Nothing bubbles the excitement within our house like autumn.
Our calendar explodes with plans and activities for the entire month of October:
- Decorating the house for Halloween
- Fall and Halloween-themed meals
- Homemade apple pies and other apple treats
- Walks in nature to surround ourselves the warm colors of fall
- A visit to a pumpkin patch
- A night of screaming at “haunted” trails and attractions
- A fall or Halloween-related craft or art project
- Costume-shopping and make-up practice
- Visiting a cemetery or other local places of lore at night to tell ghost stories
- Bonfires and keeping packet of hot dogs and marshmallows in stock
- Trick-or-treating wherever and whenever we can fit it in (school, church parking lots, downtown special occasions – we are there)
This year, we were able to spend an afternoon at Bernheim’s ColorFest event. For a five-buck-per-car entry fee, we all enjoyed a $200 time. We launched pumpkins, folks, with a giant slingshot. We ran through a hay maze, made necklaces out of natural things foraged from the forest, made the prettiest mud pies you eva’ did see, played strange-looking instruments, and listened to fantastic live music (not crappy music, but actual sit-down-and-listen type of music).
At some point while perusing the artists’ booths, we were asked if we wanted to write a poem about our favorite season, trees and the hippies who love them (we kind of fall into that category), or why we love nature. My teens and wife were leery, and hung back.
Our 7-year-old stepped up to take a pencil for a spin with her imagination at the wheel. She chose to write about winter (spelling corrected for easy reading) and is untitled:
Holiday, celebrate, no leaves
Santa goes to deliver presents
She sometimes tells me she will be an artist like me, and other times she says she wants to be a writer like me. I tell her she can do both. I tell her she can do many things. I do.
Then I wrote a poem too. Moved by the moment of time with family I was fortunate enough to enjoy, I quickly penned the following (slightly edited from original):
Never a tree
More precious to me
Than mine, my family tree
Though it also be
Beyond flesh and bone
Its gold leaves
Are my home
I forget how much I enjoy writing poetry. I never forget how much I enjoy our Octobers, and that we don’t have too many left to spend like this.