Making Autumn in Los Angeles
Whenever I’m sick or just feeling a little down, I like to buy magazines. It soothes me to flip through perfectly curated editorial articles and daydream about recipes I’m realistically never going to make and outfits I certainly wouldn’t ever wear. Last week, in a fit of “everything is either on fire or teeming with virus and I hate it all,” I brought home a copy of Magnolia Journal, and read Joanna Gaines’ take on welcoming autumn. “I can’t make the trees change,” she wrote of Texas’ elongated summer and late-arriving fall, “but I can give the people I love a grand start to autumn.”
This is my second September in southern California, and I’m not used to the rhythm of it. Most afternoons are still well over 90°, hotter than it was in July and August. There’s no nip in the air, no hint of color in the foliage, and locals are more likely to refer to this time of year as “fire season” than “autumn.” I, too, can’t make the trees change, but September is September, no matter what the leaves are doing.
I sat down and made a list of all the sights, smells, and activities that define the season for me. Foggy mornings and frost-covered grass are out of my control, but roasting root vegetables and reading a thick book aren’t really weather-dependent. Neither is lighting a candle or filling a bowl with Halloween candy. And, even in the California, the days get shorter as we approach the equinox.
Seasons change at their own pace, but the traditions that come along with them are ours to create. In autumn, we fill our homes with the scents of cinnamon and clove. We embrace rich, earthy colors. We bake with all the fruits of the harvest. We sharpen pencils and crack open fresh notebooks. We savor the last warmth of summer, even as we prepare for the chill of winter.
Things don’t always go as planned. There are viruses and fires, hurricanes and floods. Sometimes, it seems like nothing is certain. But August still turns to September, which turns to October and November. The earth tilts on its axis. The moon follows its cycle. The sun rises and sets. The most we can do is be here, truly here, for every second of it, in the best way we know how.
