Fall Is Literally Falling

It’s fall here.  And full-fledged fall too.  Not the half-assed fall you get anywhere besides New England.  I am right in the thick of it.  Leaves just starting to change and fall to the ground; pumpkins, mums and Halloween décor showing up on every doorstep; smashed acorns, nuts and other deciduous proliferation.  

I haven’t been fully immersed in fall for 12 years and being in it again almost feels sacred.  There is a smell that accompanies dry, fallen leaves that is so distinct, like the sound of the katydid in summer or the complete silence of a snowfall.  I was sitting in the backyard on my 2^nd day here, lounging in an Adirondack chair underneath the Black Walnut trees, feigning spiritual productivity (Emerson will be the end of me), when I smelled it – the scent of dry leaves.  Immediately I felt like I was 8 years old again in central Pennsylvania, attempting to help my older brother and sister rake leaves but in reality I was making a mess of them, jumping into the swept piles of leaves by the curb, hoping I didn’t get any bugs on me and coming out with twigs and bits of dried maple leaf in my hair.  I remember one fall I lost one of my pink and white high top sneakers in a leaf pile.  When I jumped into the leaf pile I had both shoes on.  When I came out – boom, one was gone.  My best friend and I searched through that pile for what felt like ages (but was probably 7 minutes) but were never able to find the high top.  It wasn’t even like I had lost a sandal or a white Keds tennis shoe.  It was a chunky sneaker, the opposite color of a leaf pile.  I don’t remember being upset that I lost it; in fact I think I was almost relieved it was gone so I had an excuse not to wear the darn things again.  I never did like pink as a child. 

So the backyard is full of dried, fallen leaves and I’m reclining in the Adirondack chair trying to soak everything in and be grateful I am in western New York again when I start to hear several thuds around the yard…and the neighbor’s yard…and the woods behind the house.  I notice the culprit of the thudding are these green balls falling from the branches of the Black Walnut trees.  These spheres are massive – roughly the size of small baseballs – and dense as a mother if they’re making a resounding thud every time they hit the ground.  At first I find this charming.  Then when I realize that I’m sitting smack dab in the middle of a firing squad I recant.  Probability tells me that it’s only a matter of time before one of these spherical iron ball things falls square on my noggin and I’m knocked out like a drunk uncle after Thanksgiving.  So I cautiously arise, move the Adirondack chair back 5 yards out of harm’s way, and attempt to resume my reading.  The only problem now is I can’t focus my reading, as I am completely fixated on the potential for destruction these Black Walnut trees (and their orbicular offspring) possess.  These trees are awesomely tall, about 50 feet high causing the solid balls falling from the tippy tops of the branches to come flying off at a ridiculous rate.  How have these spheres not damaged someone’s roof by now?  What’s inside of these orbs that make them so dense?  Do you think I could eat them?  Maybe they’re poisonous.  Maybe they’re not good for anything.  Maybe it's a nut.  Maybe it’s a fruit.  Maybe I should get up and leave the yard before my head is cracked open like a coconut.  That’s when my stepmom calls from inside the house to tell me my dad has emailed from Vietnam.  I swiftly get up from my post and bound up the back porch steps into the house. 

So now what am I doing?  I’m back to my Adirondack chair in the backyard typing away on my laptop, looking up what exactly these Black Walnut steel balls are and, it turns out, these little green alien spheres are, indeed, nuts!   Huh!  Oh nature, you sly fox.  You had me fooled.  And I just realized that there are a few nuts left in the branches right above my head so I think I’ll re-bound up the porch steps and take my precious laptop (and noggin) into safer territory.