As the leaves began to change more than a month ago, I found myself thinking about rituals. How in the past various cultures celebrated the harvest and the end of the growing season with bonfires and communal feasts and even sacrificial offerings. It made me think about the activities I have been engaged in of late, which in their own way, are a kind of ritual.
I, along with Mother Nature, have been going through a series of changes and activities since September rolled around. While she transforms her colours and begins to chill the air, a myriad of insects and birds and animals are preparing for what is to come.
The monarch butterflies begin a miraculous journey to Mexico. The geese honk their salutations across the tundra and the prairies heading south. The squirrels begin a frenzied search for food and I put on my gardening gloves and head for the tool shed.
A week or two ago I started noticing that the squirrels seemed everywhere; in my yard, on the deck and in the trees. Each was busy finding and storing a supply of nuts and crusts and who knows what else in their secret caches. The rush to stash also elicited some wild chases up tree trunks. Squirrels are territorial.
I was told that they also have amazing memories and a GPS tracking system in their brains that allows them to remember where all that treasure is buried. Some of it I have dug up while tilling my garden.
There is a magnificent elm outside my bedroom window that has been shedding its dazzling cloak of leaves resulting in more and more empty branches. Last night I realized that my summertime immodesty would have to come to an end. My neighbours would have a bird’s eye view of me in various stages of undress. All that beautiful shade and privacy my elm had provided was disappearing. Time to pull down the other blind.
Autumn means my garden needs trimming and mulching. The rain barrel needs to be emptied and cleaned. The hoses need to be drained and stashed away and some leaves collected for the compost bins. T-shirts and sleeveless tops and shorts are put away replaced by sweaters and sweat pants. The winter duvet gets an airing and the summer one gets stored.
The winter bird feeder went up on the lower window this past Sunday and the search for better, more economical feed has begun. Last year’s batch ended mostly on the ground. Birds are discerning but very messy when it comes to food, especially when it’s primarily millet.
Yesterday, a rabbit sat munching the grass below the kitchen window while a squirrel ran along the telephone line with something drooping from its mouth. My neighbour was adding leaves to his compost bin. I was making stew.
There is something very reassuring and reaffirming about all this; a way of reminding me that I am only one of a host of beings preparing for the coming season. It leaves me with a sense of connectedness as well as empathy and not least, a sense of wonder! Blessings on us all this coming season.
Bonnie Dickie lives in Winnipeg, the Elm capital of Canada. In a previous life she worked for CBC in Yellowknife, NWT before moving South to freelance as a documentary filmmaker. Her work has taken her across the Arctic as well as China, Africa and Spain. Today she is semi-retired and aside from her dog walking exploits is focused on learning to play the ukulele-a talent she has yet to fully grasp.
