Quiet Mountain Essays

Copyright © 2009

The Lure of Autumn: Then and Now
A Letter from the Porch Swing
by
Brenda Maddaluna

                                                                                                                     Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Dear Dad,

I think autumn is peaking here now; the colors are brilliant among the leaves that are still clinging to
the trees.  The leaves that let go early, now lie on the ground making a crunchy golden carpet to tread
upon.  I took Meg on a very long hike this morning and climbed to the top of Turkey Hill Ridge,
which is straight across from our house as the crow flies.  Meg and I had to take a more circuitous
path to arrive at the summit.  The uphill climb was rewarding with the warmth of the bright
autumnal sunshine, which seems so much more intense at the lower angle where it resides currently.

The slight breeze brought that special odor of fecundity to my nostrils.  It is an odor that reminds me
the Earth is pregnant under all those shaded damp areas in the forest.  The leaves smell like
something amazing is incubating underneath and will reveal itself in the spring.  The view was
spectacular, so I chose to perch on a huge rock that had been basking in the morning sun, to enjoy
the bold autumn colors and bright blue sky.  I have been able to espy the church steeple and our
home from up there, but the tree canopy is still too thick, so a future climb will be necessary to locate
those landmarks once again.  The beauty of this season is certainly inspiring in many ways; it makes
one believe it possible to paint such splendor even better than Monet could create his muted floral
impressions on canvas.  The color, crisp air and smell of the leaves are, truthfully, somewhat of an
aphrodisiac, making one think of hearty steaming bowls of soup, crunchy shining red apples, and the
fragrance of cinnamon.  Wood smoke wafting from a chimney on a clear frosty evening, and slipping
under flannel sheets and a down comforter to snuggle up next to your beloved on a chilly night, are
other delightful parts of autumn.  Of course, it was quite a different scenario, in my 20’s and 30’s,
than it is now.
   
I remember those fall evenings when Anthony and I were first married.  The campfires, hayrides and
hot apple cider were all enjoyable to a young couple.  Just last Saturday, we went to our friends’
home for a lovely evening celebrating an engagement.   There was a copper fire pit outside, which I
found kept me warm enough that I could remove my shoes and warm my bare feet on the hot
copper, while I roasted marshmallows on a limb I took from the apple tree.  That sweet, warm, gooey
flavor of a golden brown marshmallow is so delicious.  I asked Anthony to join me, but he declined.  
He said the smoke bothered him and his back was too cold! I think he also muttered something about
how much wine I’d consumed, making me so amenable to a smoky fire, freezing backside and burnt
sugar on a stick that might have been previously covered by poison ivy.  Where is the romance?

More than 20 years ago, he wouldn’t have minded, and I probably drank less wine.  In those days we
couldn’t wait to slip between the sheets, entwining our sleeker, fitter forms together and then falling
asleep in each other’s arms.  Now I try to get to bed first and fall asleep before the snoring starts! I
used to encourage the physical closeness; now I find myself thinking, “I could have been asleep by
now; would you just get this over with?” Of course, then there were physical differences that
accounted for the mutual attraction.  Now there is decreased metabolism, leading to spare tires and
belly rolls, more hair on the inside of ears and along chin lines but less on HIS head; continually
dropping estrogen levels resulting in most unattractive night sweats and a desire for some relief in the
form of baby oil to get the aging feminine parts primed for yet another even briefer attack! However,
poorer vision and hearing do soften the lines, wrinkles, age spots, and unusual sounds emanating
from your partner!
 
I remember, too, how sweetly my darling would disentangle his limbs from mine the next morning,
trying not to waken me.  He would tiptoe to the bathroom, softly close the door behind him before
turning on the lights to complete his morning oblations.  After dressing quietly in the dark closet, he
would tiptoe back to my side of the bed and lightly kiss my forehead, declaring his precious love of
my sleepy smiling form.  
 
Now he lets the alarm blare out the latest discouraging news reports before he rolls out of bed, pulling
the blankets off me, leaving my not-so-taut backside exposed.  His feet make a slapping noise when
they hit the floor before he trips into the bathroom, slamming the door only after turning on all the
lights, but not before gagging and spitting into the sink, flushing the toilet and leaving the lid in the
upright position.  He heads back to the sink, where he does some type of that strange ritual which
always leaves water spots and toothpaste on the mirror, tiny hairs all over the rim of the sink and
unidentified flotsam and jetsam in the sink itself.  He comes back from the bathroom, around to my
side of the bed wearing only his white cotton knit boxers, scratching his belly, and grabbing the hem
of the window shade to let it fly and smack the top of the wooden roller.   Then I hear him mumble
something about whether it’s raining, while strange sounds of burping, belching and flatulence
venture forth from all his bodily orifices.  

After he has stumbled over pairs of shoes strewn around his closet and banged about dressing, he
returns to my side of the bed to plant a sloppy toothpaste-flavored kiss on whatever part of me is
sticking out from the blankets; sometimes my head.  He stomps down the stairs, flicking on every
light switch as he goes, runs the garage door up and down several times as the dog begins barking
and wakes the rooster who begins crowing at 4:30am.  Good morning to me!  Did I mention
something about romance?  This is a man who works for the company  that “accidentally”
discovered a world-famous product prescribed mainly for middle-aged impotent men!  Is there no
balm in Gilead?
  
Ah, but Dad you know how I like to look at the humor in everything.  I’m glad you’ve always made
it so comfortable to share all the different facets of my “adult” life, and you know how much I value
everything about being “happily” married!  I hope you are enjoying this beautiful season.

                        Love, Brenda

Contributor's Notes...

Ms. Maddaluna grew up in Indiana, "on a small farm with wooded pastures and fields to roam, creeks to fish, and
a dirt road to walk to my Grandmother's house, where we would sit on her porch swing on a summer evening to
gaze at the stars. My letters are written to my father who suffers from Alzheimer's disease. The letters help him to
relate to current events and the lives of family members. He frequently reads them to keep his mind connected to
the world around him."