Awakening Autumn

Trust in the Lord, and do good;
Dwell in the land and befriend faithfulness.
- Psalm 37.2

Every time I go to the grocery store these days, I think of the fruits of the season; the harvest of goods that usher in a new time of year that promotes warmth and cosiness. The cold air brings these things, and even before any cold air arrives, all the stores remind us it is coming. Each time I was able to grab a jacket a few days this last week, I smiled with a thankful heart. It is a gift to be able to dwell in this season. With the first chill of the season, my senses wake up from the drollness of six months of summer - to the excitement of a new season that had long been forgotten. Summer dulls the memory of chilly weather to come.

Or, as Coleridge wrote:
To awaken the mind's attention...

Indeed, autumn awakens my mind's attention to an earth open to me again. The summer heat has subsided, and I may now go out to play. Here begins the days I am eager to be outside. I wake to the bounty and beauty of God's creation, and I sense the spiritual meaning of the season - the quiet of the land as it slows down, the fluttering leaves falling to the ground, seeds remind us that to die is to live, the protecting we do (from the cold with jackets and scarves) and the protecting the leaves to (to the roots), the melancholy of darker days, the fruits of the season (squash, apples, etc).

They are all essential, beautiful pieces of this season, and we are meant to experience it, and learn what it all has to teach us. We are not meant to live in one perpetual state of being (or one season). How would we appreciate the gifts produced if there never was any change? We would grow dull and bored with the same thing day in, day out. We are changeable, and many times we need nature to change in order that we pay attention to some deeper things.

An Autumn Memory

I was blowing out my candles and getting ready for bed when this memory suddenly came to me as the temperature dropped outside to feel like Autumn. I grabbed my journal and sat down to write some scribbly memories on the pages. 

I was eight again, and at my grandma's place in North Carolina, when she lived in the mobile home at the top of a big hill. The mobile home complex was up the hill, and at the bottom (and across the highway) was Walmart and Piggly Wiggly. I am pretty sure they are both still there.

When I was little, it was all magical to me. We would go up to the mountains to visit my grandma every Autumn. I remember going to Walmart and buying Franklin leaf looker sweatshirts (My mum and I are showcasing ours in this photo. Of course, mine is a sweatshirt dress. I guess they didn't make children's sizes). I am quite certain I wore that sweatshirt every day. I carried that camera around, because I wanted to take photos of the Autumn scenes that were so fascinating to me (birth of my love of taking photos?).

We would play outside on the sloping grassy lawns that enveloped grandma's quiet, spacious neighborhood. The leaves were our toys. I don't think we needed much else. Crunching them underfoot, we ran through piles of collected leaves by getting a running start down a little hill. Collecting leaves was always an activity, which we would bring back to grandma's and sit on the porch making some framed art with coloured leaves.

Autumn in the mountains was a world away from Florida. It held a sense of magic that only could be found in the mountains. It must have infused itself so deeply in me that I long for it every year without fail, and I am almost tempted to don a leaf looker sweatshirt in order to do so. Thankfully, those sweatshirts no longer exist.

Contrasts in the Woods

What is set before us is contrasts in the woods. In one scene, we have a quiet, peaceful house in the woods, on the edge of a lake. Adorned with porches and nooks to enjoy nature, set on a sloping hill leading down to the lake. Even with little toddler nephew, you can find peace and quiet, because nature surrounds you. It's just as I like it. I want to be in the trees. I want to hear the bird calls echo from one end of the property to some other place in the woods. Leaves falling from the tops of these tall trees flutter down like a beautiful slow-motion cascade to the ground or the porch.

This is where, as often as I could, I would tuck myself away on the lower screened-in porch in to get a few pages of journaling and poetry in, listening to the sounds of the woods that is so calming to me. Every so often a cracking noise of acorns falling on the roof or porch would seem so loud against the quiet of leaves rustling in the frequent breezes. Soon later, little nephew would come down with his daddy. He was good at grabbing the attention - charming, smirking, and being interested in my books in that toddler fashion.

