The Equinox Has Arrived!

Happy first day of fall!

Or is it?

Meteorological autumn, in fact, began on September 1; September 22 simply marks the autumnal equinox, the second time in the calendar year when the days and nights are of equal length (well, also depending upon which latitude you are situated at!).

Here's more information about what happens on the autumnal equinox, from Space.com.

This day is also the celebration called "Mabon." "Mabon is a pagan holiday, and one of the eight Wiccan sabbats celebrated during the year...[i]t also celebrates the mid-harvest festival (also known as the second harvest)...[t]o celebrate this holiday, pagans might pick apples. Apples are a common symbol of the second harvest." Read more about Mabon from this article from the Boston Public Library and also at The Goddess and the Greenman.

Here at Autumn Hollow we think of autumn as our "social season": first the Yellow Daisy Festival at Stone Mountain Park, then Taste of Smyrna three miles "up the road." The North Georgia State Fair usually opens around this date, but we don't usually attend because it's still too warm. Following will be the Georgia Apple Festival north of us in Ellijay, the Friends of the Library Book Sale, and then perhaps the little magical convention "Conjuration" at the beginning of November.

This is followed by Veteran's Day, of particular interest to my husband and myself because both our fathers were in the service, and then what's my favorite holiday after Christmas, Thanksgiving.

It's also a time of changing leaves and cooler weather, "the sweater weather" I love best, and autumn foods like fresh-picked apples, cinnamon-flavor things, and warm soups. All hail autumn!

"Autumn"

Now, upon the brown earth’s breast
Fall the crimson leaves to rest;
Summer’s done—and laughing Spring—
What does gray-clad Autumn bring?
Autumn, like a gipsy bold
In her cap of red and gold!

Autumn, with her magic brush
Paints each wayside tree and bush;
Gilds the pumpkin at our feet
In the fields of yellow wheat;
Bids the wild duck homeward fly
Through the quiet, hazy sky;
Gaily through the orchard goes;
Tints the apple’s cheek with rose;
And with pleasant fruits and grain
Cheers the waiting world again.
There is loveliness sublime
In the earth at Autumn time—
Autumn, like a gipsy bold
In her cap of red and gold!

Edith D. Osborne, "St. Nicholas" magazine, October 1924

"Leaves"

by Elsie N. Brady

How silently they tumble down
And come to rest upon the ground
To lay a carpet, rich and rare,
Beneath the trees without a care,
Content to sleep, their work well done,
Colors gleaming in the sun.

At other times, they wildly fly
Until they nearly reach the sky.
Twisting, turning through the air
Till all the trees stand stark and bare.
Exhausted, drop to earth below
To wait, like children, for the snow.

Happy Leon Day!

"Leon" is "Noel" spelled backwards, and it's now six months until Christmas. Lots of fun upcoming soon: autumn leaves, Hallowe'en, cooler temps, Thanksgiving, Advent, pumpkins and cinnamon, peppermint and gingerbread, the dream of wintry breezes.

 

(And—O frabjous day!—finally the Friends of the Library book sale!)

 

All we have to do is make it through the sultry, stultifying, smelly, stinky, sweaty siege that is the remainder of summer.

 

I'd be happy for Independence Day, but the fireworks make the dog crazy...

 

 

Give Thanks for Your Blessings...Be Kind...Be Well!

Tales from the Past: "Franksgiving"

Throughout the nineteenth and early 20th century, Thanksgiving Day was celebrated on the last Thursday of November. Then came the Great Depression. Businesses were still hurting in 1939 when Thanksgiving would fall on November 30, and business owners hoped moving the date up a week would stimulate Christmas shopping and keep their companies in the black. President Franklin D. Roosevelt agreed, and so "Franksgiving" was born. Let's say...it didn't go over very well.

