Fall is evocative of memories that rise like smoke sent to remind us that the change of seasons is similar to stepping through a door from one phase of life to another. We carry the past with us – sometimes as weight, or if we are lucky, as lessons learned – graduates of Spring and Summer.
As soon as I stepped outside and smelled that Fall scent this past week, I started reveling in the clear light and remembering previous years. I started thinking of the home of my birth and then of my neighbor. I have good neighbors, but the one who has been around a long time and lives next door turned ninety-three this summer. She and her husband were the same age, but we lost him back at the end of Covid.
They were both active and interested in life and stayed busy with their family and tending to their yard and friends. When my husband was sick for so long, Paul mowed our yard and repaired the mailbox that had started to lean. Barbara brought food to tempt my husband’s appetite. They were in step.
Spirit is a pervasive thing. It permeates how we live and think. She laid him to rest and she lived on. Through the past few years other friends have done the same. They learned to live in a different way. It became a common sight to see my neighbor in her late eighties and early nineties buzz past as I backed out my driveway on the way to work. It always made me smile. She was driving the riding lawnmower, picking up fallen limbs, or staking up beans or tomatoes she planted in the Spring.
I go through this process of memory and the sheer sensory delight that Fall brings every year. A few Falls ago she brought us a jar of apple butter that she had made. It had to be the best I’d ever eaten. It burst across my tastebuds with the flavors of Fall – apple, cinnamon, and nutmeg – truly amazing. A couple of years later, as soon as I noticed the first hint of Fall in the air, I remembered the apple butter and wished I could make it.
Thinking of apple butter and cooking, I remembered my mother, grandmother and aunts. Memories are truly a thing of the senses – carried in scents, tastes, colors, and the slant of light across the earth. I remembered jellies, biscuits and other dishes the women of my family had made. Good food is a thing of the spirit, and its memory lingers long especially when shared with others. Sometimes family is where we find it. My family members were no longer present, but my neighbor was. I called and asked her if she was making apple butter this year and if I could come and learn how she did it. So, one morning I walked over to her house carrying my cup of coffee to take part in a very old ritual among women – cooking and the sharing of skills from an older generation to a younger.
She had already done much of the preparation. Making apple butter doesn’t happen quickly. It isn’t “fast food.” She had bought a couple of bushels of Fuji apples and peeled and sliced them thin. Then, after a quick boil, she had put them in the slow cooker to cook all night. We pureed them and added spices and set them to cook some more. As I took notes, she told me that she’d tried different kinds of apples, but the Fujis seemed to have the best texture and sweetness for apple butter. We laughed because even though we were canning, we were doing it with a blender and a slow cooker.
I enjoyed that morning immensely. It came in the middle of a busy week, but it let me slow down and share time with a neighbor and brought back memories of family.
Barbara showed me early on that aging and loss don’t mean quitting living or hanging on tightly to the past. It means staying active and staying interested in life and the people around you. I’m not sure I’m as good at it as she is, but I’d really like to be. Aging and Fall often seem synonymous to me. Fall is filled with the woodsmoke of earlier times, with blazing color, and drifting memories. It glows with a special richness and beauty. I think age should do the same.