In another scene, on the other end of the spectrum, you have a race track in the woods. Here we have rolling hills and trees galore, but it is not what you would classify as quiet and peaceful. It is quite the opposite. Crowds, cars, and announcers. Here was the world of Le Mans racing with all the spectators enjoying every moment of several days of events as they stay in campers, RVs, and tents scattered all around the track. This is where the loud engines and the scent of race gasoline hover above the curves of the track almost continuously.

While you are in the woods, this is where you go down a hill to garages (behind the pits) of each racing team and see all the drivers autograph photos and posters the day before the race. Down in the garages, we bump into an old BMW club pal, who we have known from various events for probably 15 years, so we chat with him. We walk up the hill in the heat and sunshine. I use an umbrella to shade me pretty much all day. Here is where I am out of my comfortable place, and yet, it is almost a comfort to be a part of what my family loves and enjoys so much. My dad had enjoyed these events immensely. In a strange way, it all seems so normal to me to be there. Both of these scenes, in fact, represent contrasts in the woods that apply to me so naturally. Aren't we all made up of such interesting contrasts?

Musings from a Pumpkin Patch

Musings from a pumpkin patch.

Spotted lawn of sprouted autumnal harvest.

Glories of a season slow to arrive,

but quick to awaken our senses.

A milieu we are keen to welcome.

Sage colours emerge in beautiful arrangements;

Earth-toned and wonder-flitted.

Is there a whisper of autumn in the breeze? Today, it almost felt like the air was attempting to let go of the heat, as the overcast skies kept the temperatures down and the moody grey layers above rustled the leaves below welcoming an approaching season. Patience, dear ones. In time all the best things are worth waiting for.

When I see from across the lake, the pumpkins pop of colour sunbathing on the sloping lawn of my church, my imagination immediately rushes to a windy golden afternoon with a chill in the air and a jacket on my shoulders. Taking walks with fallen leaves shuffling under my feet and a cool breeze rustling my hair. Sitting outside with a book with my imagination wandering.

This is what a little bit of musing from a pumpkin patch does to me. 

C.S. Lewis and Sixteenth Century Literature

One has to chuckle at the title of this massive book - Oxford History of English Literature: English Literature in the Sixteenth Century, excluding drama. Not the most catchy title. It's not that drama isn't of interest (hello, Shakespeare), but if drama was included, the book would weigh about two tons, and be 1200 pages long. I am glad the book focused solely on prose and verse. 

Poets are not so like putty as is sometimes implied. (pg.352)

This substantial book was a huge achievement of C.S. Lewis's literary/academic career, published in 1954 after he spent more than 10 years working on it. Since he refused to give his opinion on a book unless he read it, he spent countless hours over those years at the Bodleian Library in Oxford reading all the 16th century works. Just think about that for a moment - he read all the books/writings of the 16th century that he discussed in this book, sitting in the wonderfully medieval Duke Humphrey's Library of the Bodleian to read them all. If I could be half as good of a reader and have half a beautiful old library in which to read them....

He divides the 16th century into three main literary descriptors - Late Medieval, "Drab", and "Golden". He then discusses the writers of those categories, and what they brought to the table (or didn't bring). To add some context,  Lewis, with some of his classic witty style, would drop in bits and pieces of history, which I really enjoyed, as it helped me place this time period in my mind's timeline properly.

While I did learn about many obscure authors I had never heard of, along that journey through the 16th century, I learned about what was going on that influenced the writers, which was interesting to me. Why did English literature go through a drab phase during this century, in which the language was dull, straightforward, and missing a sense of wonderment? If the world had ended at the end of the 16th century, it would have ended with a seeming assumption that English literature was in a grave decay, never to be revived. Thankfully, the 17th century revealed the genius that had been hidden.

Somehow or other during the latter part of the sixteenth century Englishmen learned to write. (pg.418)

Many of the great writers we know and read today were born in the 16th century, but didn't publish until the turn of the century, so they were not covered in Lewis's grand analysis of the century. That would include John Donne, John Milton, and George Herbert. But you do get insights on some others who did publish in the 16th century like Thomas More, Edmund Spenser, Philip Sidney, and John Davies. These were the shining lights in the midst of a century in great need of some good writers. 

