I remember one of the first things to strike me about Morris was how beautiful the greenery looks at the end of August. When the sun hits the horizon and the end of summer is almost upon this little town, the grass and tree leaves reflect a luminous emerald hue. Take it from me, friends: to see it is to fall in love.
Riding my bike out by Pomme de Terre last week, I was struck by that old feeling of awe and affection. I have always, and will always, love this place.
It’s funny how some things never change, and how some things do. Two short days after my emerald sunset, the grass had taken on a shade closer to peridot, and the first scarlet sumac creeped up on the landscape. That’s the way things are at the onset of September, just before autumn takes its seat near the fire. It’s a fickle month, a changeable month, one that leads us all to make the same kinds of sudden decisions and revisions.
We’ve had some September reversals in our home, too. Some of you may have heard that my life took an unexpected turn late last month, and that I couldn’t be more pleased. I was recently offered the chance to fulfill a lifelong dream by becoming a professional writer, a chance I couldn’t possibly pass up.
Those of you who have known me for quite some time may know that my dream was to be a writer long before I dreamed of anything else. I remember my father writing me a note shortly after my high school graduation, and although the entirety of it escapes me, these simple words stand out in my memory: “Dear Jenna, what creative thoughts will you someday pen?” At eighteen, I wanted more than anything to be a writer, but put the thought out of my head in favor of what I felt was a more reasonable career path. Although I’ve spent several years dancing in and out and around a variety of other choices, I was recently given the chance to make my original dream come true. How could I say no?
It’s funny how quickly things can turn around as summer turns to fall. My decision to come home to Morris inspired my beloved to make the brave choice of returning to school to fulfill his lifelong, and often unexpressed, dream of becoming a language arts teacher. Although we seem to have reversed our intended roles, each of us feels we’ve made the best choice for ourselves, for our family, and for this community that we love. The onset of autumn in Morris just does that, I guess.
So here we stand as summer fades away. Pete is spending his days in the classroom, I’m spending mine rapidly typing away, and the grass is changing from emerald to peridot…