Ahh, September! The month I've waited for. The month whose cool winds whisk away the heat and humidity that have lingered on the shoulders of the earth like a heavy, damp, unwanted cloak. The month that offers a hint of what is yet to come. She restores and refreshes not only the land all about, but snaps me out of my languid mood like the wind moves a sheet on a clothesline. Suddenly I am aware of the pile of weeds awaiting me out in the gardens. I realize that again the barn needs a good cleaning, that soon I will need to stack wood for the winter, that kindling needs to be gathered from the woods. The gardens will need a good cutting back and final weeding before they are put to bed for the winter. The birds feeders will soon be dusted off and re-hung in the dying maple near the house, oh! But first I need to harvest all the sunflower heads from the back berry garden. The kale too needs to be brought in and dried for winter soups. Apples are waiting to be picked, and it is time to clean out the tool shed, outhouse and garden shed, as well. What remains of the comfrey needs drying and setting aside for the chickens this winter... and the list goes on. But I am looking forward to working out in weather like this, instead of avoiding the sun and too-warm temperatures til evening or early morning offers some coolness.
It is curious how much weather can dictate our being in so many ways. As soon as the weather gets crisp, I want to bake and cook and, yes, even clean! Soup once again is on the weekly menu, Sunday suppers replace a weekend cook-out and oatmeal or pancakes are the preferred choice for breakfast after months of fruit and yogurt.
So I shall rejoice September days and look forward to the riotous glory of October, carrying old hope in my heart that winter shall arrive early, snow often and last long!
The golden-rod is yellow; the corn is turning brown;
The trees in apple orchards with fruit are bending down.
The gentian's bluest fringes are curling in the sun;
In dusty pods the milkweed its hidden silk has spun.
The sedges flaunt their harvest, in every meadow nook;
And asters by the brook-side make asters in the brook,
From dewy lanes at morning the grapes' sweet odors rise;
At noon the roads all flutter with yellow butterflies.
By all these lovely tokens September days are here,
With summer's best of weather, and autumn's best of cheer.
But none of all this beauty which floods the earth and air
Is unto me the secret which makes September fair.
'T is a thing which I remember; to name it thrills me yet:
One day of one September I never can forget.
~Helen Hunt Jackson