As I’m writing this, it’s officially the first day of fall.
Doesn’t feel like it out there. It’s hot. It’s humid. We’re still sending kids to school in shorts and t-shirts and lathering them up with sunscreen for their Terry Fox run.
And yet, the trees are doing what they do at the end of September: maples, starting as early as the last week of July, are now all getting ready for the big dance. They seem to start on top, with the colours filtering down over weeks like a slow drizzle on a sundae.
We’re seeing birds start to gather in flocks near the lake, getting ready to start their long trek down to Mexico. The monarchs are already on their way, although a few stragglers are hanging back. The squirrels are going…well…nuts, getting their winter stores stockpiled.
And, of course, everyone in the house has had their first back-to-school cold. At least that’s out of the way. Fingers crossed the next wave rolls along as smoothly.
And yet, the flowers are blooming, the mosquitos are doing whatever it is they do, and the chorus of frogs in the ravine are up all night singing love songs.
The long, lingering summer has us hovering on the cusp of seasons, waiting in the nebulous limbo for the inevitable drop in temperature that signals the coming freeze. Even the last couple of years have been mild through most of the winter — we can discuss elsewhere what this means for the climate at large — as we’ve had green(ish) lawns right up to the holidays.
But still, for the time being, the crops yield, the rain falls, and nature tracks time in its own way. And we’re left to think on whether we’d be better off just responding to those signals, and spending less time worrying about breaking time up into grids to hang on the fridge or pantry door.
Or, perhaps, finally figuring out how to make those two work together.
If anyone figures that formula out, let us know.