Gourds and Golden Light

Autumn does not make it’s official appearance until later in the month, but c’mon, the first of September has always felt like the start of a new season to me (and I think you will agree): school supplies, cooler mornings, golden afternoons, buckets of mums. For all intents and purposes, September is the start of a new season. Hello, lovely one.

The full moon this month also coincides with the beginning of the month. Its name is the Corn Moon, which is thusly named in conjunction with Native American time keeping traditions. The Native Americans, as we know, moved with the seasons, and if we take a drive in the country now, the corn is high, lush, and ready for picking. Hence, Corn Moon.

Autumn is a season of change and it is a time to start looking inward, just as the earth’s growing season slows. Like any other season, it has its rituals and autumn is one big, jewel-colored heap of them. 

This year, given all that has transpired, I’ve been thinking a lot about the traditions we keep because many (all) of them were interrupted or completely halted. The fourth of July came along, with its usual sunny splendor but there was no annual trip to see friends and celebrate it. We stayed in our own backyard. No fireworks, no crowds, no fanfare. I paused when it was time to hang the flags on our porch and the usual adornments. Same happened at Easter, for several birthdays, even the beginning of school this year. 

But I did put up the decorations. And wrote the greetings on the chalkboard and am adding the seasonal flourishes around the house. Why? 

Because we need it. We need it like we need to brush our teeth each night and have our coffee each morning.

This year has been a blur, a ludicrous combination being stagnant yet somehow still progressing. How many times have you heard someone utter “I have no idea what day it is”.  

But we need those markers of our days, along with customs to mark in our minds like beacons that help us move forward a little less hesitantly. Any small version of them will do right about now. We are collectively longing for the usual, the expected. 

Our traditions, once ordinary, have become extraordinary.