Fall in the Suburbs

I don't think any state can rival the fall colors in the Maryland suburbs, not even New Hampshire. I never knew about how autumn could make a person fall love with nature till I moved to Maryland. 

Imagine getting your first kiss or proposed to under that tree in the fall. Or even just whispering all your secrets to the leaves and the horse while the wind blows the secrets all away.

But fall here has a way of capturing your heart and making you wish that no other season ever existed. I honestly think it is a bouquet of colors before the winter hits, snow storms and unpredictable flight statuses. It is also a wonderful opportunity to go for those last long walks before the days of rain and cold prevent you from walking in any way that is pleasurable. 

I have been enjoying quite a lot of things lately: making pumpkin bread, traditional Neapolitan dishes like meatballs and melanzane ai funghetti, and last but not least going for long walks and just admiring the striking colors of the trees. I can't get tired of looking at each tree's beautiful changing colors and just getting mesmerized in how beautiful nature can be. It really is the most serene time of the year in Maryland. 
Melanzane ai funghetti


The colors of the fall here really make me think of walking in one of James Whitcomb Riley's poems like "When the Frost is on the Pumpkin." I can't help but quote it here as I've been reciting it to myself on walks. I know the local vernacular is hard to read but it really personifies some of the sounds one might hear in the suburbs on the edge of rural Maryland (the edge of civilization).

Lastly, I have taken up teaching the catechism to first grade in our church. Children are such a sparkle in my week and talking to them about Jesus love is rewarding, hearing their questions makes me ask more questions too, and story-time with the parables of the Bible are the best story-times for a librarian to ever read! Tomorrow we are going to learn about All Saints Day and each of them had homework to talk about one saint for the class. I can't wait to hear what saint some of them picked! I hope I see some of the little guys dressed with leaves from trees! 


When the Frost is on the Pumpkin - J. W. Riley (best recited by Fatty)

 When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,
And the clackin’ of the guineys, and the cluckin’ of the hens,
And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it’s then’s the times a feller is a-feelin’ at his best,
With the risin’ sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.

They’s something kindo’ harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer’s over and the coolin’ fall is here—
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin’-birds and buzzin’ of the bees;
But the air’s so appetizin’; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur’ that no painter has the colorin’ to mock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.



The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin’ of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries—kindo’ lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin’ sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover over-head!—
O, it sets my hart a-clickin’ like the tickin’ of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!


Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;
And your cider-makin’ ’s over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too! ...
I don’t know how to tell it—but ef sich a thing could be
As the Angels wantin’ boardin’, and they’d call around on me
I’d want to ’commodate ’em—all the whole-indurin’ flock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!






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