Does the fall season deserve a bad rap?
As a pre-boomer kid, I had mixed emotions about this transitional time of year. We were back in school and had many months to go before summer vacation. In Philadelphia, what we referred to as Indian summer (a last gasp warm spell) was usually gone by the time fall become official at the beginning of the third week in September.
After putting away my baseball glove, there was football and soccer. But that’s all I had to look forward to besides school work and nights that got progressively colder and days that got grayer. The only break in this monotony was the Christmas holiday, which was three months away.
By about mid-October, my attitude would change. I guess after resigning myself to months of dreariness, some of the joys of the season flowed into my mind and washed away some of the negativity. I became aware of the beautiful colors of the many different varieties of deciduous trees in the woods, parks and streets of the area in which I lived. And, with the house closed up, there were great smells emanating from the kitchen such as a pot roast in the oven or pies baking. I even liked the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and still do.
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As the leaves changed from their autumn brilliance to a drab brown, they fell from the trees and covered the ground. In the ‘40s people racked the leaves into piles and burned them in the street; there were no ordinances against this type of activity back then. But before they lit a match, the neighborhood kids loved to dive into these soft piles and scatter the leaves once more. When we got caught, our job was to put the leaves back in piles again. Strangely enough, the smell of smoldering leaves was rather comforting.
Halloween was different in those days. Most of us dressed up in outfits made from old clothes found in the back of our parents or grandparents closets. Then we’d slip on the appropriate mask and go to the homes of people we knew in the neighborhood. The stuff we got in our shopping bags were apples, homemade ginger snaps, loose candies, and sometimes a couple of pennies to buy whatever we wanted. Nobody worried about some kook putting foreign objects in the food or hurting the kids in any way.
By November it was really cold and damp. It was too early for snow, but I remember the recurring needle-sharp rains that stung my face and hands. Once the rain stopped, the humidity remained high making the air seem colder than it was. “Raw” was what we called it. But the weather didn’t matter on Thanksgiving Day. Our house was filled with people and there was plenty to eat; because in addition to what my mom made, everyone else brought something special.
Over the holiday weekend, I’d help my dad put up the Christmas lights. Once this task was completed, he helped me set up my trains in the basement, so I could enjoy this once-a-year treat for the next six weeks. Come to think of it, the fall was actually kind of fun once I got use it.
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