Growing up, the glow in the Colorado air as the season shifted into autumn filled me with anticipation. I began imagining fabulous backyard birthday parties, homemade cornbread and dressing up for the Park Hill Halloween parade.
In this far, far away land, aspen tree leaves spatter gray skies with orange before floating to the pavement and crunching beneath my shoes. The coolness of the air adds warmth to everything under it—the cable knit sweaters and cinnamon-spiced breads. Book pages turn and tea is steeped, drenched in golden autumn light.
Yet, as I walk along the bright flowery quad in mid-September, my mind drifts to this dreamland. The Southern California sun seems to be infinitely peeking above the horizon, not a cloud in the sky to be seen. Without the changes in weather, I’m left with only a few hints of my most special memories.
It surely won’t snow in December, but will the magic of the first flurries be long gone, too? When the roses bloom in spring, will they be as special without the prior months of gray, slushy sidewalks?
The seasons bring more than a new forecast. They bring an era of renewal and re-energizing, a time to treasure. I’ve always been inspired to be reflective during this time, though I don’t feel the same push in California as I did at home.
When I left Denver, the sun shined much as it does here, but returning mid-season still startles me every year. I’m transported to autumn for only a few days, seeing visibly that time has passed here without me. The same trees in my neighborhood line the streets with color as they always did, the farmers roast green chiles at the market, the same high school bustles with students who now look unfamiliar and young.
I feel myself go instantly back into the body of my younger self with a mind full of new perspectives and experiences. My “Freaky Friday” moment reminds me of all the things I miss about home, but also of all the growth I have experienced since leaving.
I’ve become more grounded in my intellectual capabilities, met people I adore and perhaps the most relevant, learned to stay connected to this feeling of home without being physically present.
Even as I grow up and leave behind my fairy dresses and roller skating birthday parties, autumn still holds a fond place in my heart. The disconnect I feel has been difficult to ease, especially with the complete lack of visible changes in the weather.
But, while I can’t spot autumn in the leaves or clouds, I celebrate it anyway. I snack on pumpkin muffins from the MP and order steamed milk in my coffee from the Green Bean, even in the morning heat of LA. I hum to soft sing-song voices and put on sweaters at the moment the temperature drops below 75. I count down the days until I am sitting around a candlelit table again above a glassy harbor, adorned with a paper hat and clinking my glass to a toast.
Miming fall feels like an ode to my childhood, family and the city I grew up in. It is a sort of celebration, a ritual still to be cherished.
Maybe I do understand the cult following of the pumpkin spice latte, Ugg boots and puffer jackets, even with no chill in the air. These icons of autumn, however silly and popularized, can bring back this sense of nostalgia. Beyond the kitschy commercialism and basic aesthetics propagating around a sweltering September, the familiarity of it all reminds me to call home and feel connected to my childhood.
As for the next few fall-free falls I have here, I’ll be sharing pumpkin ice cream and new laughs with new people. So I encourage you to pull out your sweaters and order yourself a warm spiced drink. It’s not silly, I promise. I’ll be right there with you.
Contact Mollie Barnes at mbarnes@oxy.edu.
