Things Remembered

The leaves in the churchyard rustled as I shuffled my feet through them. St. Mark’s Catholic Church in Shakopee is only a couple blocks from my office, and I will on occasion cut through the grassy yard between the school and the church when I am out for a walk. Cutting through the churchyard might be considered trespassing, and it could be argued that I should stay on the sidewalk and go around. But I can’t.

The old concrete steps beckon me from the sidewalk, the utilitarian pipe railing guides me, and the quiet – almost holiness of the yard welcomes me.

The church is different, the school is different, and I am older. Yet, so much of it feels the same as when I was a kid in Belle Plaine.

I attended Catholic grade school at Saints Peter and Paul, and I usually walked to school, as it was only a few blocks from my house on Church Street. I even went home for lunch. As I walked through that churchyard the leaves would crunch under my feet or be swept along if I kept my steps short.

My mood is usually not affected by the change of seasons or the weather. I will, however, admit to a melancholy feeling when the autumn winds blow.

Even though I love the fall with its colors, brisk air, and the dead or dying bugs, I cannot help but feel a little sad with this change of seasons.

With each passing day the sun sets earlier – a metaphor for life I suppose.

Being closer to sixty than fifty makes me treasure each passing season a little more than the previous year.

Everyone around here appreciates what a wonderful, warm fall we have had. I think we may be getting set-up for a big disappointment though. All good things must come to an end I am told. We are so used to having these pleasant temperatures that when they do finally do drop it will seem especially nasty.

Fall is more than just a time to enjoy the colors and crisp air; it is also the time to get ready for winter. Even though it’s not here yet we know it’s coming so we prepare. We close the pool, put away the lawn furniture, drain the hoses, til the garden, clean the chimney, and get out our sweatshirts.

The farmers are also getting ready for winter. The trucks filled with this year’s corn harvest rumble down the road in front of our farm. The combines are clearing the fields to make room for the snow.

It seems now I am drawn to things that remind me of something or someone from my past. Autumn leaves remind me of my boyhood home. We raked leaves into piles to jump into; we raked them into the outlines of house walls and played house in them; Dad would burn leaves, and on my walks to school and church I would shuffle through the leaves and listen to them rustle.