SOMETHING TOLD THE WILD GEESE

By Rachel Field

Something told the wild geese
It was time to go,
Though the fields lay golden
Something whispered, “snow.”

Leaves were green and stirring,
Berries, luster-glossed,
But beneath warm feathers
Something cautioned, “frost.”

All the sagging orchards
Steamed with amber spices,
But each wild breast stiffened
At remembered ice.

Something told the wild geese
It was time to fly,
Summer sun was on their wings,
Winter in their cry.

* * * * * *

This has been one of my absolute favorite poems of all time ever since I learned it in the second grade, and I have a little bit of a ritual every year around this time, when I can finally feel Summer’s last grasp at trying to strangle the life out of every living thing. The cool in the days returns and I’m ever so happy. I think of the words, recite them to myself, share the poem with the rest of the world…

(just wait until the real Winter finally gets here and we’re in the good and thick of it, and I start pushing Robert Frost on everyone!)

A crispness to the blue sky tends to stand out; something that doesn’t happen all through the year, but just around this time. It’s still Summer, but you can tell, that’s a September sky. That’s pure Autumn…which is just that much a portion of “my” Winter.

You see, if you haven’t already figured it out – I consider the Autumn, since it is the threshold to Winter, being just that much a part of Winter (even though my absolute favorite part of Winter is Solstice time and after…right in the thick of the storms and winds and blow ye from the depths of space and freeze the world time of year). I’ve lived much of my life by the old and ancient calendar of the “dark” (or darkening) season and the “light” season. Indeed, I celebrate the equinoxes and solstices as separate entities, but live my life through the years as only being split in two – the dark and the light. From Lughnasadh (the first week of August) we actually see the decline of the long Summer days and they’re visibly shortening, even though that process begins right at the solstice, it become actually visible and noticeable in August…that begins my time of the year…and how about that, Autumn is smack dab on the doorstep! So, indeed, I do put so much a significance to Autumn in my Winter.

The farmers’ markets are packed with fresh harvest.

Do you know something? Canning is coming back in style again after several years of being dormant and people are jarring up their own stuff for keeping on the shelves. All of a sudden, we’re seeing canners and jars and lids and even the accessories (the little swatches of cloth to decorate, “special” markers to mark the sides of the jars – personally, a Sharpie or a Marks-A-Lot has worked fine for me for the many years I’ve been doing it…but, we certainly do live in a capitalist society, so, I suppose, all the best of luck to the merchandisers)

Indeed, it’s a business-y time of year – and that’s good for the economy – I mean, lots of companies do like to manage their fiscal years around the nation’s, but also, school is starting up again, and wouldn’t you know it…unemployment is somewhat slowing down and here and there a few more jobs are to be had (I’m lucky enough to have been one to finally climb out of the deep hole of unemployment and so I’m thankful, but also watching the world through different eyes.) Aside from regular business, here in Maine, we’re wrapping up one phase of the tourist season and beginning another. You see, in the hot of the summer, a good number of the tourists happen to be the families with the kids – renting out cottages and other rentals; and then, as school starts back up and families go home, then you get the quieter couples and LOTS of retirees – those who would rather avoid the strongest of Summer heat and sun, but would still like to be able to walk without a jacket in the daytime along the beaches – this is the interim group of tourists that come around between the typical Summer crowd and the LeafPeepers (when Autumn finally shows her face.) Why not? It’s good for business – and we do thrive on our tourists here in Vacationland.

…and what about this time of year sparking the fair circuit? Do you know how many people are primping and prepping and getting things just right for bringing to the country fairs? I know that other areas of the country have either declined on the fairs, or else, just turned this time of year into a carnival with midway rides and carnie booths (not to say those aren’t fun either, but…) I’m so happy that most of the places here in Maine still remember the crafts and the animals and the harvests and the old fashioned games like the sack races and the pig chases and the pie eating contests for the kids – and the stitching and knitting exhibits and the farm machinery and the harvests for the adults…yes, indeed, people still award blue ribbons for best pie in show, or best jam, or best cross stitch, or best sweater…I miss growing up on the fair circuit – indeed, my family did – but we mostly kept a sales booth to sell crafts and yarns and materials. Ah, but I have seen, firsthand, the little old ladies – the sweetest people you’d ever meet – until fair time – come out with sharpened teeth and claws, knitting furiously, stitching with not even the hint of a knot in the thread, hand quilting absolute perfect stitches, you might have thought a machine did them – and then also inspecting everyone else’s work – examining the back of cross stitched or needlepointed pieces and even two-colour carryovers on the backside of knit pieces, sniffing over a pumpkin or apple pie and trying to figure out just how much of what spice went in and just how long the custard cooked, perhaps turning a jar of jam to see how well it jelled – and masterfully cloaking all of the savage beast of good competition with the most convincing smiles and just that standard sweet old lady look. I love it all, and if I could live my life in something maybe resembling a Gypsy vardo traveling all over the fair circuit this time of year and then parking somewhere until the snow melts into Spring, I would give up all that I know of this life that I live now just to do that. This time of year begins my life as I know and love it.

