A Nihal Fall

The Northeast exhibits a wild spectrum of weather—rain, humidity, snowstorms—without the mortal danger posed by hurricanes or tornados.  But variability also has a downside:  rarely is the weather perfect.  July’s humidity feels like you’ve been basted in motor oil.  And a vicious January cold snap can leave you wistfully reminiscing about the previous July’s basting. 

But for a few days each fall, the climate gods smile.  The native conditions are still grounded in warmth, providing trees and grasses with a last chance to make some food out of sunlight.  In September, shorts and t-shirts still rule the day, with apple picking and Mets late season collapses setting an annual backdrop for summer’s last gasp.  At night, the air feels drier, and is just chilly enough to sleep with the windows open while seeking refuge under a down comforter.

With some luck, October gets its share of this weather, ideally on a weekend.  On those days, I’d fire up my John Deere lawn tractor, set to blow the leaves which have fallen in my backyard into the woods behind.  The leaves singed by my blade, the tractor’s exhaust, and the freshly-mowed lawn clippings all combine to deliver a smell that encapsulates fall.  Although the sun seems to set just a bit too early, it lends an encompassing red glow to the chore’s final act.

The killing frost isn’t far away, and that’s a good thing. I’ll pull my unfashionable green parka out of the closet, ready to bask in my favorite season, winter.  Local TV weathermen, banished into irrelevance by the temperate fall weather, fire up their graphics machines and rub their hands in anticipation of the metaphors which will allow them to compare a 10-inch snowfall to Armageddon.   

Fall always seems short, compressed on both sides by its more noisy siblings.  But those few days on which the season performs a solo on the climatic stage seem to redefine perfection. 

Fall 2007.  Minuteman National Park. Concord, Massachusetts.