cider
A Season for the Senses
by matt werbach
After a summer that seemed to sputter at the start and finish with a fury of sun and heat, the fall has arrived all at once. Pear and heirloom apple seasons are in full swing. Grapes are being plucked from the vine and bottled up for winter, and pumpkins are approaching their full size. The jet stream held cooler temperatures and wetter weather north of the Pacific Northwest for a few extra days, which kept the Columbia Gorge warm and sunny for almost all of September. Then in just a day it all seems to have turned.
I drive hundreds of miles on I-84 each week between Portland and Hood River—often even further east—but just when the driving begins to wear on me the seasons flip over, and I once again have to force myself to keep my eyes on the road. There was no gradual transition to autumn this year. It was as if a curtain was raised at the start of a show and the entire set had been changed. I could almost hear the gasps from the crowd. There were a few signs—the winds died, then switched direction as they roared back to life; the fog began to pick up as mornings cooled down—but for the most part this fall took full advantage of the element of surprise. Now that its beautiful oranges and reds have been revealed I am left with that familiar feeling of a sort of tranquil excitement, of a fresh new way to look at things, and of course, a gentle sadness at the passing of another summer.
Apple Cider and pumpkin pie. Dry leaves crackling under-foot. The first few inches of soft white snow falling thousands of feet up the mountainsides. I find myself presented with a choice when the fall bursts through. I can sit and reflect on the days of summer gone by, or I can embrace what lies ahead—a season for the senses. Warm sun on my face is replaced with a cool breeze carrying the scent of fallen leaves. Tourists and weekend warriors head back to their homes and batten down the hatches while locals venture out into the land they love. Is there anything more perfect than an empty hiking trail now that its scenery is painted with a fall brush? White wines sound less appealing than warm and robust reds, and hops season is fully upon us with local brewers pushing their newest blends. I choose to embrace the way this season makes me feel with its tastes and sounds. I will miss the steady warmth of summer, but that balance of sadness to see a season go and excitement for the next is just one more thing I love about the Columbia Gorge.
For weeks now I will carry my camera with me in an attempt to capture some small part of the wonder surrounding me. It never quite works. What stops me in my tracks as I walk, drive or hike around the area doesn’t seem to translate in a still image. I’ve grown comfortable with this sort of inevitable failure or short-fall. These moments captured in digital format now serve as a reminder of the emotions a bright yellow tree inspires as it jumps forward from the dark green background of pines. The pictures are like mementos left behind from people no longer with us. They carry an often eerie reminder or a subtle scent of what once was but will never be again. Not having them would give birth to a whirlwind of emotions—a deep seeded feeling of loss—but having them doesn’t begin to do justice to the real thing, to being there.
The soft scratch of pencil on paper is another constant companion of mine. It has its shortcomings too. I can record the way autumn sounds with comparisons and descriptions, or I can endlessly expound on the feelings it stirs up, but the fall season with its accompanying splendor is elusive. Still, it’s worth every effort to encapsulate just one fleeting moment of this splendid time of the year, and to be able to share that, or at the very least carry it with me for a while.
The only way I have found to truly embrace autumn is to absorb it in every way feasible. The taste of a crisp cold apple just off the tree is only available for a short time, as is the smell of toasting pumpkin seeds. The chance to hear brittle leaves crunching under your feet or rustling as they dance in the wind will soon pass. And the look—what more can be said about the visual feast that fall offers. Soon trees will be bare, snow will blanket much of the area and Mount Hood and Mount Adams will be glowing in their fresh white coats. This fall I will exhaust myself as my senses devour all they take in. Autumn serves as a reminder that winter isn’t far behind, and we all understand that next spring and summer will be upon us before we know it. I choose not to reflect on the season lost or the one bearing down on me, but instead to imbibe the current season, the season of the senses.
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