Fall in the Air

These last few days have hinted at the coming of fall. The humidity, which comes and goes all summer, has lifted, it seems, forever. It is still sunny during the days, the ocean water gloriously warm after the sun heating it up these past few months. The preview of fall occurs with greater insistence at night as the air gets cool, the morning dew glistening on the grass as the sun rises a bit slower. These gradual changes are just enough to suggest what is ahead. Fall here must be glorious, the expanse of trees no longer green, but in dramatic splashes of gold, yellow, and rust. The season here has now expanded to October, which means the die hard devotees must be lingering, desperate to soak up the last of the beauty of the island before closing up homes, loading up cars, and getting on the ferry headed to land.

Fall is, and has been, my favorite season. The colors are more splendid than the rainbow hues of spring. I love the first day when a sweater is required before heading outdoors. It is as if we are all readying for the quiet of winter when the world is observed from behind a window. It is the time of year when parents seem to sigh collectively as backpacks are hoisted on to their kids shoulders as they head for another year of school. It's ironic how fall is, metaphorically, the end, yet this is the time when school begins. Why doesn't school begin in the spring, the time of new beginnings? Oh, I guess that would mean their 'summer break' would be occurring in the winter months, not such a fun time for parents to be cooped up indoors with bored, restless children. I am looking forward to fall since I will be here for it. October was usually about the time when my churlishness about LA, its never-ending heat, usually reached a fevered, hysterical level. I would be downright mad that it was still too warm for me to wear nothing but a tank top to survive the sun-soaked days. The few trees that needed to drop their leaves would turn a brownish color, nothing close to the colors of fall from my childhood.

My son and I seem to be aware our time here is coming to a close, all too quickly. A Vineyard acquaintance, who lives in the city, has come back again. Our time on the beach is spent with her peppering me with questions about how emotionally ready I am to be heading to a new home, a place I had actually only seen when the walls were bare, beckoning the new family to hang up their photos, artwork, to make this place their new home. My first week back home, to this new place that is now our home, will be a flurry of doctors appointments, school shopping, and trying to get used to the dramatic newness of our lives. It is hard to imagine taking my son to school by walking two short blocks instead of the half hour drive through the spirit crushing traffic of LA. Come to think of it, the families who lived close to his preschool in LA drove to the school, walking simply not an option for people so accustomed to life lived inside automobiles. I am, like most parents, having a hard time comprehending the significance of my son starting Kindergarten--the true start to his academic life. I'm bracing myself for a few moments when I will need to gulp down the enormity of him taking this huge step.

The Inkwell is less crowded, although August is supposed to be the busy season. This year has felt quieter than in years past. Everyone is talking about the precarious state of our economy, uncertainty compounded by so many factors. I worry for the shop owners here, whose survival is determined by these few short months. I know this place has survived all the vicissitudes of lackluster economies, wars, and even the country's amnesia about its existence. And it will, again, survive this slowing economy as families shorten or forgo vacations, all of their extra money guzzled up by the insatiable appetites of cars.

This week promises to be another good one for heading to the beach. I, like all the Vineyard lovers, plan to sit there, savoring the sun, the spectacular colors of the Nantucket Sound, and the uniqueness of this place, a place I now call home.