Jack Frost Has Arrived!

From Where I Sit  "Signs of September " pat spilseth


School buses are rolling down the road, checking where they have to stop to pick up and drop off kids next week. Bees are buzzing in the garden, sucking all the sweetness available in the flowers still remaining. Lovely orange and black patterned Monarch butterflies float through the woods and gardens. Squirrels are gathering nuts; weeds are visible near the surface of the lake. Hot summer sunshine has shrunk inches from lake depths. Sumac is turning red, and fireflies are dancing in the dark evenings. Fairgoers flock to the Minnesota State Fair for an annual dose of food on a stick. Fall has arrived.



Kids are a trifle bored. No longer busy with their tree houses and bike riding around the neighborhood or swimming, they seek me out as I walk Buddy around the neighborhood. Chatty little boys tell me they’ll be in second and fourth grade this year and can they pet Buddy and where am I going and am I still baking cookies? Could they have some chocolate chips to eat in their tree house? Chattiness won’t last long...I know; I have a son who has patience for about 3 questions; that’s it.



Teacher friends are clipping pictures and making colorful letters for bulletin board displays. Lesson plans are coming together and outfits for that important first day are chosen. Impressions are made right away about what kids think of their teachers. My brother-in-law, Denny, taught math to junior high kids. He and I shared somersaulting stomachs just thinking about going back to work. That uncomfortable feeling persistently nagged at my nerves until school began. Labor Day was my last day of semi-relaxation. Then it was back to reading and writing, preparing lesson plans, correcting papers, carting homework after school to my kitchen table, and reading student essays.



I actually miss my school connection with kids. The first year of teaching I taught junior high English just outside of Chicago. In my first classroom, I had Johnny, a handsome karate expert, and grinning Brucie, an Italian kid with slicked-back ducktail and mischievous eyes. He danced his way into the classroom and down the hall with his energetic “twist”. Johnny was a charmer and leader of the class, but he was eighteen and couldn’t read. We formed a mutual admiration society: I helped him learn to read; he controlled the classroom troublemakers. He made more money with his band, which played the local hot spots, than I did teaching.



It was a time when desegregation was just getting started; some African-American kids were moved out of their neighborhood schools into the predominately white suburban schools where I taught. Busing was supposed to improve their achievements in the classroom. I wonder if it did anything but make kids uncomfortable. The bussed students never became part of the cliques, which had been formed back in grade school.



Fall marks many changes. Sumac growing along the highway around the lake is turning red, orange and yellow. Bikers are riding the bike trails around the lake, and boaters are pulling skiers, some in wet suits. Families are scheduling last minute camping trips up north, picnics in the park, and end of summer beach excursions. It’s summer’s “last hurrah” before Labor Day arrives. The Minnesota State Fair is at the fairgrounds: time to enjoy filling up with greasy goodies to eat on a stick.



Petunias are drooping on my deck. Geraniums and black eyed Susans are the only flowers still looking good in the garden. Yellow, bronze and reddish mums are on display at groceries and flower shops. It’s time to get out the down quilts for chilly, fall nights, great for sleeping and sweatshirts for brisk, early morning walks. The seasons are changing; temperatures falling, and foliage fading. Darkness descends shortly after suppertime; I sleep later each morning. .



September is casserole time: a hamburger-mushroom soup casserole for supper topped off with a dessert of apple crisp or a peach cobbler now that those luscious Colorado peaches have arrived. It’s time to can pickles and make jelly. Storm windows can wait a bit...but I’d better get the furnace checked. It could be a frigid, cold winter. All the signs are here: fall has arrived. 712 words