“Back on its golden hinges

The gate of Memory swings

And my heart goes into the garden

And walks with the olden things.”

– Ella Wheeler Wilcox

What is it about Autumn that sends my mind wandering to memories of other years and other Falls?  Maybe it’s the distinctive aroma of Fall that fills the air — the musty smell of fallen leaves beginning the transformation that will return them to the earth.  Maybe it’s the vibrant color that is etched in our brains and re-awakened each year that makes the new days feel familiar and connected to times past.  Maybe we carry in our DNA the mixed feelings our ancestors must have felt at this time of the year, when “taking stock” really referred to making an inventory of cattle and grain and deciding how many of their animals could survive the winter on the year’s harvest — when “taking stock” meant deciding which of their cattle would be slaughtered so that there would be enough food for the rest.  Whatever the reason, Fall awakens in me a desire to review — not only the past year, but many years past.

I was thinking about this the other day, and I remembered a Fall day at my great-aunt Alice’s house.  We had taken our youngest children for a visit to their “double-great” aunt.  After a nice lunch at one of Alice’s favorite restaurants, the children decided to help out by raking leaves.  It was a beautiful Fall day — warm enough to leave the jackets behind and sunny enough to light up the colors of the season.  A lot of raking took place that day; but with all the jumping into piles of leaves, I really don’t remember how much progress actually was made by the time we said our goodbyes.

I remember thinking on that day that history repeats itself with each new generation.  I could remember my own childhood and the delight of pulling together piles of colorful leaves and jumping into them.  Aunt Alice could remember doing the same back in the 1920’s.  ’Where were those pictures,’ I wondered.  The bright colors and musky smells of this Autumn made the memory of that day so clear that I could still hear the children laughing as they raked and jumped and delighted in a memorable Fall afternoon.  A little searching uncovered photographic proof that this memory was true and not simply dèjá vu.

One look at the picture that held the truth about that day tells me that twelve years have flown by.  How could this be?  The little one in the center is now in high school.  Her aunt will be graduating from college this Spring, and her uncle is now married and the father of two little girls.  People grow and change with the years, but the cycles and seasons are reliable and familiar and constant.  Maybe Fall is a season of remembering — of taking stock — because amid all the familiar sights and sounds and smells, we realize that we have changed.  How wonderful that the recurring magic of Autumn can produce the vivid memories that once again allow me to return to a day long ago — and once again hear the joyful laughter of the children who now have grown.

Today I am thankful for the changing seasons and the beauty of the world around me.