• FDR's "Franksgiving Debacle"

• When FDR Moved Thanksgiving: The Presidential Power Grab That Tore a Nation Apart

• The "Franksgiving" Scandal 

• POLITICO: "Franksgiving": The Time FDR Moved Thanksgiving Up a Week 

• The Unintended Consequences of "Franksgiving"

• Happy "Franksgiving"! 

The image comes from the film Holiday Inn; even films and theatrical shorts mercilessly drubbed this date change.

In 1941, Thanksgiving was officially designated as falling on the fourth Thursday of November.

"The Closing Year"

by Patricia Beesley, age 13, in "St. Nicholas," November 1932

Autumn's gorgeous banners

Fling their challenge from the trees,

And a host of hurrying warriors

Are marching with the breeze.

Oh, don't you think they know their fate,

As they go marching on their way?

It takes a hero's courage

To live only for a day.

For winter's leaden war clouds

Are spread across the sky,

And autumn's gallant army

Is going forth to die.

Winter's white-clad soldiers

Are riding with the storms

Against the leafy heroes

In their gay, red uniforms.

The battle will soon be over,

And the stom king will win;

For autumn fights her last fight

And winter's closing in.

The History of Hallowe'en

Happy Michaelmas Day!

Michaelmas celebrates St. Michael the Archangel on one of the four "quarter days" in Great Britain, holy days which were associated with the paying of rent and renegotiating agreements. The angel Gabriel (who delivered the joyful news to Mary of the conception of Jesus) and the angel Raphael (also the angel Uriel in some versions) are also celebrated on this date. Michael is said to have personally defeated Lucifer in his war against heaven.

A legend associated with the holiday is that when St. Michael defeated Lucifer, described in Revelations 12, Lucifer landed on a blackberry bush. In rage, he spat on and cursed the bush. So you should pick and eat blackberries by Michaelmas, before the devil gets a chance to spit on them!

The traditional main course on Michaelmas Day is roast goose. So traditional, in fact, that old Irish name for the holiday was Fómhar no nGéanna, "goose harvest." Eating goose on this day is considered good luck.

In the northern hemisphere, because Michaelmas falls several days after the autumnal equinox, the holiday is associated with fall and marks the end of the harvest season, and the beginning of preparations for winter.

Pronounced, incidentally, "micklemas."   

Customs and Traditions Associated With Michaelmas Day

Michaelmas Foods and Traditions

British Michaelmas Traditions

Catholic Traditions of Michaelmas Day

St. Michael the Archangel

So, we finally made it through the summer months. Now for it to get cool, and please God, someone find a method to combat COVID-19.

Embrace the Winter!

Merry Midwinter, Gillian Monks
I awarded this book the ultimate accolade: after reading the electronic version, I ordered the "real" book. So this is technically a re-read, although I notice that when I read anything electronic it doesn't feel like I've really read it.

Monks, who describes herself as a Quaker and a practicing Druid (I didn't think that was possible!) has written a great book about celebrating all of the winter holiday season, from Hallowe'en/Samhain all the way through Candlemas, as our ancestors did. She traces the history of all the wonderful customs of the season, from decorating with evergreens (greens which represented both the spirits of nature and the "ever green" eternal love of the Son of God) to celebrating female bringers of light like Saint Lucy and Frau Holle to the connection of the winter solstice to the establishment of Christmas by the Christian Church on a day that was already celebrated as a religious holiday (the Saturnalia of the Romans, the feast of Mithras by the Persians, and ceremonies for the Egyptian Osiris and the Greek god Apollo). And of course she addresses feasting, gift giving, the origins of some of the gift givers, including the now-ubiquitous Santa Claus, snow. As she states "Midwinter has always been a time for people to set aside their differences, lay down their weapons, and come together in a sense of community and celebration."

