{"id":14675,"date":"2016-10-16T06:47:16","date_gmt":"2016-10-16T10:47:16","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.katrinakenison.com\/?p=14675"},"modified":"2016-10-16T06:47:16","modified_gmt":"2016-10-16T10:47:16","slug":"a-hymn-to-october","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/a-hymn-to-october\/","title":{"rendered":"a hymn to October"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"img_0911\"<\/strong>I<\/span>t is one of those late, mild, autumn days that feel particularly precious in New England. We love them even more because those of us who live here know the rhythm of our seasons all too well. There won\u2019t be many more afternoons like this one.\u00a0In just a week or two, the landscape will be entirely different, scrubbed and bare, gray and frozen, far less hospitable. As I type these words, the world beyond my kitchen windows is bathed in molten sunlight. Bright yellow leaves drift down from the maples nearest the house, so that even the ground seems to glow and burn with light.<\/p>\n

\"img_0895\"As always in October, I find myself thinking backwards, aware of the special resonance this month has had for me for as far back as I can remember. As a child, I loved October because it was my birthday month. I\u00a0associated the brilliant change of season with the big change for me of being another year older; the two went hand in hand, just as did chilly mornings and knee socks. I remember brief, gasp-inducing October swims in icy waters; fried dough and ferris wheels and charcoal birthday portraits on gray paper at country fairs; the winey, intoxicating fragrance of Concord grapes ripening by the roadside. The Octobers of my childhood included pumpkins to carve, Halloween costumes\u00a0to make, and so many leaves to rake into piles under my father’s instruction\u00a0that my hands would sport blisters before the work was done.<\/p>\n

\"img_0928\"E<\/span>arlier today, a wooden crate of Macoun apples at the farmer\u2019s market made me suddenly miss my now-grown boys as they once were. \u00a0How I would love to relive\u00a0our old apple-picking and pumpkin-choosing traditions. Autumn was always\u00a0a good time to be a mother. The truth is, having children gave me permission to be a kid again myself, to spend hours \u00a0with my sons stirring pots of applesauce on the stove, gathering acorns, and pressing the most perfect\u00a0red leaves between sheets of wax paper tucked into our fattest books.<\/p>\n

\"img_0906\"Those days are long gone. Instead, with one son apartment-hunting in New York City and the other fully immersed in\u00a0a new job in North Carolina, I remind myself that my husband and I did our jobs; that our task now is to live deeply into this current\u00a0life chapter in which past and present are layered together, the sum of all our hallowed yesterdays simply bringing more depth and meaning to this ephemeral, precious present. \u00a0\u00a0And so, alone\u00a0at home, I allow a particular slant of sun through the trees to draw\u00a0me across the road and into the woods. \u00a0As I walk along the familiar path,\u00a0the soft peaty earth and dappled light give rise to long-forgotten memories of riding my horse through the autumn woods as a girl of fifteen. \u00a0I cherished the freedom of those wild, solitary explorations after school, when I could disappear for hours with no one worrying about me or even much caring where I was. The horse was trail-worthy and my seat was good, and so we were entrusted to take care of each other, my Morgan mare and I.<\/p>\n

The scent of woodsmoke from a neighbor\u2019s fire brings back memories of gathering around our own backyard blazes, just as the carpet of pine needles alongside the road catapults me even further back in time, to another October when I collected paper bags full of them as a child for a neighbor to spread over his strawberry patch. Perhaps all autumn memories tend to be\u00a0bittersweet, burnished by time, a reminder that change is our only constant, that nothing lasts. \u00a0“To every thing there is a season,” we’re told in Ecclesiastes, “and a time to every purpose under the heaven.” \u00a0Here on the cusp of sixty, these words take on a deeper kind of truth, for there is no holding on to what’s past, no grasping at that which has already slipped away: \u00a0youth, my sons’ childhoods, loved ones no longer with us, the summer’s long, bright days. \u00a0There is only now, this season, in all its fleeting finery.<\/p>\n

