It rained over the weekend. Lightly and little, but the ground was wet when I woke up on Monday morning. We all had different reactions to it this morning, equally confused by the sun's heat beaming down on us after an unusually chilly morning. Is it coming? Is summer already passing? I have a hard time believing that, even when glancing at the extended forecast (sunny upper seventies to low eighties, nights around fifty degrees for the next ten days) that seems remarkably cool for a time of year that usually bakes us. But the mornings feel crisp, the morning dew has returned, and yellow leaves on the trees are beyond what drought would cause.
Phil and I are excited about it. Relief from the heat, a change in our patterns... and rain! This weekend was just a teaser for what sumptuous aromas are yet to come when full wet decay sets in. Sophie's less convinced, but it seems be to less about the physical experiences of the seasons, and more about the fact that autumn means change in her life. This internship will end past October, her job altering wedding dresses will decline as demand wanes with the winter, and she'll need to decide between starting a new phase in Eugene, or starting over completely somewhere else. Like many other people that have interned at the farm, this place has offered her a stable, beautiful respite from the constant change and decision-making that post-college life brings. Where to live? What careers to pursue? How to take these skills forward into modern life? How to arrange life in a way that honors our values and personal goals?
I'm no stranger to these questions-- and I don't think anyone should ever stop questioning the life they're living-- but I'm glad that they don't come up on quite as regular a basis as they used to. For years, until I was almost thirty, I had to reconsider my life path at least every two years. Seasonal, temporary jobs like farm work, outdoor school, summer camp, wine making, and Americorps, combined with travel and stints of two years of school at a time, meant that I traded stability and roots for diverse learning, fun, and travel. Certainly no regrets there, but I'm happy now to watch the world and time go by from a relatively constant vantage rather than chasing it in changing scenery and community year after year. Fall feels like a relief to me now. Though sometimes I miss the feeling of excitement of embarking on a next big adventure or a new term of interesting classes, I also relish the predictable blush overtaking the apple orchard, the low golden light illuminating a dusty onion drying house, the crisp snap of broccoli stems on cool mornings with frozen fingers, and the dim pop of new cover crop germinating in a dark wet field. Here it comes.