Sweater Weather

“I love the autumn, for its sense of melancholy seems to strike my need for sadness. There is poetry in the dying of the year and mystery as well.” Kyffin Williams

There is a sweet sadness that settles over me once I know that summer is over. What we thought was endless has come to a close. Long, hot, lazy days spent with my grandchildren; swimming, movies, sleepovers, and adventuring have ended. Towards the middle of summer, they get caught up in other activities. Catching up with friends, ball practice, and school shopping occupies their time. Then school begins and the laid-back routine of those carefree months is done.

The garden required daily attention for months; weeding, watering, fighting pests, harvesting and putting it up. Production dwindles and you must make the decision to keep trying or to give up. I hope to get a few more tomatoes and peppers before frost but generally tire of tending it and decide to pull the plants. There’s something sad about pulling up the last of the summer garden.

Our 20-year-old pool is my friend and nemesis several months of the year. The opening of the pool is a sure sign of spring, as the closing symbolizes the end of summer.

My husband declares every May, “It’s too early to open the pool, there’s leaves in it, nobody swims in it, I should doze it under.” The same four statements every year for 20 years. So, I open it when it’s time to, scoop the leaves out of it, try to keep it blue, the kids swim in it while it’s hot, and when we’re done for the year, I’ll cover it. Putting the cover on the pool and ratcheting it down is but another last rite of summer. I’m happy to report the pool escaped the dozer again this year.

The house plants are sitting on the porch reminding me daily that I should rescue them while I have time because this weekend might get cold.

Maybe this sadness comes from knowing winter will be on us soon. But for now, I’ll enjoy sitting by the fire at night in the backyard. I’ll wear hoodies. I’ll enjoy all things pumpkin spice. And I’ll wallow in the sweet melancholy that is fall, like a kid in a pile of leaves.