all golden
story by LAURA LINDBLOM
The last days of summer romp into autumn – This clash of seasons comes about every year , and every year it is new and wonderful , as if we had never tasted it before , never savored the tang of those first chilly sweater mornings . Magically , the shadows lengthen . Mystically , the days grow shorter . Mysteriously , the sweet cool breezes tangle in the warm breath of the summertime and little by little , summer wears away . Little by little , the colors shift from a living chaos of growing green to the more subdued splendor of autumn . Already the sun tracks lower in the sky , and evenings linger a bit longer , the sun taking his time to set .
We go all golden into autumn , with golden , sun-kisssed faces a few shades darker , and golden , sun-touched hair a few shades lighter , and garden-stained , sun-bronzed hands , a little rougher , a little stronger . Wholly different creatures than the pale ghosts that emerged from winter ’ s darkness , rubbing our eyes against the sun , we greet the autumn with merry hearts and bright eyes , golden with summertime ’ s warmth , with vim and vigor and heartiness , ready for a new season .
Golden , we light up our homes as the days grow shorter . Golden , with lamplight and firelight in the cooler evenings and cooler mornings , and flickering candles for merrymaking . Golden , with festive fall colors adorning tables , and warmer throws for the furniture . Golden our countertops , with sun-ripened vegetables . Golden , with jars of jams and jellies , sparkling and steaming fresh and hot from the canner , to cheer us in the wintertime and remind us that winter doesn ’ t last forever . Golden-brown bread and golden pie crusts and golden summertime butter from a well-summered cow and the goldenest yolks in the eggs of summer-pastured chickens . Yes , we go all golden into autumn ! The evening skies blaze with new color , and the earlier-setting sun washes everything with deeper , richer hues . The sun rises later , and we watch as it crests the horizon , resting on the distant Badlands for a moment like a pool of melted amber before leaping up , clearing the horizon and gaining the sky .
I love watching the pastures turn in a year like this . Gently , they turn , gently , the grasses fading from green into a gentler brilliance of gold and red and brown as the summer wanes . The fields and hills don wreaths of golden flowers – sunflowers and curlycup gumweed , cinqfoil of different sorts , Jerusalem artichoke and goldenrod , and spikes of yellow mullein . Towering big bluestem and diminutive little bluestem , wheatgrass and brome , all textures and shades grace the pastures and grasslands . What a tapestry ! Yes , golden we go into autumn . Apples , all scarlet and green and gold , ripe for the picking , soon to be gathered by arms full and overflowing , hang like pendants beneath silvery leaves . Wild plums and hawthorn berries , coy and elusive some years , glint provocatively from the hedgerows and windbreaks . And with the first frosts , the rosehips turn brilliantly red-gold , tempting the forager with pricked fingers , and in the garden the foliage dies back , revealing a treasure trove of pumpkins and other winter squash , great golden globes , to be stockpiled , hoarded for excellent wintertime eating .
But not everything frolics and burns and gleams . While the winsome aspens scatter drifts of gold in ravines and on hillsides previous ravaged by fire , while the queenly cottonwoods , stately and tall , rain down their leaves like showers of golden coins , the sentinels of the hills keep watch . The dark pines seem to grow taller , darker , and more watchful , as if they know what comes after the autumn . The oaks , old and grey , nod their shaggy heads as they foretell the coming winter .
But we revel in autumn ’ s pleasures . We gather summer ’ s gold , gather it in and hold it close , like pirates , or outlaws , the bounty of the free summertime , of the green summertime , of the fruitful and warm summertime , and try to carry it with us into the colder days that always come sooner than we expect . So we gather and put by and bring in and put up , and we will taste the summer in the dead of winter , when all the gold has gone out , except what we keep gleaming .
Yes , we go all golden into autumn .
26 September / Octobert 2024