Topic: Autumn

Author: Chris Dunn

Every year I wait with tense anticipation for the temperatures to drop and for the leaves to begin to change color, when I can wrap myself in the comforting embrace of my trusty leather jacket, perhaps a hat to shield my now balding pate. Summer is nothing but skin and sweat, and Spring is all itchy eyes and sneezing. Winter is too much of a good thing, locking you behind doors, nesting around heaters and thermal vents until the thaw finally comes. But Fall… Fall is my season!

These days in the heyday of social media, I endure numerous posts of complaint as the mercury dips lower and lower, all the while laughing to myself with giddy delight. Finally, the boorish nightmare of repetitive, relentless, smoldering summer days is coming to an end! Though given my chosen locale, I usually have to endure several “Indian” summers and false starts before the true season arrives in full swing. The trick is to watch the leaves, not the thermostat. A cool day here or there is nothing, but a bright red leaf, crackling and dry, whipping at the end of an empty branch in a chill wind is the true herald of autumn, and my personal invitation to actually venture outside my cave for a couple brief months before the ice comes.

I walk through my neighborhood my cheeks alive and red. No matter my pace, sweat isn’t needed to cool my skin. Everything is in perfect equilibrium. Days of hot drinks and warm clothes, and even the welcoming return of life as you step from a brisk walk into a heated house and a comforting warmth spreads through your bones. Skating at the edge of oblivion only to return to life, over and over again, as the tingling fire fills you like a deep, expanding breath.

For a brief time, my family had its own cabin in the woods, and each of us children was granted two weeks to use it for whatever we wished. I chose to try to start a tradition, inviting a host of friends to come and spend two weeks with me there in early October. My mother balked at first when I showed her my dates. “Really?” she asked. “That’s peak rental season, but… Okay, sure.” Though the place was huge, I invited far more people than could fit. My theory being, we would find a place for all who came, and that most people wouldn’t stay the whole two weeks. They would come and go as their schedules allowed, and then each year we would return and bask in the beauty of the forest covered mountains, eating and drinking together, sharing times and building stories, a yearly retreat. It was a beautiful dream.

The reality was far more pedestrian on most fronts. Despite exceedingly advanced notice, no one could make it to the first outing save for my then roommates Kit and Frank. We made a game go of it. Indulging in a wide array of mind-altering distractions while enjoying our time away from the patterns and responsibilities of our daily lives. Even Frank had to return after one week, but Kit stayed with me throughout, helping me live out a weak pantomime of my vision. We spent most of the days playing video games before venturing into town for supplies. Soaking in the hot tub or basking in the sauna, by turns. We talked of trails and whitewater rafting but neither of us was the adventurous type. Sitting on the porch and seeing a mother bear pass by with her cubs was more than enough outdoors for us both.

When the time came, as we prepared to pack up Scarlett, my 92 Nissan Sentra, and limp back to civilization and normalcy, I stood on the porch one last time. The view was tremendous. It took in a large swath of the Smokies. I’d been watching Fall’s path since our arrival when the view had been nothing but a sea of green. On the second day a tiny patch of red had appeared lower down close to the city. I tracked its progress as it spread like the simulation of a replicating virus of shifting colors across the whole of the range. As I beheld the autumnal tapestry and drew the chill air deep into my lungs, I counted the trip a success despite the low turnout, and I looked forward to coming back over many years, each time with a new mix of my friends and family. Let them partake of this retreat. Let them soak in this beauty. Next year would be bigger and better!

But next year was full of responsibilities and obligations. Jobs became careers. Friends got married and had children. My annual Run to the Hills Retreat, never became a thing.  Recently, some kids were playing with matches, and along with 14 lives, 2,500 homes were lost. Our lodge was one of those homes. It was weeks before someone could get through the disaster area and bring us grim pictures of the sad sight. Half a wall and clean foundation were all that remained.