One morning around the start of autumn, during our morning drive to school, my daughter relayed a conversation her friends were having about the crisp fall mornings that came with the change of season. I almost wrecked the car. The temperature that morning? Seventy-five or so degrees with typical humidity. Crisp? Where have I gone wrong?!? Crisp fall mornings are those that come with frost and enough chill in the air to sting one’s lungs, even if only for a second. Crisp mornings make us go back in the house for a heavier sweater before we make it to the car. We don’t have any fall mornings like those here, in my experience. If we’re lucky, we get some crisp weather in winter, though.

I suspect there are two factors at play with this young generation, most of whom only know south Georgia weather. The first is the power of suggestion and the second is relativity. We see the power of suggestion at play quite a bit, especially in the last few months of the year in these parts. In both cases that come to mind, it is seasonal. Since we don’t enjoy four truly distinct seasons here, we pretend. I have joked before about the pumpkin spice phenomenon and how it triggers a connection to that natural seasonal rhythm we crave this time of year. So, too, do our fall decorations.  

The wreaths of multicolored leaves and the cornstalks, gourds, and pumpkins we decorate with; these are all imports and non-native species for the most part. Our trees don’t really turn brilliant colors in the fall (I wish it were so), and I don’t see a lot of corn or gourd farming in these parts. Such things do communicate fall, so we embrace them anyway.  For those of us who came from places where the leaves actually change, the corn is harvested, and the pumpkin patches ripen, it stands out here, and feels as odd as taking a walk on the beach on Christmas Day in shorts (although I quite enjoy such walks!). I could expound on our winter themed decorations, but I won’t. I’ll simply note the absurdity of snowflake decorations in these parts and leave it at that.

Relativity is a thing, to be sure. We know this. After a hot, humid summer, even a slight reprieve is noticeable. To be fair, we have had a few days of “fall” temperatures this year. More than in previous years, it seems. Mornings in the sixties are nothing to scoff at and are very much worth celebrating. Not surprisingly, I hear a fair amount of commentary on the weather as I stand outside before services each week. We do notice the ups and downs of temperature, rainfall, and humidity. And gnats, but that’s a different issue.  

It is fun when we can go outside in long pants and not feel like we’re going to overheat. It’s also nicer to go outside for a walk/run/ride when it doesn’t feel like we’re breathing through gills. Gone are every-afternoon thunderstorms. In fact, although our “fall” isn’t like fall in northern climes, we’ve entered one of the parts of the year that is most enjoyable for many of us. This time of year brings a higher than usual number of perfect days that mix sunshine with moderate temperatures and rainfall. Don’t mistake my musings for complaints – I quite like these days.

I wouldn’t call any of the mornings we’ve had crisp by any stretch, but I understand why our next generation was pretending. I understand the craving for a change of season. Sometimes we need a change, even a small one. Sometimes we need to trick ourselves into realizing those changes, too. So light your harvest scented candle, and trill a “brrrrr” as you go out to get the paper tomorrow. The mercury should be measuring a cool sixty-eight degrees. If all those things makes it feel like fall, so be it. It is, after all.

Tom+

O gracious Father, who openest thine hand and fillest all things living with plenteousness: Bless the lands and waters, and multiply the harvests of the world; let thy Spirit go forth, that it may renew the face of the earth; show thy loving-kindness, that our land may give her increase; and save us from selfish use of what thou givest, that men and women everywhere may give thee thanks; through Christ  our Lord. Amen. Prayer for the harvest, BCP p. 828