Out of Season
The change of seasons may be delayed much longer than our hearts would desire but it has never failed to arrive.
That thought renews my hope.
Regardless of what any cynic might say, my hometown of Austin, TX has seasons.
The flora and fauna that mark the changes are subtle and, admittedly, far less romantic than what you might encounter in Maine or Colorado. In some cases, what we experience is slightly more akin to the signs of an impending apocalypse in a Stephen King Novel. But I’ve found over the years that it’s only the grumpiest of transplants, missing more ostentatious fall foliage or snow, who refuse to acknowledge that seasons in this city exist or that they have any inherent loveliness. You will have to smile politely until they adjust to the different textures and scale of our climate.
It’s understandable. Grand displays of seasonal glory are a wonder of this world. I’m not here to suggest what happens in central Texas is a substitute for the explosion of color seen in other parts of the Northern Hemisphere. It’s apples and oranges. What we have is subtle, simple, but still worthy of notice and admiration, even if it is not what you are used to. We don’t expect every piece of music produced in this world to be played by a full orchestra. An acoustic guitar can be wonderfully expressive on its own. Perhaps if we are expecting the former, the limitations of the latter might disappoint us. Expectations can thus make all the difference in our attitude and inclination.
But we are bad at managing expectations. The recent heatwave is a fine example.
I’ve long been convinced that Austin’s Autumn is the emotional equivalent to a Minnesota Spring. It is our season of reward, of high expectations, the moment we are furthest away from enduring the brutal Summer heat. That first clear morning - sometimes in September - of low humidity and crisp air seems to bring our hearts the same joy as northerners feel at the site of the first crocus flower breaking through the snow in April. And just like the late Spring might bring a random snowstorm to darken the soul of even the heartiest Midwesterner, our oppressive Summer heat can return without warning and blast us in the middle of October. Different timings, different patterns, but the same dreary effect of dashed expectations for a long awaited resolution.
The fall heat, like the spring snow, is short-lived, of course. As I write, it is 97 degrees, my AC is out, and I’m still spitefully drinking a good cup of hot coffee. By the time this post is up tomorrow, we will have swung a full forty degrees overnight and all will be forgiven. I know intellectually that this may be one of the last hot days for months and yet while it is here, I am probably more resentful and less tolerant of it than in the middle of August in a drought. The last mile of the race can be the hardest to run. The last round of a fight can break your spirit.
We are seeing the signs of the next wave of illness and loss in this pandemic. The shadows are rising again along with the trend lines on the various graphs and charts. We have been told this was coming but always hoped it would not be so. This marathon season has been long enough and we are spent. But even as these now familiar cycles begin again, we know there will be an end.
“Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life. ”
I think it’s okay to be frustrated that the second half of this long journey feels somehow worse than the first, to need a little bit more room to be angry and even grieve as if it were March 15, 2020. We were beginning to feel a little safer, to think that we might be able to drop our guard a bit more. Austin is not in bad shape right now, and for that I am thankful. But we will likely not be able to prevent another rise in cases locally for the entire flu season. It is simply the way of this pandemic. So we grieve again, and after, we will seek to renew our hope again.
To comfort my own heart this time around, I am thinking of a vista I look forward to each year. Thanksgiving morning, after the parade and some last-minute cooking, I head to my parent’s house, nestled in a northwestern neighborhood at the start of the hill country. As I drive down the sharp incline of Spicewood Springs Road, I will have the privilege of taking in a lovely view of Autumn in Austin. The rolling, motley hills are full of evergreen Cedars and Live Oaks sprinkled generously with tawny Cedar Elms, golden Texas Ash, coppery Texas Red Oak, and burnished Big Tooth Maple. You can just see the tops of the rust-colored Bald Cypress that grow tall along the creeks around the Edward’s Aquifer. The weather is always comfortable by that time, sometimes even properly crisp and breezy.
The change of seasons may be delayed much longer than our hearts would desire but it has never failed to arrive.
That thought renews my hope.
