Autumn Glory and Autumn Stories

Autumn is filled with nostalgia for me. No season of the year is more likely to turn my attention back towards days gone by. Something in the vivid maple colors, the pumpkins on the neighbor's porch, or just seeing my breath as I step out the door reminds me that something is ending, nature's cycle is almost over, another year is nearly gone.

So many autumn memories surround me like leaves swirling around my feet.

I remember the October view through our front window of Laurel Oak Cemetery up on the hill, bright with orange and yellow and red beyond any artist's imagination.

I remember football games in the vacant lot next door to our house, usually with my older brothers and lots of the neighborhood kids. Nothing was more fun than that. A sandlot Super Bowl.

I remember each year when my little lawn mowing business would become my little leaf raking business, soon to be followed by my door to door Christmas card business. Got to make a living, you know.

I remember the hayrides out on Gray's farm or Bullock's ranch. I remember nestling in the straw, and awkwardly trying to sneak a kiss to my sweetheart, Carol . . . or Karen . . . or Joyce.

I remember the smoky taste of roasted hot dogs and gooey s'mores around a bonfire on those cool, crisp evenings.

I remember the very special Saturday when some kind friend gave my dad four tickets to a Mizzou football game. This time Dad decided to take his three youngest sons with him, not his normal approach. Why do I remember every detail of that day? It was a cold, gray afternoon, but we didn't care. It was wonderful. And yes, I remember the score, 20-17, Missouri defeated Colorado. Hard to believe that one day could be such a gift.

I remember the satisfaction of finally mowing down Mom's smelly marigolds along both sides of our long driveway, vindication for all the summer weeds and wasps.

And, of course, I remember what always seemed to be the unofficial end of Autumn, piling into our station wagon, heading to KC for our double-barreled Thanksgiving feasts with our grandparents, the Barnes at noon and the Hills for dinner. I was more stuffed than the turkey.

Autumn glory and autumn stories linger still. In more recent years I have been blessed to enjoy many more happy memories as a husband and a father. But for today, I'm just a kid, kicking through the leaves and none too anxious to grow up, let alone grow old.

Try to remember the kind of September
When life was slow and oh, so mellow. . .

Try to remember when life was so tender
That no one wept except the willow.
Try to remember when life was so tender
That dreams were kept beside your pillow.
Try to remember when life was so tender
That love was an ember about to billow.
Try to remember, and if you remember,
Then follow.