I woke up this morning to bitter Minnesota weather, the kind that is an undeniable harbinger of what is to come far too soon for my liking. From under the covers at 6:22 am, Bou cuddled up warm and limp against my side, I blinked in the harsh light of my iPhone screen, first blinded and then baffled by the even-more-harsh reality of “twenty degrees. Feels like fourteen. Wind is making it feel colder. Sunrise: 7:49am.”
Reader, I screamed inside.
Then I braced myself, bundled up in a snug and cheerful red wool coat, shrugged Bou into a puffer vest, and took her outside. What other option do I have? I choose to live in, and love, Minnesota. This is the reality of half the year here. It’s cold.
While my computer updated for a full 90 minutes this morning, I cleaned out my beautiful fall flowerpots. Flaming orange zinnias, bright rainbows of tiny chili peppers, golden mums and vibrant purple celosia like little paintbrushes - all drooping, faded, frostbitten. I derive so much joy from my postage stamp of an urban balcony garden, and to see the flowers I’ve tended carefully for the past few months so wilted under the hard frost wilted me inside a little bit. I had let them go a few days too long, clinging to the fact that my sheltered balcony insulated them from the first few cold nights and enjoying every moment of their color, the composition of the containers so carefully plotted on an afternoon boondoggle to Bachman’s with my mom.
Fall in Minnesota is always my favorite season. I go full Anne of Green Gables, full Joe Fox, full F. Scott Fitzgerald when treated to this most beautiful of months. “I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.” “Don’t you love New York in the fall? It makes me want to buy school supplies.” “Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.” I fly high, living for sunrise lake walks lighting the trees on fire, for sweaters and apple candles and petite, warty pumpkins. For Bou’s joy at crisp mornings and my own delight at being able to spend time outside without peeling sweat-damp clothes off afterward. I think the heights of happiness I hit in October just make the inevitable crash harder.
And so, this morning. The leaves are down, the wind has changed in timbre, the landscape leached of its flaming color and settled into that ghastly, made-to-depress November monochrome. I’m a little salty and a little anxious and, always this time of year, a little lonely. Watching nature turn inward has me introspecting a bit too, and working really hard to convince myself that this will be the year I have a good attitude about winter. No real point beyond that except to put virtual pen to virtual keyboard and resolve to find little joys in a season where everything feels a bit harsher and harder.
Cheers to a gorgeous October, and for finding November’s own weird kind of beauty. :)