I don't know anyone who has read this book. At 558 pages (plus another 127 pages of notes and references), it doesn't appeal to the masses. It isn't deeply academic, though, and it does capture Lewis's amiable writing style, but I don't think it is at the top of anyone's list of books to read, except for me, it has been on my list of books to read. I made it a goal to read the whole book, to challenge myself with something that would take me out of my comfort zone a bit. I am so glad I did, for that elusive 16th century phase of English literature actually makes sense to me now, placed the context of history, and I appreciate the authors of that century in a newfound way.

Of Mountain Views and Waterfalls

A quick, busy trip up to north Georgia provided a few days to explore the region. It was fun to experience an area that I have not been to before, including a drive up into the mountains - the southernmost of the Appalachian Mountains. The Appalachian Trail goes through the park we visited.

I did not expect that I would get to see mountains or waterfalls on this trip, so I was delighted to be able to view the landscapes that inspire me so much. There is something in me that loves the woods (I'm pretty sure it was my Dad's unceasing love of the woods that got into me). I've never been a beach girl, but give me woods and waterfalls all day, and I am quite content.

We drove deep into the woods to Amicalola Falls State Park, and breathed deeply the fresh air as we took to the path that lead to the waterfall. It was a stunning scene, with the sound of falling water and the cool mist that arose from it. The air was crisp and delightful, only getting as warm as 70-75 degrees. It was the perfect day to be outside. I wished that I could bottle that weather up and bring it back to Florida.

 A lodge at the top of the mountain had commanding views of the mountain range, and we had a late lunch there. That would be a lovely place to stay, there at the top. We were thankful to stumble upon the lodge as we were so hungry and still far from the small town of Dahlonega, which is a tiny mountain town known for its past gold mining days. We went into town later and walked around some antique shops and a general store that sat along the square that was the center of town.

Centre of the Woods

I am in the centre of the woods:
Here the elder trees surround me.
Light scatters down through canopies
of vibrant leaves, waning green.
Gatherers of acorns scamper and shuffle,
I can hear them on the leaf-strewn ground,
while high above the thin trunks so limber, 
sway with the breezes, lulling in sound.
Somehow, this tiny space I occupy holds
a lake, hills, and hundreds of trees
as well as the scattered leaves at my feet.
God's whisper of creation present even in the breeze.

Here, at Lake Lanier I took a deep breath of fresh air. I woke up that first morning to my first taste of autumn temperatures. What is it about the woods of the north (the north to me) that delights me so much? The scent of trees in the air, the rustle of the branches, the fluttering leaves falling gently, the bird calls across the woods, the windy paths that lead to lakes and waterfalls, the shady spaces with sunlight streaming through the layers of leaves, the echo of your footsteps, the hints of stories dwelling deep, the sense of a magical realm apart from our usual daily view. Just being here in the woods slows me down and excites me to be outside to enjoy a piece of beautiful creation.

Read Deeply

Reading notes for the soul (tidbits I've collected in my journal over time):

- The books we read, read us.

- Feel free to wonder and wander. Don't lose the sense of letting the imagination follow along new and different paths. 

- Diversify your reading. It is always good to gain other perspectives. Yes, even if you don't agree with them.

- Create and offer descriptions that swim with imaginative thoughts when you write. When you read such sections that greatly inspire, stop and read that passage again.

- The words we read, write, and speak teach us to pay attention and think about certain things in different ways. The quality of the words can dictate what you think as a result. 

- Draw on the promises of God by reading books that offer imaginative stories and different places that stretch our minds in a way that leads us to deeper thinking about deeper meanings..

- Our job is to keep the narrative of hope alive as the world grows dark.

- We read Scripture to build our interior selves in wisdom. We have to be able to have confidence in our lives and beliefs when struggles come along, rather than wavering to and fro like a wave.