A collection of antique post cards in an old wooden box is in my bedroom closet underneath the craft project to finish, china collection no one else wanted and boxes of labeled shoes on the floor hidden by clothes organized by color. When we first moved to Massachusetts, no matter the season, I would drive down country roads and say to myself, 'everywhere it's like a picture postcard'. I wonder if anyone still sends them to friends and family while vacationing in this day of instagram and cell phone.
The surprise factor is what's truly lovely to experience in New England. Driving on the highway to a speaking engagement I turned left instead of right off the exit and look what I found...a very little, charming pumpkin sale. Signs suggesting "Help yourself" and jar for payment left on the side of the road near the ancient barn make me happy there are still places that harken back to a more trusting era.
Often our sunsets are the same colors as our in season vegetables, turning leaves and sweaters we take out of those closets just for days like these.
Autumn is a reason to celebrate partly because of our American history which began in Massachusetts. It feels extra special having many ancestors who lived here long before the colonies-they must have been hardy people who knew how to survive!
From farm stand to the magnificent Museum of Fine Arts is a leap but only less than an hour's drive from home.
It's a privilege to work in the Spring and Summer at the Massachusetts Horticultural Society as an Educator.
Now it's home is at Elm Bank in Wellesley but originally this was it's elegant headquarters. Notice the delicate wrought iron and hand carved stone wreaths and garlands.
Whether it's the shadows on famous architecture, quiet rural scenery or picturesque floral arrangements made with experienced- artistic hands, Fall is a state of mind that sets the stage for our contemplation and rest.
The view of Mount Wachusett where soon the skiers will get their wish for snow looks quiet now- just like the season after long days of planting, nurturing, weeding and watering is only a memory. The harvest is in,
the wood is dry and stacked, the colors of red, orange and yellow are slowly fading. It reminds me too of the continuation of life. As a mere mortal, someday I will stop seeing the following season in this cycle but as a believer, I know it will be even more beautiful and restful and inspiring as this. In the meantime, my goal is not to just finish but to finish well.