Do you refer to the coming season as autumn or fall? For me, it's fall unless I'm waxing poetic. My British friends refer to it as autumn. Perhaps I shouldn't mention it, but my daily visits to our back deck on the beautiful Saranac River are beginning to show signs that change is already under way. I can smell it in the air. Soon, we'll have to bid fond adieu to what has been one of the best summers I can recall.
A few weeks ago, Kaye and I noticed that the leaves on a tree across the river had already begun to change — subtly at first — then more boldly. Adjacent trees soon followed suit. As we watched, an occasional leaf fell and was carried downstream on the current. We traveled to Connecticut last weekend for baptism and birthday parties involving great-grandchildren and noticed early changes in mountain color. We might not want to admit it, but there are signs if we only take time to notice them.
We are seeing more ducks on the river. Canada geese are honking and flying low in the early morning and late afternoon, restless to begin their journey south. There is a morning chill in the air. As I wrote this last Tuesday morning, it was 51 degrees in Morrisonville and mere 40s were being recorded in Saranac Lake.
Our crop-strip garden is still providing us with ample bounty. Kaye planted one tomato plant apart from mine and other flowers and vegetables. Her tomatoes are bigger and redder than all of mine. Of course. I bow to her greener thumb. The BLTs for supper last night were much better than good. They were simply scrumptilicious. I know it's not a word.
A sure sign of changing seasons is to be found in the local stores. Halloween candy, costumes and decorations abound. I wouldn't be shocked to see Thanksgiving and Christmas things displayed in a few weeks. It would seem to me that I should be mowing the grass less often, but that is not the case, thanks to some abundant rains recently.