Down south we can have some pretty brutal winters. Not like my neighbors, who have a home in Wisconsin also. It might be ten below zero up there while it is a freezing 30 degrees in Louisiana. But for those of us who live down here, 30 degrees of humid air is very cold. It somehow seeps straight into the bones, chilling the very marrow.
Then comes our summers in south Louisiana. June is filled with fireflies, the scent of fresh watermelon and blue berries, and humid warm afternoons that slowly become a melting pot of weeds, swarming insects, afternoon showers and steam barreling up off the asphalt while frogs and crickets screech and croak to the late sinking sun. Both of these seasons prove taxing on the body and mind leaving us frustrated trying to salvage some beauty in the gardens and flowerbeds.
This is the reason I feel autumn and spring become so celebrated. Down south it is the earth's transitional phases and within these realms great beauty resurrects from the soil and sprouts on the trees. Fall is my favorite time of year for more reasons than Halloween and the Washington Parish Fair. It is the smell of BBQ on the backyard grills along with the gassy vapors released from the dying leaves. Acorns pop on the roofs of houses and cars sending squirrels scurrying in every direction barking at one another. Hay is being bailed in the surrounding fields with the hum of tractor motors and pickup trucks. And very early in the morning stepping out onto the front porch offers a morning caress of a dry cool breeze known as a "not hot front" swirling all the smells of autumn into one swift greeting.
This is autumn in the south and with it means pulling out the scarecrows, pumpkins and mums. It means digging out the fall recipes of soups, pumpkin pie, and nut bread. The colors of fall are splashed around the house to mimic those in the yard and flower beds. And as the animals store up food and find places to hunker down in the cold winds coming, we as humans do the same thing planning the layout of our greenhouses, trimming back greenery, and preparing the soil for a winter garden.
The celebration of a harvest season will eventually fall dormant to Old Man Winter who creaks and groans in the branches and our bones. The days are short and overcast, damp and gray. We actually hope for a few deep freezes as frustrating as they can be to keep our plants alive because we firmly believe it will hedge off in influx of mosquitoes and snakes once winter passes. In all my years this has seemed to be the case.
Spring soon erupts and Mother Nature puts on her Easter Bonnet with quite a spray of flowers, grass, clovers, and leaves. The chilly mornings warm up to brisk but warm afternoons with bright sunshine. The baron trees begin to rustle again when the March winds kick up and the quiet winter is no more. Gardens burst from the freshly turned soil bearing vegetables and fruit for the table. And the humidity even seems lighter as one front after another pushes through each time weakening a bit more until the breeze dies down and settles into solid heat.
So here we are. Life in transition. I have traveled to Hawaii twice and both times were touched by the tropical beauty and both times left with ulcers in my mouth from devouring the sweet pineapple. And both times I was happy to wave goodbye to return to the lush, fickle, moody land of the south. "In everything there is a season." Here's to autumn!
