Old School

Have I ever mentioned that I am very very traditional? Old-fashioned if you will. Old School.

I realize most of you are already scratching your heads trying to figure out what this could possibly do with a cabin in the woods. Patience, my friends. As it absolutely does.

For the thing is, in my neat little ordered world (cough, cough), things like snow do not happen until winter comes. And winter does not arrive until December.

After all, there are four seasons, correct? And there are twelve months. So each season should have a good three months each, right? So in my mind, it's pretty simple. Winter is December, January, February. Spring is March, April, May. Summer is June, July, August. Fall is September, October, November.

Simple. Straightforward. Clean. Clear. Understandable. WORKABLE.

It appears, however, that the mountains disagree with me. Pretty vehemently. Ahem.

Evidence #1: It snowed six inches on June 20th. SIX INCHES. In JUNE. That is so definitely summer.

Evidence #2: It just snowed six inches. On October 8th. SIX INCHES. In OCTOBER. I am sorry, but that is most definitely, absolutely positively fall.

Seriously -- even the local news had spent the weeks before talking about prime fall leaf viewing periods and locations. Prime fall leaf viewing requires.... well... FALL.

Clearly I need to sit these mountains down and have a serious discussion with them. Explaining to them that we do not go from winter to spring to winter. This is simply not acceptable. Seasons do NOT get skipped. Seasons are called seasons for a reason.

So yes, I'm a bit in a ranting mood today thanks to the weather this past weekend. There are two whole seasons that seem to have gotten skipped this year -- and I am not particularly happy about it.

It's not just that fall happens to be my favorite season -- I love the leaves changing colors, the fact its all about jeans and sweaters, and the reminder of change and transition that fall highlights. Though many think that Spring is the season of discovery, to me, Fall has always been that season.

You notice things when the leaves change colors -- you see new things, and discover things that you missed. As the leaves fall, the views change completely. The starkness is not bleak, on the contrary, it is striking and beautiful. It is silent and hushed, expectant. The crisp air tastes like bated breath, hopeful, impatient, eager. It is as if the whole world is on its toes, excitedly awaiting.... something.

I have often been accused of being naive and Pollyanna -- and I am most like this during the fall. Everything just seems brighter, sharper, different.

So when I woke up Saturday morning to winter conditions of constant, steady snow -- it was beautiful, yes. But I was not / am not ready. I do not want to give up my fall -- give up my eager expectation of change and transition. My sense of crisp, sharp difference. My jeans and my sweaters.

So as I stare out my window two days after the snowstorm at a bright beautiful blue sky, and sun dappling onto hundred year old pines, I can convince myself, just for a moment, that snow is not covering the ground below. I can cross my fingers that winter simply made a special guest appearance, a friendly reminder of the future ahead, not a permanent hosting job.

I can hold onto my belief -- old-fashioned, traditional, old school -- that October is still Fall.....