By Carla Charter
I love New England during all of her seasons although I will admit Fall is the season where there is fall, a sonnet that sings to me. It is the season where there is no place I’d rather be. The changing colors of the leaves are a sight that would challenge Van Gogh himself. The aroma in the air is a perfume that beckons you away from work and onto a hiking trail.
Even the leaves decorating my yard, I hesitate to rake, letting their fall beauty linger instead. To me they appear like confetti framing the bright Orange pumpkins that rest on my step. The pumpkins that will be carved, as they have every fall before, once October arrives.
Traditions of hayrides and apple picking, topped off with a half-gallon of cider and a dozen cider doughnuts to bring home. Those apples you picked, you know will soon be bringing fall into your kitchen, filling it with the smell of apple pie and apple sauce. Mingling of course with the aroma first beef stew and homemade bread of the season.
As each fall season passes, it feels my New England roots grow ever deeper connecting me to this land. The land of my ancestors and now the land of my descendants. Fall is a reminder that where I belong where I fit in this world. So no matter where I may travel, my soul will stay rooted in New England. It provides a unique beauty I will always appreciate and provide a love of the land and its people I can find nowhere else.