I remember autumn

Published online on Sunday, Nov. 09, 2008

Dear Nikiko and Korio,

For a farmer, the year starts anew in the autumn, my children. I've finished with harvests and with the first chilly night, start looking toward the next year. I remember autumn. And I give thanks.

I remember going back to elementary school as a student (actually in September, technically not the fall). The start of school was often delayed by the raisin harvest). I remember seeing friends after the long summer. The first date with a girl in fall -- and the thrill of romance. I believed I could start fresh and forget the immaturity of the past year. I then remember the first break up following the first date. I was abruptly reminded that others didn't forget my immaturity of the past year.

I remember putting away summer clothes, but only after trying to wear shorts for as long as I could. Shorts and sweatshirts didn't seem to be a contradiction. I remember getting out the winter clothes with the first cold front and the smell of mothballs. I wonder how toxic and intoxicating the fragrance was.

I remember how I loved daylight saving time. I was forced to come in early from the fields at 6 p.m. because it was dark. The end of 12-hour workdays was welcomed. According to my wife, this same day is the best day of the year. She gains an hour of sleep. Priceless.

I remember taking a late season backpacking trip when the mountains were wonderful. We had the trails and lakes to ourselves. The trout were hungry before winter's cold descended. Once though, we awoke to an early snow. It felt like White Christmas.

I remember the autumn smell of cut grass. It always reminds me of football and the allure of Friday night lights. In high school, most of the winning teams claim the "two-a-day" practices were worth it; the other 90% who were not champions don't necessarily share the same perspective. I remember wishing no high school sports team would end the season without a win. I remember watching the various sports seasons gradually began to overlap -- first baseball and football, then basketball and now hockey. Soon we'll have the World Series in the middle of November.

I remember fairs, parades and band festivals. Going to the Fresno fair. County fairs had their origins to celebrate end of the harvest year.

I remember as a farm family we didn't calculate "how we did" with harvests because the numbers and prices were not good. It "didn't add up" so we simply didn't. (Later, after a few months, we'd revisit the calculations when it wasn't as painful). The smell of manure on farms -- it was the smell of farmers returning profits to the earth. Delivering raisins knowing you had a bad crop -- too wet, too dry, moldy, lousy quality. Depressing.

I remember the falling leaves. Some years they were gorgeous; most years our valley leaves simply turn brown. Occasionally the winds churn at the right time and we witness a delightful day of leaves being scattered, running across the fields. The exception: my city friends who just raked their leaves. Bad air. The pollutants collected from the heat of summer and early fall, in the dead air they turn our sky a dingy brown. We have trouble breathing.

I remember eating the last tomatoes of the season -- in the Valley we can stretch the garden into November -- then finish with some fried green tomatoes. Discovering the sweet amber grapes missed by workers. I'd eat the treats in the fields. Holding a bunch above my head, with a shake most of the berries fall into my mouth. Sweet. Watching Dad finish the season with his own gourmet raisins, the best ones gleaned and dried on wooden trays in the yard. Mom and Dad would eat the treats throughout the winter, every morning with their cereal.