\"img_0898-2\"I<\/span>n recent years, my own experience of October has acquired shadows. Two of my dearest friends both died in October, one just a year ago tomorrow. I\u2019ve thought especially of my friend Lisa every day these last few weeks, sensing just how thin the veil really is\u00a0between the earthly realm and the heavenly one. Even something as subtle as the quality of light in the afternoon can erase time, so that we are once again sitting on her sofa as we were last autumn, gazing out the windows and marveling at the way\u00a0the sun can\u00a0turn\u00a0ordinary\u00a0trees into gold.<\/p>\n

\"img_0883-1\"Of course, I\u2019m also remembering every\u00a0\u201clast\u201d of my friend\u2019s heart-wrenching journey, recalling exactly where we were on each of these October\u00a0days last year, the quiet vigil at her bedside, way the world seemed to grow more tender and more beautiful as she released her hold on it, and how, at the end, the swirling leaves and clear night sky seemed to affirm the vast mysteries within which our own human destinies are enfolded.<\/p>\n

\"img_0873\"Yesterday afternoon, with\u00a0the first serious frost of the year approaching, I cut as many nasturtiums as I could, a final bouquet of cosmos, a few of my \u00a0favorite plum-colored zinnias. I filled all my vases with the season\u2019s last blossoms and then stood outside to watch the nearly full moon rise, feeling the temperature drop steadily by degrees.<\/p>\n

\"img_0924\"There\u2019s never any way to predict the vagaries of weather, the first cold night, the inevitable end of one season and the invisible beginning of another. \u00a0And so when I left home for a long-planned trip to England a month ago, I knew the garden might not wait for me. While I was hiking in the Cotswolds with a group of wonderful women friends \u00a0(more about\u00a0that journey on another day) and then exploring London\u00a0with my husband, I knew I might also be missing the peak moments of a season\u00a0I always treasure at home. \u00a0How could I not be here for that brief, dramatic hour\u00a0when every leaf on the maple tree outside our\u00a0bedroom window turns yellow\u00a0and then suddenly begins to glow, like an enormous golden torch set ablaze by the sinking sun? To travel is always to forgo the fleeting, irretrievable transformations\u00a0that occur\u00a0in your own corner of the world, moments that unfold in all their splendor\u00a0whether you\u2019re there to bear witness to them or not.<\/p>\n

\"img_0908\"F<\/span>rost often comes in September here on our hilltop, and certainly no one would place a bet on nasturtiums after October 1. And so all I could do, as I tramped through England, was hope. The basil would be gone by the time I\u00a0arrived back in\u00a0Peterborough, no doubt about that.\u00a0But I figured I might return home to\u00a0find some sturdy, spicy arugula leaves still green enough to cut for salad. Always, I am greedy when it comes to fall. Lovely as it was to spend those weeks overseas, I was also eager to get home. \u00a0I \u00a0wanted one more\u00a0trip to the farm stand, a final satchel of summer\u2019s tomatoes, a few long golden walks down our road toward town, and most of all, this: a last, leisurely\u00a0stroll through my garden, scissors in hand. And then, to stand outside at dusk, watching the day\u2019s transparent\u00a0colors drain from the sky, the mountains turning rose then purple, then gray, then shades of\u00a0black. The full, Hunter’s moon hanging in the sky. \u00a0A house full of summer’s final flowers. I got my wish.<\/p>\n

Here, a few more glimpses of this most glorious and poignant season\u2019s inevitable ending and some words to go with them. As L.M. Montgomery writes, \u201cI\u2019m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.\u201d \u00a0Me too. Oh, me too.<\/p>\n

\"img_0880\"<\/p>\n

“Just before the death of flowers, \u2028and before they are buried in snow,\u2028\u00a0there comes a festival season\u2028, when nature is all aglow.” \u00a0~ Anon<\/p>\n

