fall at the holler

fall has come to the ‘tucky hills, and artfully. the trees are a brilliant blend of rust, terra cotta, yellow-green, and a smattering of burgundy. up close, some trees can’t decided themselves what they want to be. the fall wildflowers have gotten into the act with corn-on-the-cob-yellow spears next to feathery purple stalks. bob ross would be beside himself.
autumn in the country really makes me long for pumpkin pie, apple butter, family around the table talking politics. and the holler has all the trappings of a storybook autumn: misty mornings, mild days, crisp evenings, a family reunion of migrating flocks of sparrows dinning the woods across the road. they make me glad that i haven’t seen that particular hitchcock film. it might ruin it for me. a profusion of woolly worms predict the coming weather, although northern indiana seems to have northern ‘tucky beat for woolly population this year, if the pictures of my parents’ fuzzy sided farmhouse are any indication.
this season especially, i can’t understand why anyone would want to live in the city. the only real urban indication of the change of seasons is the merchandising displays in all the stores. and considering that my bookstore is sporting tables full of halloween paraphernalia smack up next to the boxed christmas cards (where did thanksgiving go?) a person could get understandably confused.
i drove to work this morning on a carpet of drizzle-wet fallen leaves past ramshackle black barns full of hanging tobacco. the drying leaves look, from a distance, like so many chamois clothes. i always get the whimsy to walk through these open barns rubbing my cheeks against the plants. i know the plants are not actually as soft as they look like they might be from a distance, so instead i go home and rub my cheek against a two year old in footy blanket jammies. fall is by far the best season of the year.