After 80 days of sunny, mild days, fall has finally arrived. It came without warning on Friday. I’m sure others would argue that it arrived much earlier, but the crisp wisp of air that defines the season for me was absent until I stepped out of my home Oct. 12.
I was only in it for a few moments, having been fighting a nasty sinus infection for the better part of the week. It’s prevented me from seeing my daughter’s new son (notice I still can’t grand-anything) and I even used my very first sick day in 19 years.
It’s not that I haven’t been sick before, it’s just that I never got paid for those days when I inevitably crashed and burned with some deadly disease. These would always be magnificent affairs, the most memorable of which happened at Pirates in Paradise in 2007 or so when I spent most of the week there hunkered down in in a tent, wishing I could just die. It is, perhaps, the source of my hatred of period camping because there are no comforts of home when you have to pretend you’re living in the late 1700s with a miserable 21st century cold.
I’m not that surprised that I came down with something. I haven’t been here for eight years, enough time for my immune system to adapt to Florida and forget all about those nasty things that used to attack me here. Case in point, when I was a teen, I would get allergies so bad that my eyes would swell shut, not a very pleasant thing to have happen to you while you’re driving a car. I don’t recommend it.
Thankfully, the hay fever ended when I moved out of Renton. I am not making this up. There seems to be something in Renton that I am allergic to, and no, it’s not my family. At least I don’t think it is.
But back to fall. As I’ve said before, I love fall. Always have, always will. And it finally came on Friday, appropriately enough on the 50th anniversary of the Columbus Day storm.
As I write this, it is raining outside. It’s characteristically gray. The soaring pines are waving gently in the wind.
That’s one of the cool things I had forgotten about. If you recall, I used to bash Washington when I lived in Florida. I used to say all sorts of nasty things about it and brag about how wonderful the Sunshine State was.
Well, I was wrong. No, I’m not going to bash Florida. It’s a nice place too. But to paraphrase the Janmeister’s statement about guys, “It’s a nice state, but it’s not my nice state.”
I am a Washington boy for better or worse. While others bitch and moan about the coming of gray and rain, I love it. I won’t always, of course. About the 20th day of making my way over to the bus in the dark, in the rain, in the wind, I will start to mumble about the crappy weather we’re having. It’s the basic right of every Washingtonian.
I might even long for the lovely weather in Florida from time to time. But then I will hear fall and again, I will be glad to be home.
Hear fall? Have I lost my mind? If you’ve ever been to the Northwest, or if you live here now, you know what I mean.
Fall has a distinctive sound to it here. Where it just sneaks in in Florida barely unnoticed, it announces its presence loud and clear here in Western Washington.
The sound of fall can be heard in the rustling of the leaves that have fallen to the ground and now blow aimlessly down the lanes. The rain on the roof is gently soft, not harsh like in Florida. Occasionally, drops splatter on your windows. Passing cars bring the rain to life as it splashes off the tires. And best of all, the giant pine trees make a swooshing sound that is so distinctive, an overarching melody of nature completing the chorus of sounds here that mark the coming of fall.
Yes, there is wind in Florida. And palm trees have their own beautiful sound. I will always be glad for the time I got to see palm trees every morning I awoke.
But there was never fall. Oh sure, the weather would become milder, the sweltering humidity of summer would finally die down and the no-see-ums would slow their merciless attacks. The deciduous trees would seem a bit confused, dropping some of their leaves but not all, as if they weren’t quite sure if it was still summer or almost fall.
Pumpkins would be in the stores and you’d see sprays of autumn leaves at Walmart to decorate your homes with, but it always seemed a bit odd to me, since Florida isn’t exactly known for traditional fall accoutrements. It was as strange to me as the first time I went to Key West. It was December and here I was in shorts, in the tropics, driving past homes with inflatable snowmen in their front yards and a Santa, still in his red furry suit. He not only looked out of place, but darned hot too.
At work, the moms and dads talk about taking their kids to corn mazes at the local farms where they can drink warm apple cider and pick out a pumpkin before heading home through the valleys painted with trees in every shade of gold, red and orange imaginable.
It’s fall. There’s no doubt about it. And while spring seems like a long way off, I can live with that. One of the great things about living in a place with four distinct seasons is that there’s always something to look forward to. I think that’s why people are always so optimistic here. A sunny day is a gift to us, something to be treasured and celebrated. The rains bring snow to the mountains, meaning ski season is just around the bend. And spring brings a sense of renewal and promise as well as hints that summer is just around the bend.
It may not seem like paradise to everyone, but it certainly is to this one time Floridian who has discovered that not every paradise needs palm trees and a boat drink,
In the Emerald City, singing in the rain,
– Robb