Seasons: Reflections on Fall Leaves and Kids Growing Up

The past few weeks, I’ve been raking my share of leaves in the front yard. It’s so satisfying to see the grass again under the golden blanket of fall foliage.  A mélange of oranges, bright yellows and plum colors.  That relief is short lived as a new day brings a new bounty of twirling leaves littering the yard again like so much flotsam.

It is the changing of the seasons.  Brisk fall is no match for winter’s wicked winds.  The days of lookin’ cute outdoors are quickly passing.   “The hawk” is spreading his wings and preparing for his descent even now.

Autumn came gradually sudden. It’s an oxymoron I know, but somehow each year it catches me unawares.  I just reach the acceptance stage of summer with its swelter, and before I know it, the green leaves of the beech trees are browning before my eyes.  Glorious summer flowers are replaced by bright pumpkins and hardy mums.

It’s the dawn of a new season.  And as the temperature spirals along with the leaves, I find myself reflecting on the passage of time and the changes it brings. Seasons remind me that nothing in this life will stay the same. We are always in constant flux.   Life abounds with summer, spring, winter and fall moments.

My relationship with seasons could be characterized as love/hate. Don’t’ get me wrong; there’s no danger of me moving to Florida.  The day in day out sameness of it all, like Groundhog Day, would drive me insane. And yet if Change had a fan club, I would not be a member.


You see, I’m a sentimentalist at heart, and sometimes I find myself yearning for days gone by.  I used to have four children; now I have three and three quarters adults!  I loved the thrill of being with-child; seeing that tiny life undulating within my belly. Giving birth – on this subject I shall remain silent for your sake.


Enjoying the fruit of my labor – a brand spankin’ new baby - fresh and plump as a Thanksgiving turkey, complete with roly poly thighs. Nursing ‘til milk cascaded down their fat cheeks.  Even the little things, like the irresistible grunts and gurgles they would make while being picked up, squirming and tucking their knees, never once opening their eyes.  Memories like these create a deep longing.

Yesterday, as I was leaving Aldi’s, I beheld a cherubic faced Asian baby in a shopping cart.  His little eyes followed me, and as his mother turned to lift her bag, I had the mad, nearly irresistible sensation of grabbing that little dumpling and stuffing him in my car. (Just kidding!)

Ahhhh. But nostalgia can make amnesiacs of the best of us.

Labors that lasted through the night, complete exhaustion, two, four, and six a.m. feedings, earsplitting crying sessions, mammoth diaper bags, backbreaking strollers all seem to fade to black with the passage of time. They are now but fuzzy memories, rather like the blind man in the Bible who saw men as trees walking.

And now, like the fall leaves spinning to the earth, I find myself occupying a new spot of ground. This is a new season. My three oldest kids all drove out this morning to head to college classes. My ‘baby boy’ just turned 17 last week. And I feel a peculiar mixture of melancholy and exhilaration.

My little man is gone. Never again will he look up at me with those sad eyes of his and say “Mommy, do you love me?”  (He would ask me this whenever I got irritated with him about something or other).  On the contrary, he now soars above me at six feet one inch, with his once wiry arms now bursting with the muscles of a man.

At the same time I feel the distinct, sensation of wings forming and slowly unfurling. I hear Dixieland tunes springing up within my soul as I find myself with more time on my hands. And as my teen now works independently on his assignments, I can enjoy quality times with the Lord, write to my heart’s content, curl up with Toni Morrison or Jane Austen, try that new recipe, give my house a thorough clean down, or watch “The Voice”.

Each season has its lessons. Fall reminds me that everything of this life will soon pass away; that life as I know it right now will change, trade its glorious colors, and soon fall away.  But the gifts of each season are mine for the taking. And I am learning to strike that fine balancing act of savoring and treasuring, yet not clinging too tightly. For, like the leaves, even these golden moments are passing away.  Therefore, I shall treasure them for what they are and take more pictures!

So, as I wax nostalgic and find myself getting misty eyed, I listen to the saga of the leaves. I rake them to the curb for now and await the spring.  I fold my summer clothes, pack them away and begin hanging warm sweaters and fluffy coats.

I shall revel in winter with its crispness, the hope of a great snowfall and barreling down the hills in a snow tube. I shall embrace its gifts – gifts of steaming bowls of soup and stew, mugs of hot chocolate dolloped with whipped cream, and always hearty peals of family laughter as we settle in for the winter in our cozy home. The spring will come soon enough with its new birth and new joys.