Years ago, when “Color Me Beautiful” was all the rage, I “had my colors done.” I turned out to be an “Autumn,” which didn’t surprise me in the least - in every possible way, from my reddish hair to the deepest reaches of my soul, I am a fall girl. This morning as I walked the dogs I felt that first snap of cold in the air, and saw leaves on the sidewalk, rendered terrestrial by two days of heavy rains. They were an indescribable scarlet, surrendering their lives in a blaze of color that jumped up from the dull, gray concrete and made me smile. It’s coming.
I know that there are people who adore summer, and who bitterly mourn the end of heat, light, blooming flowers and lazy days by the pool. I try to understand that, but my own yearning is for the end of that indolence and warmth. As the air grows cooler, the days shorten, and the leaves turn from endless green to an assortment of reds and golds, I feel a surge of energy and possibility. School starts, sweaters come out of storage, and there is a pencil-scented air of fresh starts. I will no longer feel vaguely sticky and frizzy all the time, and I can put away the light, bright clothes that seemed so fresh at the end of May, and now seem limp and exhausted. It is time for cashmere and long sleeves, flannel and layers in the richest browns, deepest greens and bravest shots of orange.
Do you remember how a peanut butter sandwich always tasted better when your mom made it? Just a couple of slices of bread sandwiching peanut butter. I’d make my own sandwich and it just never tasted as good as the one mom made for me.
I stopped at two grocery stores today and both were completely out of Libby’s brand canned pumpkin. Years ago, when I first moved to Fargo, I had a young neighbor (we were both young at that time) who grew up in a small town not too far from Fargo. She often talked about the wonderful things her mom could whip up in the kitchen. Once, when we were discussing some kind of pumpkin dessert, this neighbor told me the only kind of canned pumpkin her mom would use was Libby’s. That was enough for me. I’ve been buying Libby’s ever since, except for the times I buy an organic brand of pumpkin. But today, with no Libby’s on the grocery store shelves, I wound up buying the store brand.
I always look forward to Thanksgiving. Sharing the holday with my family, extended family, and a handful of friends. Each year, my sister-in-law and I alternate with hosting it. I do like having it my house because it makes me organize my clutter, clean where I wouldn’t normally clean, and repair whatever seems to be broken at the moment.
At first glance — and even, quite frankly, after extended contemplation — there is little to hint that the quince is one of the most delicious of fall's fruits. It is rough-hewn and blocky in appearance, like someone's first woodworking project gone horribly wrong. And should you make the mistake of taking a bite of it raw, that's kind of how it tastes too.