New Experiences: Autumn

Growing up in west-central Florida there are only two seasons: Summer and Chilly. Sure, in the cold embrace of the Chilly season native Floridians are absolutely convinced that frost is fatal – those who venture outside into the frigid 60ºF air huddle together like penguins, backs to the wind and arms hidden inside fleece pullovers and fuzzy red hoodies. The used car that was such a great idea in July – with working A/C that puddled on the floor and the heating hose mysteriously disconnected from the ventilation system – is now a chamber of death and doom, with seventeen extra blankets piled in the backseat for those crisp January mornings. But you persevered, and survived against all odds, and less than six weeks later you leave Chilly’s dire clutches and start the incline back to Summer.
I just began month four since my relocation to South Carolina, and already morning temperatures have declined to the point where I dread walking outside. There’s a fresh breeze blowing down from the airy Appalachians and I shiver just thinking about it. I raised my concerns to Auli.
“But, Kao, it’s just FALL.”
Stunned silence greets her after this exclamation. After a few moments, I can do nothing but barrage her with questions. What do you mean, Fall? Is Fall a subset of Chilly? Will we be returning to Summer soon? I don’t like Summer, but this cold is going to KILL me.
“It gets worse. There’s still winter!” she says overgleefully, joy in every note to ward off accidentally catching the despair that begins to roll off of me in her direction.
“It might SNOW!” she chirps.
My mind suddenly snaps back to the day seven months ago when I moved my mother-in-law here. There was this powdery white stuff, everywhere, and the dog was confused and I was confused and I had to DRIVE in it and I was absolutely sure that I was going to plummet off a cliff, taking the dog with me, and there were nowhere near enough blankets…
It snaps back again, to a year before that, when tricked by the thought of new experiences a certain over-happy comrade convinced me that I had to meet ALL the seasons, and I went a-visiting West Virginia in the winter and got hit by my first snowball [and almost fell facefirst into a park bench for the effort] and was actually stuck INSIDE for fear that driving me to the airport to return to Chilly would cause us both to die.
There was nothing that could be done, she assured me. I was going to be affected by “seasons,” whatever those were, whether I wanted to or not.
I sit behind my new desk and gaze out the glass front of my new workplace, staring at the brilliantly blue sky, the smoke-shaded clouds signalling that another front is pushing through, it will be even more Chilly tomorrow. The trees are beginning to change colors, dying off for a time, taking a well-deserved rest, and the wind carries the faint odors of woodsmoke, pumpkins, and all of those good times always celebrated on television but stared at with confusion by people from the land I called home.
So this is “Fall.” I think I might like it.

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