The first day of fall tends to be quite disappointing in Houston, Texas. The temperature stays in the nineties and the only signs of the changes of seasons are the porch decorations that feature pumpkins and wreaths festooned with the kind of leaves that we never see here. 

Around twenty one years ago my eldest grandson, Andrew, was in kindergarten and had an assignment to go on a fall walk and then create a picture or a short speech about the signs of fall that he saw.  Even at five years old he understood that he was not going to find dramatic changes in nature so he mostly grinched along as we felt overcome by the heat while sauntering around the neighborhood. 

Trying to be positive I suggested that he become a bit creative and describe how so many people change the color palette of their homes and clothing in the fall. I suggested that we might go to The Cheesecake Factory to enjoy a slice of pumpkin cheesecake that only comes around for a few months each year. I mentioned that we might make some pumpkin bread when we returned home or decorate his own house with whatever we might find stashed away in closets. Barring any of that I thought it might be fun to just draw a picture of what he would like to see on a real fall day like they have in Maine or New Hampshire. 

I think he was born logical because none of my ideas lit his creative torch. “Let’s face it, Gammy,” he insisted, “fall in Houston only means that maybe we no longer reach temperatures in the in the hundreds.” I tried to maintain my positivity by agreeing to drive through Starbucks to purchase a pumpkin latte for his mother. I wanted to at least get out and about somewhere to soothe his irritation with the teacher whom he believed must have never before lived in Houston. He kept insisting that nobody born in Houston she would give the class such a silly assignment.

After our trip to Starbucks we settled down to create a semblance of a project that would keep him from awaking the ire of his teacher. He half-heartedly drew a photo of falling leaves in shades of yellow, orange, red and brown. He vied for extra credit by creating a speech about what causes trees to develop such dramatic shades when a true fall season comes around. I suppose that he had the right idea even if the enthusiasm was not there.

I’ve been fortunate to see some autumn beauty in Colorado and most recently in Scotland even though I was there a bit early for a full blown extravaganza. Still I got the idea of how glorious the landscape would look in a week or two. I have to admit that I felt a sense of jealousy that some people get to see such glory once each year over and over again. I thought of how cool the air was in Scotland and how I was able to begin wearing sweaters as early as October instead of waiting just a bit longer because of the warmth that defined the days.

My own sweaters seem to last a lifetime. My only reasons for giving them away are because they begin to look out of style or perhaps I have gained more weight than I wish and they look funny with the lumps and bumps. Investing in fall and winter clothing where I live is generally a waste. The summer gear is a much better investment. I have even seen folks wearing shorts and sandals on Christmas Day. 

Nonetheless I get into the fall spirit every single year starting with September when I unpack the two boxes that have my autumn decorations. Somehow the inside of my home looks so much cozier with the wreaths and pumpkins that I place in the rooms. Then when October comes I add to the frivolity with Halloween gear.

I set out my books by Edgar Alan Poe and perch a raven on top of them. I hang a skeleton near the front door and set up a string of ghostly lights along the sidewalk leading to my front door. I put a grouping of haunted houses in the living room window and do my best to make the the atmosphere look scary for the arrival of the Trick or Treaters at the end of the month.

Then comes Thanksgiving and I set out the pilgrim statuettes that i purchased so long ago that they have become an unending tradition in my home. I have a turkey handmade by students in a shop class at one of my schools and bring in gourds and special plates. I begin making pumpkin pies the way my mother taught me that always keeps members of the family asking for more. I bear a bit of the heat by adjusting my air conditioner so that I might finally wear my sweaters and break out the fall necklace that my husband gave me as a gift many years ago. 

One of these days I hope to spend the fall in a bonafide leaf changing kind of place where the nights are cool and call for sitting near a fireplace sipping on coffee or tea. Until then I have to admit that I am fairly good at making the best of my situation. I fill the air with the aroma of pumpkin bread or pumpkin pie. I pretend that my fake wreaths are real and mostly I enjoy the many traditions of the season that keep me enjoying the people with whom I share a kind of holiday spirit. 

The children continue to come to my door each Halloween and I do my best to entertain then as a good witch. I meet up with family on Thanksgiving and feel a profound sense of gratitude that even after many decades I am still going strong. Maybe not having a real fall where I live is not so bad after all.