Addition: Autumn Collection

I knew it.
This particular vignette deserved its own entry though. I just love it that much.

Of course everybody says it. It's on all lips, on every electronic status update, on TV, in the magazines, even on the colorful billboards that punctuate suburban commutes: Fall is a celebration, let's all be in love with it and enjoy its bounties.
"Pumpkin patch and petting zoo!"
"Apple cider - just 10 minutes away!"
" Try our new Pumpkin Latte for only $3.99!"
" X really enjoys walking in the leaves in October"
...................

But really. Really, folks - experiencing Fall in America leads to a whole new appreciation of the season. The event in all its rustic simplicity (embedded in its very name), its elementary nature, its earthiness even - is something that I came to look forward to every year. An almost childish anticipation that I knew nothing about before crossing the pond.

Autumn - as we also say - comes and goes in general indifference in France. If anything it is acknowledged by disapproval sighs and shrugs of resignation (infamous, ubiquitous and oh so French, the shrug is a national landmark. It requires months - years - of training to perform an acceptable one that conveys just the right amount of defeatism and scoffing. A real art form). It starts officially with the bittersweet rentree des classes (back to school) right at the beginning of September. For children and parents alike it is synonymous with end of summer, or more accurately, end of vacation. The whole country is back to work after eight weeks of sluggish activity on the various coasts of the Hexagon sipping apéritif after apéritif with their friends Dédé (a silly nickname for André) and Marcel.
Note to potential tourists: August is the best month of the year to visit Paris. All the nasty, mean-looking Parisians are gone, summer sales are still around and hotels are cheap. Really.

September thus opens the door to a long and empty season where everybody is as bleak and dreary as the weather. My memories are filled with rain; Autumn is a long and continuous shower. No cleansing, redeeming downpours but insidious, stingy, bone-shivering drizzles. The atmospheric dépression penetrates each and every inch of you.
Even the joys of boot, tweed and plaid shopping are not sufficient to lift the moods. The inevitable chestnut battles in the school yards either.
The end of October signals the break of the quarter, and the only 'celebration' of the season: All Saints Day. The quoting marks are there to signify the sheer irony of the word since there is definitely nothing celebratory in the concept (well - if you accept the fact that it's a National Holiday thus synonymous with day OFF); it's Halloween redefined (hijacked?) by the Catholic Church. There are indeed cemeteries, and tombstones. But absolutely nothing spooky about them; you are simply embarked on a family journey whose sole purpose is to deposit flowers on every single last residence of people even remotely related to you. Because you know, every kid dreams of staring at wet, cold marbles with its name engraved in golden letters.
I take what I said back: it IS actually quite terrifying.

Then things perk up a little bit with Christmas preparation. Lights, animated shopping windows, St-Nicholas, and Christmas markets.
But as awesome as it is it's already Winter-y stuff.

So yes, I was not an Autumn addict to say the least.
But I have been converted to Fall.
Ever since my first one trapped in the woods of Central Connecticut.
I remember walking on the rural lanes surrounding my house, camera in hand, taking shots of colored trees and decorated doorsteps, spying fighting squirrels and listening to the crows. That Sunday afternoon the Indian Sumer of New England swept away my homesickness. Marveling at new wonders, discovering the sweetness of October, its colors, scents and (soon to be known) savors - I felt at ease. At home. Turning point if there was ever one: I decided right there and then that I wanted to stay and know more about this country who celebrated the joys of harvest season to the fullest. The irony didn't escape me: a country recognized around the world for the excellence of its gastronomy, and which proudly claims the pristine quality of its products had almost totally silenced its rustic roots, whereas the Enemy, the embodiment of corporation and mega-distribution, was embracing each year with a contagious enthusiasm the bounties of its soil.

This year I carved my pumpkin and drank spiked apple cider. Like a 10-year old I am excited to put together my first Halloween costume. When August dies away and summer clothing gives in to tights and coats I take solace in thinking of all the warmth still awaiting us. Fall to me means generosity, sharing and conviviality. Friends and family. A ever so sweet countdown to the winter harshness that I am so happy to be now a part of.
For many years to come.