I love fall. Don’t get me wrong, there are things I love about every season, but fall has always held a special place in my heart. When I was a girl, I liked the excitement of starting school again, falling into that familiar routine of everyday life after the wanderlust days of summer.
There is also always the delightful anticipation of my birthday. On the 21st of October it is the beginning of the holiday season in my family. First comes my birthday, which flows nicely into the festive fun of Halloween, which means one can have a costume party for your birthday and get twice as much Halloween and candy-loving goodness.
Mostly what I love about fall is that it is such a rich sensory experience. Some years here in the Pacific Northwest, we have the most glorious Indian summers. Though it may not always be particularly warm, the sun has lowered in the sky and gilds the glorious array of changing leaves. The air is crisp and golden. Even when the grayness begins to set in, I still feel warmed and cheered by the fiery intensity of those bright leaves as I snuggle down a little deeper into my coat and scarf.
Besides the visual and tactile splendor of falling leaves and crisp breezes, there is another sensation that above all others I associate with fall. It holds the key to all those beloved memories and sensations I store in my heart. It is smell.
When I was growing up, my mother was an avid homemaker. She cooked most things from scratch with care and love. When I went through a phase where all I wanted to eat was bread, my mother decided to make her own and that it would be the healthiest most nutritious bread around. That bread not only nurtured my body; it fed my soul. There is nothing like returning home from a long day at school to a house that is completely overcome with the smell of baking bread. My mother took the simplest things of everyday life and made them special.
There is another smell I associate much more closely with fall; one of my favorite smells of all time. My mother concocted the most enticing potpourri of spices that would diffuse through the house as it simmered in a little red and white enamelware pot on the back of the stove. That smell, whether it was in the cool morning as I crept sleepily downstairs in my pajamas for breakfast, or after returning home from school, was a herald of home. It said, “Fall is here. You are safe. You are warm. You are home.”
When I shipped myself off to school for a few years in Los Angeles, (where, as far as I’m concerned, they don’t really have fall). I felt out of place and out of touch with those familiar markers I had always so closely associated with the rhythms of my life. I used to travel around the LA hoping for the slightest inkling of fall foliage among the lanes of scrubby palm trees. The closest I could get was some grand old sycamores whose leaves didn’t change so much as just turn brown and fall off.
My saving grace was two packages I received from my parents. The first was a box full of colorful Seattle leaves that my father had lovingly collected and pressed. It was fall in a box. Every time I needed some fall color, all I had to do was open that box. The other was a care packaged of fall goodies from my mother. It was full of spicy candles and decorations to make my little studio apartment cozier. But the items in her package I prized most, (and had begged her to send me) were two small jars of her potpourri.
I got out my own small pot and let that spicy goodness simmer and send its message of fall through my apartment, so far from home, till it seeped into every crack. You are warm. You are safe. You are loved. Fall is here.
I invite you to savor the richness of this season, and encourage you to fill the everyday moments of your life with your own goodness and tradition. To get you started, I’ve included my mother’s potpourri recipe, with permission of course. The amounts are approximate and allow room for you to adjust this spicy magic to suit you.
4 Tbs. ground cinnamon
A few whole cinnamon sticks
2 Tbs. whole allspice
2 Tbs. whole cloves
2 Tbs. dried orange peel or cut up fresh peel
Optional: add a few drops of orange or cinnamon oil
Once you have the mixture, put some of it in a small pot of water on the stove and let it simmer on a low setting. Enjoy.
-posted by Miss Meresa, who is going to go put some of that spicy goodness on the stove right now!”
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