Now that I’ve had my first Pumpkin Spice latte of the season, it’s time to acknowledge the new season. Normally at this time of year, I write an Ode to Fall, a celebration of the changing seasons and all of the wonderful things to which we can look forward. So this year, I’m taking a slightly different tack. My daughter needed to return some equipment last week to Xfinity (it’s really Comcast – they can’t fool us), which is in the local mall, and we made a short pass through Old Navy just in case they had something indispensable or on sale for her wardrobe (or mine). We then ventured into the coffee shop there, a Gloria Jean’s, and there it was on the menu board: Pumpkin Spice. As my grandfather used to say, I can resist anything but temptation, so there it is. Like throwing out the first pitch of the season in Fenway Park, the first pumpkin spice coffee is a tradition, a harbinger of all things Fall. Speaking of which . . . .
Mosquitos are once again spreading joy and diseases. EEE, which started with horses but didn’t stay there, and West Nile. As far as I can tell, mosquitos serve no useful purpose. They don’t pollinate, nor do they contribute anything useful to fall harvests or the food chain. They come out at dusk and hum in that really irritating manner. Particularly those that somehow get into the house and circle around your head when you’re in bed and have just shut off the light. Before, we’d swat blindly in hopes of squashing them against something. Now, we’re filled with fear and dread, sure if they land and bite, we’ll be hospitalized in days, fully aware there’s no known treatment. At first, cases were reported down south, so we were pretty unconcerned. Then, suddenly, in the neighboring state, and now in the next town over, and we’re running to the hardware store for the citronella candles and restocking bug spray.
On the plus side, the back-to-school ads are subsiding as they’re actually going back to school. They started announcing that blessed event long about the first week of July. Like the Ghost of Christmas Past in A Christmas Carol. “Our time grows short.” Even before that first beach trip, that first fried clam roll or hot dog on the grill, those friendly reminders that “it’s just around the corner.” And, now it’s here. School children waiting for the bus on the first day, feigning smiles as though they’re happy. High school students have some smiles too, because for many of them, school is a social event in which some learning takes place. Teachers and principals looking equally “delighted” to be welcoming their charges back into session. Many genuinely are, but an equal number are thinking, “Please God, you couldn’t have given us just one more week at the beach?”
On the down side, we’re in an election year. Roadway signs for local candidates of whom I’ve never heard are out in abundance. Do I go online and look them up, seeing what their positions are? Or I could just wait until I have the ballot in hand and pick out random names I like. Those running for state offices are airing the same ads endlessly, as if seeing them twelve times between during prime time will convince us they’re sincere. There’s one crazed candidate for governor of New Hampshire who is vowing to protect our borders. There’s a picture of him next to the Trump wall in the Southwest, along with other images of him in a bullet-proof vest, and one of him with a headset in a helicopter flying over . . . . well, we don’t know. Yes, I do feel safer knowing that, if he’s elected, nobody will be just wading across the border from Vermont or sneaking in from Maine. We used to be comforted that in November, it would all be over, so we could either celebrate or commiserate. But now, with You-Know-Who running again, the process could drag out until the next election in 2028. You all know what I mean – more images of Rudy Giuliani standing in the rain, hair dye running down his face, questioning every vote count. Let’s put that out of our minds. Hopefully, by then, he’ll be back in Mar-A-Lago and up to his orange neck in sea water.
I was watching on of my favorite gardening shows this week. The British show, “Gardener’s World.” A fall episode from a few years back. Host Monty Don was demonstrating how to harvest pumpkins. I don’t personally grow them, but it was interesting. The other segments were “preparing your garden for winter”, “planting shrubs and dividing perennials”, and “what to move indoors”. All stuff for fall. To be honest, I don’t do much of that. I’ll wait until Spring and then tidy up a bit. Once my containers and beds begin to wind down, I wind down along with them. A little strategic deadheading and trimming. I don’t replace much, even though the sales are pretty good. Basic maintenance, and I’ll lavish attention on my houseplants. Consolidating, mixing and matching. Curating, I like to call it because it sounds more professional. Or, as our daughter regularly calls it, “squandering her inheritance.”
The other big plus of fall is the return of some of our favorite television shows. If you can remember, as we can, the days of “summer reruns”, then you’re truly, dare I say, older. Everything started in fresh seasons in the fall, and lasted until spring. Then, the programming wizards decided mix it up a bit. A couple of new episodes, then rerun a couple. That went on until fall, mainly because they didn’t make as many new ones. Then, to really confuse us, they’d start airing new episodes in the summer. Or late winter. Or whenever they thought we’d become complaisant. That is just rude. Her Ladyship and I are big fans of PBS, in particular murder mysteries. We’re rewatching “Magpie Murders” in preparation for the upcoming sequel, “Moonlight Murders”, starting in a couple of weeks. We’re also catching up on “Under the Vines”, about a vineyard in New Zealand, and a new season of “Murder Is My Life.” Most anything on Masterpiece is worth watching. “Hotel Portofino” is back with some interesting, dark twists, and they’ve just announced that “All Creatures Great and Small”, a real favorite, has been renewed for two more seasons. That will be back soon, according to the ads. We just have to hope that everyone going off to war will return safely. Again, as our daughter remarks, in a mocking tone, “anything with a British accent.”
So, here we are back in the fall. Time to check out the farmers markets and local produce. I went to one of our local producers last week to get some native tomatoes. I didn’t get any because they were charging $5.50 per tomato. And in truth, they didn’t look all that great, but must have been grown from spun gold seeds. We’ve had a solid crop of cherry tomatoes from the plant I put on the back deck. Lots of green tomatoes, which should be ripe shortly after the first frost. It has been a pretty good producer, though, but not quite enough for me to open a farm stand. So, we’ll just enjoy the fruits and vegetables of someone else’s labors.
That’s it. Bring on your apple cider donuts, your pumpkin muffins, your gourds and giant squashes, and all the heralds of fall. One or two trees have started to turn color – either they’re dying or they just like to jump the gun. We reach full color here in mid-October, when Herself and I take a ride or two, like other seniors clogging the roads, and she will remark, as she typically does, “If you’ve seen one tree, you’ve seen them all.” A devoted lover of nature’s beauty. Until next time, enjoy the crisp mornings, the mums in every supermarket, the displayed cornstalks, and the first tentative signals of Christmas decorations at Home Depot.
I'm Thinking...No! 