Fall is my favorite season, no contest — the break from summer’s heat, sweaters, the crisp smell in the air, apple pie, the way the Chinese maple bathes my kitchen in a red glow from it’s changing leaves right outside the window. Right now DaughterOne, without even knowing what I’m typing, is making up a song about about having hot cocoa and making stuff with snow. But, as much as I love fall, I find I’m always a bit sad in the fall too.
It is darker so much earlier — so once DaughterTwo’s nap time is over, it will be nearly dark already. And vegetables. I will miss the routine of going to our CSA Honey Brook Organic Farm, getting amazing veggies from them and picking flowers in the fields. I will even miss trying to figure out what to do with the abundance of lettuces, tomatoes and varieties of kale. And I will be desperate for it all far before springtime.
One of my favorite authors, E.B. White, said it best:
The crickets sang in the grasses. They sang the song of summer’s ending, a sad, monotonous song. “Summer is over and gone,” they sang. “Over and gone, over and gone. Summer is dying, dying.”
The crickets felt it was their duty to warn everybody that summertime cannot last forever. Even on the most beautiful days in the whole year — the days when summer is changing into fall the crickets spread the rumor of sadness and change.
Everybody heard the song of the crickets. Avery and Fern Arable heard it as the walked the dusty road. They knew that school would soon begin again. The young geese heard it and knew that they would never be little goslings again. Charlotte heard it and knew that she hadn’t much time left. Mrs. Zuckerman, at work in the kitchen, heard the crickets, and a sadness came over her, too. “Another summer gone,” she sighed. Lurvy, at work building a crate for Wilbur, heard the song and knew it was time to dig potatoes.
“Summer is over and gone,” repeated the crickets. “How many nights till frost?” sang the crickets. “Good-bye, summer, good-bye, good-bye!”
Charlotte’s Web by E.B. White, Chapter 15: “The Crickets.”
So, since none of my words would ever be as eloquent as that, here are some end-of-season pics from my inlaws’ garden and from family hikes around Hopewell, New Jersey.