For what it’s worth

By Jim Studer

I could feel it in the evenings of late August. The cool refreshing temperature reminded me that a gift was on the way. AUTUMN. For me it is the “most wonderful time of year.” The season is a sensual celebration. It is a dessert to the entree of the seasons.

The joy of spring and summer baseball is almost over, the hollow sound of a punted football further signaled the arrival of the season. Cool evenings are perfect for football; the clack of shoulder pads and helmets, the sound of marching bands, cheerleaders chanting, topped off by homecoming slogans, it’s autumn.

Years ago the first two weeks in October made it official, the Fall Classic; the World Series immediately began as the regular baseball season ended. The American and National League sent the marathon winners to the arena. Games were played in the sunshine of warm October afternoons. By October 15th we had a World Champion.

As I eye the sumac along the roadside turn a blazing red, I look forward to the golden leaves of the poplar and birch. The maple soon offers as many hues of red as there are varieties of maple shedding their classic shaped leaves. The darker rusty red oak leaves last the longest.

The colors of autumn are further highlighted by apples on backyard trees and in Minnesota orchards. Thanks to the University of Minnesota, dozens of varieties of green, yellow, pink, and red tease the palette. For me the best is a sweet Macintosh. The selection of apples stems from a juicy bite to slices of fresh baked pie, or a plate of apple crisp followed by the sipping of cider. A stop at one of several dozen orchards may offer the smell of alfalfa on a hayride or the jingle of a harness bell on a pony ride.

The season teases my senses even more. I hear the rustling of leaves tossed by a gust of wind as they blow across the street, lawn or field. A chilly, clear evening walk along a country road or a small-town street brings the music of fall alive. Sitting on a glider on a porch wrapped in a blanket may be almost as good. Walking the road or sitting on the porch, I hear the sound of the far away barking of a dog or the toot of a lonesome train whistle. More common years ago, I could smell the burning of leaves or the aroma of a campfire, fireplace or woodstove. On a moonlit night the curls of smoke brush the sky.

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