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Last Updated: Nov 14, 2008 - 12:49:26 PM |
If summer were a day, this would be the beginning of its twilight.
The morning mists, which, at midsummer, had burned away before most of us were up and about, now lend a hint of wistful melancholy to the day’s beginning.
The birds, their procreative dance performed, begin to fall silent, allowing us to distinguish the quieter, chillier sounds of the insects.
The air itself seems to vibrate with the distant menace of tropical storms thousands of miles to the southeast.
Outside my window, in the soft glow of morning, a hundred tasks beckon.
Vines groan with dozens of Roma tomatoes – plump candidates for sun-drying on the back deck – now ripening faster than I can deal with them. Sunflowers bow their heads, begging to be relieved of their rich treasure of seeds. Ranks of edamame soy, pods swelling, offer their bounty indifferently to the tardy gardener or eager rabbit.
All around the house, once-tidy shrubs grow shaggy, overdue for pruning. Aggressive wisteria vines infiltrate the patio and overrun a nearby planter box. Rosebushes modestly await the gentle attentions that will prepare them for the dormant time.
The bees labor incessantly on, waiting for their landlord to comprehend and provide the attentions appropriate to the coming winter.
To my mind, this season is – of all the year – the most vital. If early spring is the time for new beginnings, this is the season of fruition, thrift, and preparation.
In agricultural societies – and even backyard gardeners – this season provides the fresh reward of the year’s labors. At the same time, it presents the eternal choice between extravagance and prudence – for even the most modest garden will now produce more than the hungriest family can willingly consume.
Canning, preserving, and drying – arts nearly lost in today’s right-now economy – become the only alternative to throwing away the good earth’s bounty. Restoring the fertility of the soil now affords the best assurance of next year’s harvest.
For the energy-conscious, it will soon be time for putting up storm windows, upgrading insulation, and checking for chinks in the household’s thermal armor.
For veterans of past hurricanes, it’s already time to check the generator and the chain saw, stock up on essentials, and review the family’s emergency plans.
For most families, it’s time to prepare the kids for another year of school – doing whatever can be done to assure a strong beginning to their academic year.
And for all Americans, it’s time to think seriously about electing the leaders who will shape our nation’s course over the next four years.
To the soul of youth, there is no season like spring. For those of riper years, the passage from summer to autumn has its own appeal.
Now is the season of reflection, of prudence, of thinking about the long-term – of quietly accepting that everything comes to an end.
Of remembering that every ending is a new beginning.
Last night, I pulled out a notebook containing my Village News columns from 2004 – the first year of this venture. As I read, I recognized that – despite the passage of years – not all that much has changed.
Then, as now, we were in the midst of a presidential campaign – and the prospects for high-minded debate were being subverted by mutual character assassination.
Then, as now, Chesterfield was dealing with the consequences of runaway development – especially by building schools that were far too large to provide an environment conducive to serious learning and healthy development.
Then, as now, the biggest problem with our political leadership – local, state, and national – was a remarkable failure of imagination. Politicians – and the voters who gave them power – seemed determined to continue pursuing policies that failed to produce the desired results, or any results other than a waste of time and money.
Not all has remained static, though.
In a September 2004 piece, I wrote about the impact of high gasoline prices on Canadians’ choice of vehicles. At the time, in Atlantic Canada, gasoline was selling for the seemingly absurd price of $2.60/gallon.
Four years ago, a pro-growth Board of Supervisors and entrenched County Administrator seemed utterly unconcerned with whispers of discontent among uneasy Chesterfielders. Last year’s ballot-box revolt, and the appointment of a thoughtful new county administrator, provide new hope – and put our new leaders on notice that they do not hold their seats in perpetuity.
Four years ago, Al Gore was a pudgy has-been. Today, he’s a Nobel Laureate and Oscar winner, leading a crusade which has transformed the national debate over energy.
Four years ago, the presidential candidates were two white guys – an increasingly unpopular president and an utterly unlovable senator. Today, one candidate is African-American and, if short on experience, unquestionably charismatic. His rival is – if not quite so glamorous – a retired Navy pilot, seasoned statesman, and legitimate national hero.
Things change, if not always as rapidly as we’d like – or fear.
To everything, there is a season. But every season is, in the end, a season of change.
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