisture on us. It was maybe 45F, and hands and feet were freezing cold when gloves and shoes got soaked through. There wasn't much time between my getting home from school and sunset. The twilights got pretty short as Winter closed in.
Once home came the exquisite agony of fingers and toes warming up at the kitchen woodstove, with a cup of hot Ovaltine and cookies in hand.
There's nothing like cold to make you appreciate warmth.
Good morning, Ronni. Nice to be back.
ReplyDeleteThis piece of writing is so nostalgic for me. Autumn days, on our visits to Scotland, gathering all the leaves in buckets and basins to throw on the sitting room fire. At my Grandfather's request, of course.
Living in Rhodesia, we hardly ever experienced bitterly cold weather.
I really enjoyed reading about your memories...I found myself smiling.
Will try to get back a bit later to catch up. Too much work today, plus I start 3 days training tomorrow. Argh!