Sometimes, you can almost see it from here, and you certainly can hear and smell it. Fall is only a few steps away. I know, we had triple digits just a few days ago and it may happen again, but not for long. You’ll be pulling the windows shut before morning and opening them more during mid-day.
While you have the window open, take a deep breath. The spicy scent of marigolds drifts in and, if you live near a meadow, a hint of summer departing comes in on cured hay as bales are transported to stackyards. This is the yellow time of year; goldenrod waves along fences and road ditches and sunflowers cover hillsides.
Afternoons are noisy with the buzz of cicadas and by evening the crickets begin their conversations. Traffic increases on county roads as cattle are trucked or trailered home from far off pastures. There will be bawls of protest as calves are pushed up chutes for pre-conditioning. Ranchers listen for sale barn reports, and farmers watch market predictions.
Town dwellers will hear different hints of change. Early morning notes of band practice echo along the street if you live near the school. In late afternoon, whistles mingle with the sounds of traffic, as school is dismissed and sports practices begin. Turn on the radio and you will hear discussions about prospects for the season; will the Huskers get a bowl bid this year? How is the volleyball lineup looking? Everyone seems to be in a hurry for answers that won’t be evident for many weeks to come.
Everyone but me perhaps. I tend to hang onto summer even when it’s been uncomfortably hot like this one. With all my grandkids out of high school and moving on in life, we won’t be following local games so there will be more time to sit on the deck and watch the stars come out, try to decide just where that cricket is singing from, and ponder on the years when fall meant being involved with constant cattle work and worry about the markets.
Fall is a bittersweet time for me. I miss the corral dust, the bawl of cattle and the rumble of a semi pulling up to the chute to load. But there are sweet memories too. My mom loved marigolds and goldenrod, so I’ll bring in bunch of each in her honor. I chuckle, recalling the year one of my about to be kindergarteners decided, the night before the doors opened, that he couldn’t go to school. When asked why, he said because he didn’t know how to read.
Fall will appear right on schedule and the schedule is subject to change but we are right on the edge of it, and about to tip over. We all mark the season in individual ways. Maybe I’ll wander over to the sale barn and watch some cattle sell.
Meet me here next week and meanwhile do your best. Somebody might like it.