Tis the season of letting go here in the Northern Hemisphere. Having lived in the Southern Hemisphere on and off in recent years, I now know it would be smug of me to assume this applies to everyone in the world.
Autumn has always had this melancholic affect on me - unlike any of the other seasons. The gung-ho quality of spring and all its pointy shoots and bulging buds is contrasted with downward spirals and decaying seed pods after a summer spent strutting their stuff in the the damaging rays of the sun and wind and rain. Like us, life has taken its toll. These days when I dare to look too closely at my aging face (mostly by accident) in a mirror, I am reminded that I am in the autumn of my life. Suddenly the word crepey no longer conjures images of bistro brunches on the Seine but rather thoughts of Dame Maggie Smith or the cost of chemical peels and if I am destined for one or the other. However, as I sit and observe the stunning glory of the changing leaves from my perch here at Kyeema North, I am in awe of the pure gold in this annual spectacle that nature provides. The show changes daily now - the Maples and Sumacs and Oaks all competing for attention. “I’m more brilliant!” “No, I’m more stunning!” “HA!, neither of you can hold a candle to me!” They need not compare or try too hard to attract my attention. The blend of colour, like a perfectly choreographed dance is beyond any individual performance. By the time the show ends, a magical thing occurs. The scene that existed all along behind the lush foliage is revealed. A clarity beyond the trunks and branches pierces through, gifting us with an entirely new view of the landscape and season to come. By letting go of their pretty russets and aubergine coats they now stand naked. Their bare bones exposed and vulnerable yet strong. The weathered and dried coverings they once wore rest beneath them now composting into a nourishing mulch. Just as the spring and summer have led to this moment, my own springs and summers have brought me to my autumn. A long slow fall is what I wish for now. A gentle drift toward winter. The need for feather fluffing and ruling the landscape are follies of the past now. Peace and contentment have arrived and taut skin has been usurped by some well-earned wisdom. Is this how the trees understand it? Have they taken to heart their deciduous nature? Have they learned a few things? Have the rotted out hollows in their trunks given homes to owls or squirrels? Have their roots reached out to neighbouring strangers and helped ground them? Have they donated their canopy to provide shade? Have they shared their nutty bounty with all creatures? Is their selflessness not an inspiration? Is it not entirely possible that these silent giants that surround us, the wise teachers this world needs? Can the Cedars by the shoreline that stretch and lean toward the sun and water speak to us of adapting to one’s conditions? Was it only a matter of time before the forces of nature would topple the lone Stewiacke tree? Was Shubie too far from help? After almost 300 years on it’s own, did that red oak succumb to Hurricane Fiona or a lack of a support system, or both? What lessons are we learning? In October, it will be time to plant bulbs. Daffodils. Tulips. Hyacinths. Next spring’s parade of beauties are but a nugget of potential now covered in their amber onion skin jackets. Like the chipmunks and squirrels that scamper about stashing their acorns and hickory and butternuts, I will dig my own little holes and bury my bulbs. For the critters, it is food storage that will get them through winter. For me, it is a different kind of food. It is the anticipation of the soul food that will emerge from these fall plantings come April and May, making the harshest of winter winds bearable. The simplicity of this nature that surrounds us has been a soothing and healing balm to me these past five years. Living somewhat isolated from people may seem unappealing to some, but, like the Cedars, we have adapted to this environment - rooted ourselves next to the forests and fresh water. It’s a calming bubble in a chaotic world. As Thanksgiving approaches, may you all fall into your own Kyeema North. Wherever that may be.
14 Comments
Leigh
9/28/2022 04:01:33 pm
Awesome photo. Great read as always Deb.
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Deb
9/29/2022 05:16:04 am
Thanks Leigh…we have a beautiful view here.
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Patti
9/28/2022 05:08:36 pm
Another thought provoking piece. Thanks Deb and BTW you are beautiful too …
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Deb
9/29/2022 05:17:36 am
Awww, thanks Patti. 😘
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Cuz
9/29/2022 04:24:12 am
Excellent piece. The autumn of my life, which I too am in, has so far been a peaceful time. Although we haven’t slowed down a lot as you have pointed out to me!
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Deb
9/29/2022 05:20:07 am
Thanks Cuz…we all approach this time in our lives differently…as long as you’re happy - that’s what counts.
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Shannon
9/29/2022 05:25:14 am
Lovely lovely lovely!!!!!
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Deb
9/29/2022 05:28:51 am
Thank you. We sure think so.
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Nancy
9/29/2022 05:27:57 am
Wow, that's a great one Deb!!!
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Deb
9/29/2022 05:29:37 am
Thanks Nancy, it helps to have a beautiful subject.
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Heather
9/29/2022 02:10:45 pm
Beautifully written and definitely thought provoking. As Joni taught us," We're captive on the carousel of time We can't return, we can only look Behind, from where we came And go round and round and round, in the circle game"
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Deb
9/29/2022 02:13:37 pm
Thanks Heather...she had it right.
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Carla Bethlenfalvy
10/1/2022 10:15:34 am
Stunning photo, lovely words. So much to unpack in this eloquent piece!
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Deb
10/3/2022 08:26:36 am
Thanks Carla, glad you found it thought provoking.
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DEBunked.I see nature as a metaphor for life. Please join me on this journey down the garden path as I explore life through story - a shovel in one hand and a camera in the other. Archives
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