Fall Nostalgia

As the leaves change, I'm constantly reminded of the memories I made growing up in New England's colorful and cold autumn. I remember everything from special Pilgrims vs Indians dodgeball obstacle courses in gym class, to cutting paper turkeys out of construction paper and writing what I was thankful for in the bird's tail feathers. And even though this isn't a specific memory, I remember raking the leaves on a crisp Sunday morning, the breeze rapidly cooling the sweat accumulating on my face. I remember performing that task with great speed, as there was an apple pie and a football game waiting for me when I was done.

The painted nature of fall gives it distinctiveness. Looking out over New Hampshire mountain ranges and seeing the trees in full color is strikingly akin to staring at an abstract medley of colors on a Picasso canvas. If spring is a depiction of nature's youthful beauty, then fall is a mural of its venerability and stature.

Autumn is also when most schools start, and while that's always a tough time of year, I find it oddly satisfying to think back to when school was nothing more than group reading, playing, and eating. Those days when my classrooms had soft rugs and bookshelves full of colorful material instead of rows upon rows of hard plastic desks in a cold, clammy lecture hall. When reading didn't mean taking vicious notes and haphazardly scribbling diagrams from a textbook, but rather was an escape from reality; when writing could really transport the reader to a Magic Tree House, rather than to the remote, scientific specificity of a 1,3-dimethylamylamine. For some reason, the true magic of the human language really comes out in the autumnal months.

Does anyone else remember running through fields of fallen leaves, the scent of apples and winter on the air? Me neither. But I do remember picking apples from trees lined up in neat rows. Their colors complementing the polychromatic majesty of the trees which painted the backdrop of this quaint Massachusetts scene. There's something strangely primal about picking fruit straight from the tree. Perhaps it goes back to our hunter-gatherer roots. Or maybe I'm just looking too deeply into it, I don't know.

And how could I forget Halloween? Before Halloween meant dressing up in a silly costume with your friends and going to parties, it meant a schoolwide celebration, full of art, storytelling, and music. It's this holiday which is the hardest for me to describe because it wasn't purely about the horror. It was also about candy, jack-o-lanterns, and Halloween specials which only aired for about a week at the end of October. Halloween was about understanding that it's alright to be scared every now and again. It's that fear, and the jubilation which comes after it's conquered, that define us as humans.

Thanksgiving is a perfect cap to the season, as well. I didn't grow up in a large house, so we never had the Turkey day experience (at least, not until my friend invited us to his house for a full Thanksgiving feast), but I still look back on a day filled with football, food, and pies as a highlight of autumn. Not to mention the short break from school, which I appreciate more and more with each passing year.

I suppose the last thing I'll touch on is what nostalgia really means. That wistful affection from which we draw perhaps our deepest pleasure in recollection, yet also a great sadness from the knowledge that those times will never come again. As winter's first breath collides with summer's last once again, I'm reminded of the memories I made as a child growing up where autumn is experienced in it's full glory. And while I can't turn back time to relive them, I can honor them by appreciating this time of year and all that comes with it.