The Fall Time is the Right Time.

I don't know what it was about this time of year that first endeared itself so deeply into my psyche, but it was profound and unyielding. From a very early age, autumn has always been my favorite season. Was it the color? The yellows, reds, and tawny browns of the harvest season measure the end of the fruitful summer and opulent sunshine moods, but my countenance is only brightened by the fall. The colors are beautiful in any setting, shining like gilded treasures in the full light of day and towering above the gloom and gray on those first cloudy and cold days of autumn.

Then there is the crisp air that filters down surreptitiously, only in the night at first, riding quietly on a northern wind. The air conditioning is turned off and we dive into the backs of our closets digging out long sleeved garments and fleece-lined pants that hopefully still fit. Before long, the aroma of the first pot of chili makes its annual arrival followed closely by grilled cheese sandwiches and chicken soup. The cold air might vanish for a day or two, giving way to short doses of Indian summer weather but such days are normally more than pleasant without the closeness of summer humidity.

I also recall the orange harvest moons of my childhood on the farm, giant pumpkin-colored orbs that were bigger than any I have seen since. There is a fullness to the earth in autumn as the final produces of mother nature ripen in chorus and are harvested by both people and critters alike. The final hay crops are cut and baled and the endless fields of corn, soybeans, and milo are brought in as well. There is a peaceful feeling in the work and preparation of winter that cannot be replaced by anything synthetic that I know of.

Then of course there is the start of all the hunting seasons that I look forward to all year with such longing that when they finally arrive I find myself in a hopeless euphoria; the only cure of which is one more hunt, then another, and another still. It's not just the event of hunting the various creatures that I enjoy but the preparation of it all; the camaraderie of fellow hunters; and the idea of being part of another kind of autumn harvest and a steward for this wonderful tradition. The days I spend on this Earth walking out shelterbelts for ring-necked pheasants with my friends and dogs (who I also consider among my best friends) or wading in knee deep water in hopes that a flock of mallards might grace me with a shot are among my most happiest and carefree moments.

One night soon a large flock of snow geese will pass raucously overhead in the darkness while I finish some mundane task in the half-light of dusk. I will look up at only stars that shine bright enough as to not be washed out by the amber glow of the city, but I will imagine seeing the flock riding a cold north wind south as the same gust rattles dead leaves across my yard. This will be a sign. I will retire inside to make a pot of chili and to finish untying the knots in the decoy chords that were made in haste during the previous season or begin packing for a pheasant hunting trip to the bountiful promised land that is South Dakota.

Damn, I love the FALL!

Dove Hunt '06

remember remember the first of September