The first emotion autumn brings me is an extreme urge to move on. Summer's dying and I need to travel, quit my job... leave. I need to learn, wander, wonder. Time to work and move on and join autumn sports. September is a learned habit to pack up, start school, travel, move.
And then, or at the same time, I start to want to settle down. Cooling air makes me want fuzzy blankets and someone to share them with. I want fall colours and cable stitch sweaters to wear with my bluejeans. I want to make jam from our harvest, collect firewood, hunt and knit burnt orange touques to keep me warm through the winter cold. I want an acreage and an orchard. Some dark cool dirt to dig in and a fireplace to come inside to.
Here we can climb wooden ladders with laden canvas totes. Gala, Honeycrisp, Delicious, Macintosh. You better believe I can bake a mean pie. I can milk a cow, make yogurt, cut meat to stock the freezer. I've pressed juice, made pickles and dug potatoes. This is where I'm from.
But I have a backpack by my bed. And a tendency to search airline tickets when I'm supposed to be paying bills. I have mind-stretching universities in my bookmarks and a tank full of gas that begs me to use it every time I drive to the edge of town. Rusty Spanish that begs to be stretched out. Energy to wear out on the ice, the judo mats, the ski hill.
Fall brings out both sides of my excess energy. Estrogen and testosterone in a mad and endless clash. This fall neither will be much of an option. I'll need my silly little side projects. No month long road trips or beer in hostel basements. No international markets, or no running my own local booth. I'll be wearing out my fight in a dojo and wondering why I'm settling for middle ground.