Her coziest chapters include some of her personal memories of each of the holidays marking the winter season; she once lived along a country road and had the pleasure of gathering her own winter greens like holly and mistletoe. Plus there are family recipes and DIY crafts, but the thing she emphasizes most of all is simplicity and anticipation of each phase of the season: not to rush any part of the winter season, but to enjoy each aspect of it, from the fun of Hallowe'en to the days building up to Christmas, and then not to let Christmas just stop at 11:59 p.m. on December 25, but to celebrate the entire twelve days of Christmastide and even the January days leading finally to Candlemas/Imbolc on the second of February by walking in wintry woods or enjoying the cold weather, and enjoying days doing crafts indoors when the weather is inclement. She firmly believes in the philosophy of "there is no bad weather, only inadequate clothing" and invites you not to bemoan the loss of summer warmth but to embrace the wintry chill. I loved this whole attitude of enjoying all the seasons, not overspending but making some Christmas decorations out of items found from nature (her example which goes throughout the book is having found a large branch just as the leaves were changing and bringing it inside to fasten in a container; she allows the leaves to fall off it naturally, and supplements it with items like acorns and berries in the fall, then tinsel and ornaments and winter-themed items at Christmas, then removes the tinsel and ornaments and just leaves the winter themed items until spring comes and the wood is ready to be recycled into firewood), and also of not allowing Christmas revelry to be trapped in a 24-hour period as our modern society dictates.

At the back of the book there is an extensive calendar of autumn and winter celebrations you can observe, like St. Catherine's Day devoted to reading and learning, St. Cecilia's Day with an emphasis on music, Feast of Fools Day on December 29 when you can go out with tomfoolery, Distaff's Day after Epiphany celebrating your work life, etc.

From Under the Maples by John Burroughs

THE FALLING LEAVES

The time of the falling of leaves has come again. Once more in our morning walk we tread upon carpets of gold and crimson, of brown and bronze, woven by the winds or the rains out of these delicate textures while we slept.

How beautifully the leaves grow old! How full of light and color are their last days! There are exceptions, of course. The leaves of most of the fruit-trees fade and wither and fall ingloriously. They bequeath their heritage of color to their fruit. Upon it they lavish the hues which other trees lavish upon their leaves. The pear-tree is often an exception. I have seen pear orchards in October painting a hillside in hues of mingled bronze and gold. And well may the pear-tree do this, it is so chary of color upon its fruit.

But in October what a feast to the eye our woods and groves present! The whole body of the air seems enriched by their calm, slow radiance. They are giving back the light they have been absorbing from the sun all summer.

The carpet of the newly fallen leaves looks so clean and delicate when it first covers the paths and the highways that one almost hesitates to walk upon it. Was it the gallant Raleigh who threw down his cloak for Queen Elizabeth to walk upon? See what a robe the maples have thrown down for you and me to walk upon! How one hesitates to soil it! The summer robes of the groves and the forests—more than robes, a vital part of themselves, the myriad living nets with which they have captured, and through which they have absorbed, the energy of the solar rays. What a change when the leaves are gone, and what a change when they come again! A naked tree may be a dead tree. The dry, inert bark, the rough, wirelike twigs change but little from summer to winter. When the leaves come, what a transformation, what mobility, what sensitiveness, what expression! Ten thousand delicate veined hands reaching forth and waving a greeting to the air and light, making a union and compact with them, like a wedding ceremony. How young the old trees suddenly become! what suppleness and grace invest their branches! The leaves are a touch of immortal youth. As the cambium layer beneath the bark is the girdle of perennial youth, so the leaves are the facial expression of the same quality. The leaves have their day and die, but the last leaf that comes to the branch is as young as the first. The leaves and3 the blossom and the fruit of the tree come and go, yet they age not; under the magic touch of spring the miracle is repeated over and over.

The maples perhaps undergo the most complete transformation of all the forest trees. Their leaves fairly become luminous, as if they glowed with inward light. In October a maple-tree before your window lights up your room like a great lamp. Even on cloudy days its presence helps to dispel the gloom. The elm, the oak, the beech, possess in a much less degree that quality of luminosity, though certain species of oak at times are rich in shades of red and bronze. The leaves of the trees just named for the most part turn brown before they fall. The great leaves of the sycamore assume a rich tan-color like fine leather.