I’m lucky enough to live on the third floor up apartment in my building and I’m RIGHT AT tree level and so, I’m sitting here looking out my window at the little Maple seeds (we used to love watching them twirl as they fell) and they’re just now turning the reddish-brownish tones, but all the while, still hanging on to the green leaves for dear life – no, it’s not time to break loose and tumble to the ground just yet, but, soon.

I’m hearing the Chickadees in the morning again; don’t get to hear them all that much through the Summer. I love to wake up to hear that “looooo looooo – looooo looooo – chicka dee dee dee dee dee” They’re frolicking in the trees just outside of the window.

The most beautiful smelling breeze comes through the windows and, of course, a common word for the weatherman is “good sleeping weather” – no fans or air conditioners – good high pressure (at least for now, the rain will come again soon) – and a very slight chilly feel – another bit of luck, being on the third-floor apartment and right in the urban canopy. Maybe it’s just me, but, I feel that being right up among the branches and the leaves, I’m right in a spot where most of the time, the heat of the day is filtered and also the light and even the pollution (yes, even here in beautiful Portland, Maine, we have the city smells) So, what comes through the windows is simply fresh and beautiful.

The cats are either sleepy – the change of season kind of sleepy – they certainly know what time of year it is…or else, they’re the most explosive bundles of skin and bones and fur you’ve ever known. Have you ever seen a cat during the changing seasons tearing through the house like a streak of colour? There must be a purpose to having an insatiable need to run to one spot, just to stop short, turn, and run to another one, just to do the same thing and run to yet another spot…but it happens every year. I mean, yes, indeed, they get that wild hair every once in a while all through the year – any cat person knows this, but, it’s so much more concentrated this time of year, and it’s so entertaining – until I have to go behind them and pick up the mess that these miniature tornadoes left behind. I mean, really…how many cat people REALLY keep all of the priceless antiques out for display on rickety tiny-top tables? What priceless antiques…oh, that’s right…cat person.

All of the ducklings that were swimming in line in the ponds all through the year have grown up, but they haven’t changed feather colour just yet, so, all you see is brown. After the Winter, we’ll start seeing more of the beautiful green heads and the dark brown backs on the boys and the lighter brown and the spots on the girls…and they all know what time of day it is (be it breakfast, lunch, supper, or any other snack time) when a human just happens by…yes, indeed, even the ducks have grown into this time of year and have learned to gather into one spot when people come ’round because they know they’re getting some kind of crumb that they’re ready to fight over. They’re learning how to fly – guess where they’ll be going soon enough. When you see young ducks testing out their wings by running and jumping off of the banks of a lake or a pond, just to see if they can fly a few feet before crashing into the water…you know that in a few weeks, they’re going to be taking to the air…it’s coming…you know it.

…and how do you like that? It’s knitting season (well, for me, all year ’round is knitting season, but…) New yarns and wools that have been spun and hung and plied and dyed and dried and skeined are going up on the shelves – why else do you think all of the yarn shops have been having their mega sales all Summer long? They have to make room somehow. New patterns are springing up all over the place. The “seasonal” knitters are going back to picking up the needles again, or else casting on something new. It kind of works in rather well even with schools as well…what art teacher wouldn’t want to inspire creativity in kids? They’re starting to teach knitting more and more to all sorts of kids in all sorts of schools these days. Interesting, what terminology will do. I mean, it will always keep the term of “craft” but, call it “art” and it becomes a medium for everyone!

I’m so alive and I know it.

I’m happy today.