SEPTEMBER -  by Helen Hunt Jackson

The golden-rod is yellow; The corn is turning brown; The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down. By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather, And autumn's best of cheer. The gentian's bluest fringes Are curling in the sun; In dusty pods the milkweed Its hidden silk has spun. But none of all this beauty Which floods the earth and air Is unto me the secret Which makes September fair. The sedges flaunt their harvest, In every meadow nook; And asters by the brook-side Make asters in the brook. 'T is a thing which I remember; To name it thrills me yet: One day of one September I never can forget.   From dewy lanes at morning The grapes' sweet odors rise; At noon the roads all flutter With yellow butterflies.
Helen Hunt Jackson, 1830 -1885, was an American poet and  writer who became an activist for improved treatment of Native Americans by the United States government.                                                           ~ * ~
NEW RELEASE - Finding Love in Pine Valley       FINDING LOVE IN PINE VALLEY     New Release:   eBook/Digital - Now Only $2.99 Print - 6.99

OCTOBER GAVE A PARTY

 October gave a party;
The leaves by hundreds came…
The Chestnuts, Oaks, and Maples,
And leaves of every name.
The Sunshine spread a carpet,
And everything was grand,
Miss Weather led the dancing,
Professor Wind the band. 
                                                ~George Cooper, "October's Party"  

Autumn has walked across our Pennsylvania mountains and spilled out all the seasonal smells like a rich perfume. This is time when red-cheeked apples and sweet wood smoke give off a familiar fragrance that is a harbinger of things to come. We can smell the earth—the dried cornstalks, the pungent aroma of woods and pine, and the musky scent of pumpkins and gourds. Along the fences, grapes on withering vines fill the air with an earthy bouquet. 

But there’s a certain sadness to autumn. It’s a warning that the year is ending, that we’re growing older. We’re maturing. It is a time to contemplate the reason for our being and for our purpose. It’s a time to be thankful for our lives, to re-evaluate our errors, to realign our goals, and to strive towards that which makes us happy . . . and our world a sweeter place.

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Above are the poem and excerpts from my very first online blog, for October 2011, fourteen years ago. Since graduating decades ago from Point Park College with a degree in journalism and communications, I’ve realized my entire life has been dedicated to pounding the typewriter or computer keys to string words into sentences and sentences into paragraphs. 

I’ve written for television, radio, education, industry and business. I’ve composed copy for commercials and public service announcements for radio, television, and news outlets. I’ve written grants, curricula, and news articles. I’ve taxed by brain while collecting facts for nonfiction, and stretched my imagination for fiction. I’ve written with tight deadlines of only a few hours; and I’ve procrastinated for days, knowing I had a loose lengthy deadline. 

All writers know the feeling of rejection—as well as the joys of being published. Awards are also wonderful to receive, but there is no better feeling for writers than the minute they finish a tough piece of writing, and they know they’ve given one hundred percent of their time, energy, and talent. The elation, which may only be a smile or nod or sigh to the outsider, can’t compare to the joy and relief they feel as the thoughts in their heads do a happy dance. 

Someone once asked me what I thought were the main ingredients needed to become a writer. There are many, but personally for me, the main abilities are curiosity, an imagination, persistence, and a love for reading. 

As October brings us falling leaves, falling temperatures, and maybe even falling snow, I leave you with this quote from Somerset Maugham:

It’s a funny thing about life; 

if you refuse to accept anything but the best, 

you very often get it. 

 

 

 

FINDING LOVE IN PINE VALLEY  

 

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OCTOBER - THE YEAR'S LAST, LOVIEST SMILE

Blooming lilacs

October arrived with the dismal days of relentless rains. Prior to this wave of wet days, September was cheerfully dry and hot. So warm, it tricked the buds on our now leafless lilac bushes and allowed the buds to start flowering. Now, I’m worried whether flowers will appear on the bushes when spring rolls around in 2025.

October in the Central Pennsylvania mountains is known for its vibrant vista.  Maple and birch trees burst into a panorama of colors from ruby reds to carrot-colored oranges and golden yellows. Foggy mornings, falling leaves, hills of blooming goldenrod, and the rich brown of cattails in the swamps, also add to our dazzling landscape.

The scent of wood smoke riding on the breeze means the wood stoves and the fireplaces, indoors and outside, have been ignited to chase the chill away and welcome autumn. It’s also the month of pumpkin and apple picking—a time when our hungry thoughts turn to pies, pastries, applesauce, and cider, served hot or cold.  

This year, the osage orange tree my husband planted years ago beside our deck for shade provided crates of oranges that we hauled to the local dump. The oranges are useless since the taste is bitter. However, Native Americans used its stout wood for war clubs and tomahawk handles. Early settlers and pioneers found the wood useful for creating wagon wheel rims and hubs. The ridged and scaly bark of the trunk provided both a fiber for rope and tannin for making leather. Thorny osage orange trees are still planted by farmers for hedge rows to keep livestock corralled and out of their harvested fields.

Many folks refer to autumn and October as “the year's last, loveliest smile." I think of her as a warm transition period, warning me and my Northern friends that the breath of winter is nearby. Raking leaves, cleaning out flowerbeds, storing away outside furniture, covering delicate plants from hungry deer, and searching for snow shovels are all part of the merriment of Pennsylvania’s October. 

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