"November"

from Marmion by Sir Walter Scott

"November’s sky is chill and drear,
November’s leaf is red and sear:
Late, gazing down the steepy linn,
That hems our little garden in,
Low in its dark and narrow glen,
You scarce the rivulet might ken,
So thick the tangled greenwood grew,
So feeble trill’d the streamlet through:
Now, murmuring hoarse, and frequent seen
Through bush and brier, no longer green,
An angry brook, it sweeps the glade,
Brawls over rock and wild cascade,
And, foaming brown with double speed,
Hurries its waters to the Tweed.

No longer Autumn’s glowing red
Upon our Forest hills is shed;
No more, beneath the evening beam,
Fair Tweed reflects their purple gleam;
Away hath pass’d the heather-bell
That bloom’d so rich on Needpath-fell;
Sallow his brow, and russet bare
Are now the sister-heights of Yair.
The sheep, before the pinching heaven,
To sheltered dale and down are driven,
Where yet some faded herbage pines,
And yet a watery sunbeam shines:
In meek despondency they eye
The withered sward and wintry sky,
And far beneath their summer hill,
Stray sadly by Glenkinnon’s rill:
The shepherd shifts his mantle’s fold,
And wraps him closer from the cold;
His dogs no merry circles wheel,
But, shivering, follow at his heel;
A cowering glance they often cast,
As deeper moans the gathering blast."

Ten things you didn't know about November.

"Fall of the Year"

The world's on fire in the cold clear air
The world shouts Autumn everywhere
All the little animals began to grow more fur
All the summer birds began to fly away,
The little grey kitten came out of the wind to purr
And the leaves blew away. All in one day.

Darkness came before the night
The air grew cold enough to bite
Chrysanthemums were shaggy yellow
The leaves turned red
The leaves turned brown
The tumbled all over the frosty ground
The worlds on fire in the cold clear air
The world shouts AUTUMN everywhere.

--Margaret Wise Brown
From A Celebration of the Seasons
 

"Forest Flame"

When Jack wakes in the morning,
     In these sweet autumn days,
He sees the sumac burning
     And the maples in a blaze,
And he rubs his eyes, bewildered,
     All in the golden haze.
Then: "No. They still are standing;
     They're not on fire at all"—
He softly says, when slowly
     He sees some crimson fall,
And yellow flakes comme floating
     Down from the oaks so tall.
And then he knows the spirit
     Of the sunset must have planned
The myriad bright surprises
     That deck the dying land,—
And he wonders if the sumac
     And the maples understand.

"St. Nicholas", November 1880

And, Finally, Relief...

Ninety-one days. Nine tens followed by a one. That's how many 90°F-plus days we have had in Atlanta this year. The latest one was Friday. We set records on October 2, 3, and 4 for highest temperature in October, and had lunch at O'Charley's with friends on a Friday so hot that the metal door handle was blistering and I had to wait for one of the O'Charley's folks to hold it open for James.

Then, with a click of a switch, it was over on Saturday morning. We rose to a Saturday morning cool and silky, with a little breeze, so that we drove to the Hallmark October ornament premiere with the windows of the truck down.

After all those mornings of having to chivvy myself from bed early to walk the dog before the sun topped the trees in the back yard (and not succeeding really well, as I have been feeling really terrible this summer), this morning was like heaven! It was 62° and cloudy, a nice grey high-perched cloud blanket overhead, with just the tiniest bit of a breeze. It's on these mornings that I feel like I could walk forever—alas, that gives out about halfway during the walk and my back lets me know it. Nevertheless, Tucker and I had a nice long walk, the whole street including the upper cul-de-sac, then out to Smyrna-Powder Springs Road and across the street to the little white Baptist Church and across the front, then back down the street all the way to the daycare center and then across the street again so we could walk down a sidewalk, all the way opposite the home we call "the guy with the pretentious fence" (it's an ordinary split level house, but they have a fence that looks like it belongs around a McMansion in Buckhead, painted steel blue and trimmed in gold no less). Also walked around the parking lot of the daycare center twice. Did 1.7 miles, and I only started to perspire on the inward leg. Excellent.

