Fall's Promise

After a day of frenzied back to school shopping with the girl I welcome the quiet calm of this new morning.  The first week of September means a coolness and slight crispness is in the air.  This is always my favorite time of year-fall has always felt like renewal to me: when I was a child in a turbulent home summers brought a certain dread because I was settled into the home environment, surrounded by a chaos of emotions. So summer's end brought a feeling of hope and stability as I returned to the excitement and safety of school.

To escape the stressful confines of 'home' during the summer months I spent as much time outside as possible.  The woods excited me with their musty smells of damp soils mingled with fir and cedar boughs and the distinctive odor of the western skunk cabbage, Lysichiton Americanus.  The sounds of the forest: the birds, the insects, the frogs of the bogs, the cracking of old twigs under my feet, or the creaking sounds of the monolithic cedars as the limbs swayed in the breezes, all a symphonic score that was the both the sweetest music to my ears and soothing salve for my troubled soul.  The vast fields to the north and west that changed wildly with the seasons: summers turned the tall grasses a golden hue, the sedges prickling my bare legs as I walked.  Animal scat clusters and owl pellets littered the furrows between the grasses.

Summer's close brought the blackening from the field burnings. I watched both with apprehension and excitement as the field workers with their protective gear plodded along torching the grasses creating a smoky low burning fire-and I can still hear the crackling sounds as the dry grasses yielded to the flames.  The soles of my shoes were sooty from walking the freshly charred fields and the pungent smokey smell of the burnt stubbles was sometimes overwhelming but not enough to deter a child from exploring   freshly burned fields.

Fall brought the Indian summers-the horizon just above the fields appeared to glow from the sun's rays and Mt. Hood seemed to loom larger in the view to the east.  There was a certain pick-me-up in the air so my walks were brisk and everything felt quite vibrant.  The deer stayed close to the edge of the fields nearest the woods this time of year yet sightings of their gentle form were frequent and comforting.  The occasional sightings of coyote and fox thrilled me and excited my faithful friend, Koala, our blue-eyed Australian sheepdog.  When she spotted wildlife in the fields her bobbed tail wagged wildly as she stood her post-ears perked, eyes wide, and flashing her widest grin!

Spring brought the rains that washed the discarded remnants of the past from their hidden places down the slopes of the hills in the fields.  After each rain, mother and I would pull on our rubber boots, put on our coats and trudge into the fields to look for arrowheads and other stone tools crafted from the hands of members of the Molalla peoples, the original inhabitants of the area,  and miscellaneous old stuff:  pieces of broken purple glass, old buttons, marbles, broken china-flotsam from the pioneers who lived on the land after the indigenous peoples had been driven out to live a very different life on the Grande Ronde reservation.  My heart was torn between the guilt of enjoying the beauty of the land in our possession while mourning for a people who had lost their lifeways of living in such a lush, abundant environment.

Home meant isolation. If not for nature I would have felt quite lonely. Returning to school brought friends, teachers, and so many BOOKS.  Teachers provided assurances through praise and high marks.   School opened my mind.  The school girl version of me was the modern-female-scientist: at once botanist, zoologist, archaeologist, biologist, astronomer.  If there was a common name-there was a better sounding and far more interesting Latin name.  Every living thing, every object had a scientific name that I had to know.  Field notebooks littered my bedroom floor with notations on every leaf, rock, animal, artifact, star sighting.  I couldn't learn enough fast enough.  The textbooks, reading lists, filled me with knowledge-so much excitement and stimulation. Great works of literature filled my mind and moved my heart. Science teachings brought a keener interest in the workings of nature-the mechanics behind the forming of mountains, soils, rocks, and life itself.   Knowing more meant a deeper, more intimate relationship with the world around me-a world in which I could escape from the darkness of home.  I was genuinely happy at school-and those early years instilled in me a love of learning that is at the core of my being to this day.  And today, with each start of the school year, as I help my daughter prepare for the return to school, as I watch her at 16 years of age just beginning to come into a world of her own doing, I smile as I feel that same sense of wonderment, that refreshing spirit of renewal with the hopes and promise for what lies ahead.

J