As I sat out on the porch this morning, holding my coffee cup to my cheek for warmth, I was startled to hear fierce honking way down on the pond in the meadow.
“How can it be time for the Canada Geese already?”
But it is time. It is October and the season is changing quickly this year. Last week, Round Meadow was green, this morning it is yellow. Soon I will be able to look into the woods and see the meandering path along the creek, well-hidden during the summer growth.
Autumn has been a season of falling in love for me. I don’t overlook the irony of falling leaves, the smell of decay and the very soon frigid temperatures of late November. But is there not a sense of abandonment with the garish and lovely hues of reds and oranges and burnt sienna, the bluest of skies, the false promise of Indian Summer days?
My seducing powers lay in cranking up the old apple cider press, a bonfire, a hint of Captain Morgan’s special rum, Fall’s own spice permeating the fragrant air. It is not the hour for Spring time clarity, but rather the moment to reach out and grasp what may soon be covered by the winter’s snow.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
A Moment in Childhood
“There is always one moment in childhood
when the door opens and lets the future in.” Graham Greene
I wonder if each of us can name that moment. I can.
Growing up in the mountains of West Virginia where one’s childhood world is not much bigger than the neighborhood friends on the hill, the grandparents’ home within an easy walk, the family’s church and the church that becomes family, the occasional trip into the county and maybe to the big city of Clarksburg, I lived in an insular and safe cocoon.
At the age of seven my world was blown wide open by a trip to the World’s Fair in New York City. For the first time, I encountered escalators in department stores, a hotel room on the 20th floor -higher than I’d ever been before - masses of people of varying colors and speaking languages that bombarded the ears. Heck, even the full-sounded accent of the local taxi driver sounded foreign to my mountain ears.
The 1963-64 World’s Fair focused on Fantasy and a vision of a Futuristic World. The Jetsons of my Saturday morning cartoons were suddenly real. I rode on a moving sidewalk, stood with my mouth wide open at laser shows, ate food that astronauts would eat - my first drink of Tang and crunchy so-called ice cream in a bag. Medical science was actually dreaming of a human heart transplant!
As I looked around at pavilions from most of the countries on the planet, my sister Annie grabbed my hand and led me to a seat on a small boat. We went into a tunnel and the wall speakers began to blast what would become a familiar tune to all: “It’s a small world...after all....” And I knew then the world, the whole wide world, could be mine.
when the door opens and lets the future in.” Graham Greene
I wonder if each of us can name that moment. I can.
Growing up in the mountains of West Virginia where one’s childhood world is not much bigger than the neighborhood friends on the hill, the grandparents’ home within an easy walk, the family’s church and the church that becomes family, the occasional trip into the county and maybe to the big city of Clarksburg, I lived in an insular and safe cocoon.
At the age of seven my world was blown wide open by a trip to the World’s Fair in New York City. For the first time, I encountered escalators in department stores, a hotel room on the 20th floor -higher than I’d ever been before - masses of people of varying colors and speaking languages that bombarded the ears. Heck, even the full-sounded accent of the local taxi driver sounded foreign to my mountain ears.
The 1963-64 World’s Fair focused on Fantasy and a vision of a Futuristic World. The Jetsons of my Saturday morning cartoons were suddenly real. I rode on a moving sidewalk, stood with my mouth wide open at laser shows, ate food that astronauts would eat - my first drink of Tang and crunchy so-called ice cream in a bag. Medical science was actually dreaming of a human heart transplant!
As I looked around at pavilions from most of the countries on the planet, my sister Annie grabbed my hand and led me to a seat on a small boat. We went into a tunnel and the wall speakers began to blast what would become a familiar tune to all: “It’s a small world...after all....” And I knew then the world, the whole wide world, could be mine.
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