It's still going to be wavering around 80 during the next few days, but the mornings will be in the 60s, and anything is better than the scorching, blazing, sweltering, smelly 90s.

Crossing fingers and looking forward to the book sale on Friday.

"October's Party"

by George Cooper

October gave a party;
The leaves by hundreds came—
The Chestnuts, Oaks, and Maples,
And leaves of every name.
The Sunshine spread a carpet,
And everything was grand,
Miss Weather led the dancing,
Professor Wind the band.

The Chestnuts came in yellow,
The Oaks in crimson dressed;
The lovely Misses Maple
In scarlet looked their best;
All balanced to their partners,
And gaily fluttered by;
The sight was like a rainbow
New fallen from the sky.

Then, in the rustic hollow,
At hide-and-seek they played,
The party closed at sundown,
And everybody stayed.
Professor Wind played louder;
They flew along the ground;
And then the party ended
In jolly "hands around."

Please Take My Sunshine Away

I tell myself each year, in the spring, that this year it's going to be different. Since there's nothing I can do about summer, I need to at least make up my mind that there will be no whining and complaining this year. If I can't really enjoy the season, perhaps I can just accept it as it is, even as I go dodging from air-conditioned home to air-conditioned car, setting the controls on "afterburner" so I can endure the ride, and then sprint across a parking lot to an air-conditioned store. Acceptance is the answer.

Acceptance to summer is not my speed. I can't help but after a few weeks of high 80s-lower 90s, to start the litany again: Summer sucks. Summer sucks so much it should be renamed "Hoover." (I've been told that that's very old-fashioned. Okay. Summer sucks so much it should be renamed "Roomba.") The sun gives me headaches, or a rash, or both. In rare cases it has given me heart palpitations, but always too long out in the sun I can hear my heart start to beat like the big bass drum in the circus parade: BOOM BOOM BOOM. It shakes me until I run inside and sit under a fan, waiting for it to return to the quiet lub-dub. I'm chivvied out of my bed early to walk the dog before the sidewalks turn into griddles, the asphalt stinks, the air smells of car exhaust. I can't see the appeal of sitting all day on a beach under a broiler whose fire makes my skin burn and prickle. So most of this summer, especially when temps climbed into the high 90s, I kept my head down and prayed for autumn.

Last night a wind blew down out of the north and we woke to mid-60s temperatures. It so invigorated me I walked the dog an extra quarter mile and, while we did keep a brisk enough pace for me to break a sweat, it wasn't the usual one where even my underwear became sopped. As soon as I was inside, I threw open a few windows and opened the door to the deck and turned on a couple of fans.

Out the living room window I saw this. The tulip trees, at least, are longing for autumn. Too, the scuppernongs growing wild out on the main road have grapes swollen to size, and now ripening and falling. The oaks are already host to browning leaves that are dropping. Other bushes have leaves turning yellow, or even drifting off every few seconds, like the down when Snowy moults.

Look at that tulip tree sporting its saffron spots. The plants know summer is waning—I wish the weather would figure it out! I long for cool temperatures and cool breezes, weather cold enough to snuggle in flannel and fleece, wearing a robe and fuzzy slippers, eating gingerbread and sipping peppermint-spiked hot chocolate. Weather where you feel comfortable, not attacked. A chill that keeps the mosquitoes (a big problem this year!) away. Wander off, O summer, where the odd ones want you: down to Florida and all those inexplicable lookalike Caribbean resorts that are giveaway prizes on Wheel of Fortune. Sail away...even better, jet away. Wish you could stay there for good, too.