Fall has been in full swing for a few weeks and there has been nothing but talk of pumpkin spice lattes, caramel apple making, and leaves being thrown in the air. To me, fall is a beautifully scented, warm and cozy season. Yet, there is more attached to the description rather than spiced apple candles, pumpkin pie baking in the oven, and sweaters three sizes too big. Fall is actually not my favorite season, but the memories I connect with it are so vivid and filled with nostalgia that often times, my mind wanders to the warm, fuzzy places even cozier than the sweaters.
Fall is —
Three years old, sitting on a haystack and scarecrow scene in my grandparent’s backyard with my babydoll in hand. Faking sick because my mom isn’t at playschool. Stuffy noses and glassy eyes, with a promise I didn’t just get done crying. Carving pumpkins with my brother and fighting over the roasted pumpkin seeds. Carving pumpkins with my mom, when my brother thinks he is too cool to join, but just cool enough to still fight over the pumpkin seeds.
Fall is —
The beauty in the mountains before the leaves begin to drop. Also, the beauty in my front yard as I rake the leaves into a pile by my playhouse slide. Getting chestnut burrs in my hand after raking too far away from the Maple trees. Having a rotten apple fight, then wondering why my mom isn’t happy. Trick-Or-Treating with my brother, then promptly upon arriving home, hiding our candy from our dad. My grandparents trying to finally use up all the vegetables from their garden. Getting a belly ache from eating too many marshmallows, just because I like to roast them.
Fall is —
My father working on his dirt bike every Saturday afternoon, while I pretend his WD-40 is a new popular brand of lotion. My mother waking me up with hot tea, four spoonfuls of sugar if it’s a school day. Granny’s rocking chair and Grandma’s corn pudding, that only my brother likes. Granny teaching me how to make pumpkin rolls, resulting in making ten too many and having to find space in the freezer. Watching "Hocus Pocus" with my aunt and wondering if her and my mother are the actual Sanderson Sisters. Not finishing bags of microwavable popcorn with my brother — and even better, burning the single serving bags once my mom catches wave of our wasteful taste buds. My mom spraying Febreze through the house; The Febreze scaring my cats.
Fall is —
Football games, layering in school-colored blankets — green, black, and white. The hot chocolate that burns my lips and tastes a little like dirty water, but my cold hands not complaining about it. Pretending I like apple cider just so I can stir my drink with a cinnamon stick. Complaining about being cold and counting down the days till my birthday. Learning new things in school and rambling on about them at the dinner table. My mom’s homemade soup and my granny’s cinnamon rolls.
Reflecting back on the Fall days of my childhood and adolescence, I begin to realize that the mornings are colder and the leaves are starting to hit the ground on campus, but the feeling of this season comes from memories so clear that I can almost hear the crinkled fire in my granny’s back yard. It’s these memories that make me thankful for the people who love me, even when I’m miles away. Fall might not be my favorite season, but it holds a special place in my heart.