\"img_0879\"<\/p>\n

” ‘Only today,’ he said, ‘today, in October sun, it\u2019s all gold\u2014 sky and tree and water. Everything just before it changes looks to be made of gold.'” ~ Eudora Welty<\/p>\n

\"img_0900-1\"“Even if something is left undone, everyone must take time to sit still and watch the leaves turn.”\u2028 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0~ Elizabeth Lawrence<\/p>\n

\"img_0805-2\"“There was something frantic in their blooming, as if they knew that frost was near and then the bitter cold.\u00a0 They’d lived through all the heat and noise and stench of summertime, and now each widely opened flower was like a triumphant cry, “We will, we will make seed before we die.” ” ~ Harriette Arnow<\/p>\n

\"img_0916\"“There is no season when such pleasant and sunny spots\u00a0may be lighted on, and produce so pleasant an effect on\u00a0the feelings, as now in October.”\u00a0\u2028 ~ Nathaniel Hawthorn<\/p>\n

\"img_0902\"“Delicious autumn!\u00a0\u00a0 My very soul is wedded to it,\u00a0and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth\u00a0seeking the successive autumns.” \u00a0~\u00a0 George Eliot<\/p>\n

\"img_0927\"“There comes a time when it cannot be put off any longer.\u00a0 The radio warns of a killing frost coming in the night, and you must say good-bye to the garden.\u00a0 You dread it, as you dread saying good-bye to any good friend; but the garden waits with its last gifts, and you must go with a bushel basket\u00a0or big buckets to receive them.” \u00a0~ \u00a0Rachel Peden<\/p>\n

\n

moments of seeing: reflections from an ordinary life<\/span><\/h4>\n

\"mos_cover_final\"Finished copies of Moments of Seeing<\/strong>\u00a0arrived early.\u00a0 This book was\u00a0a labor of love. \u00a0I worked closely with the designer, chose the paper, the cover, the size, and was able to create exactly the\u00a0book I’ve always wanted\u00a0— beautiful to behold and easy to read. I’m\u00a0thrilled with the way it turned out. \u00a0Anyone who pre-ordered a book\u00a0has probably received it by now. I signed over 500 copies\u00a0and my dear son Henry printed out all the the labels, packed every order, and carried them all to the Post Office.<\/p>\n

\"img_0852\"(NOTE: If you received an email about your advance\u00a0order from Scott, Accounts Manager at ES+W, LLC, I thank you in advance your quick response.) In the meantime, do let me know what you think of the book!<\/p>\n

If you’d like to purchase a signed copy, click here<\/a><\/strong>. \u00a0Buy 4, and your shipping is free!<\/p>\n

My husband Steve\u2019s company,\u00a0Earth, Sky & Water<\/strong>, is my official publisher for\u00a0Moments of Seeing<\/strong><\/a>, and the secure order page is at his company website. While you’re there, feel free to browse around and check out the\u00a0beautiful collection of nature guides, cards, and prints, too.<\/p>\n

FIRST READING<\/strong>: \u00a0NH friends, I’ll be doing the first reading from Moments of Seeing<\/strong> on Thursday, Oct. 20 at the lovely Hancock Public Library at 7 pm. \u00a0For details, click here.<\/a>\u00a0\u00a0<\/strong>Do come!<\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It is one of those late, mild, autumn days that feel particularly precious in New England. We love them even more because those of us who live here know the rhythm of our seasons all too well. There won\u2019t be many more afternoons like this one.\u00a0In just a week or two, the landscape will be […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":15183,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[22,30,5,33,14],"tags":[297,310],"class_list":{"0":"post-14675","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-change","8":"category-gratitude","9":"category-hearth-home","10":"category-impermanence-soul-work","11":"category-soul-work","12":"tag-moments-of-seeing","13":"tag-october","14":"entry"},"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/10\/600x600.png?fit=600%2C600","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14675","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=14675"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14675\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/15183"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=14675"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=14675"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=14675"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}