The days are shorter, the trees are bare, and far too much turkey has been consumed. This can only mean one thing: it’s almost December!
December is a bittersweet month for me. It brings the joys of Christmas, of course, which is my favorite holiday, but it also means the end of another one of my favorite things – autumn. I love everything about autumn – the weather, the changing of the leaves, the food (anyone for pumpkin pie?) – and while I am incredibly excited for Christmas, I am also rather sad to be leaving fall behind.
Therefore, with winter looming ever closer, I thought I would put together a bit of a quote and photo diary as a tribute to my favorite season. All of the photos you’ll see below were taken by me this fall at Greenfield Village, which is a massive outdoor history museum located in Dearborn, Michigan. It is home to a variety of famous historical buildings, such as Abraham Lincoln’s courthouse, Thomas Edison’s lab, Robert Frost’s home, and the farmhouse in which Noah Webster wrote the dictionary.
“Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. The morning of the first September was crisp and golden as an apple.” -J.K. Rowling
“Squeeze your eyes closed, as tight as you can, and think of all your favorite autumns, crisp and perfect, all bound up together like a stack of cards. That is what it is like, the awful, wonderful brightness of Fairy colors. Try to smell the hard, pale wood sending up sharp, green smoke into the afternoon. To feel the mellow, golden sun on your skin, more gentle and cozier and more golden than even the light of your favorite reading nook at the close of the day.” -Catherynne M. Valente
“Her pleasure in the walk must arise from the exercise and the day, from the view of the last smiles of the year upon the tawny leaves and withered hedges, and from repeating to herself some few of the thousand poetical descriptions extant of autumn – that season of peculiar and inexhaustible influence on the mind of taste and tenderness – that season which has drawn from every poet worthy of being read some attempt at description, or some lines of feeling.” -Jane Austen
“It was October again … a glorious October, all red and gold, with mellow mornings when the valleys were filled with delicate mists as if the spirit of autumn had poured them in for the sun to drain – amethyst, pearl, silver, rose, and smoke-blue. The dews were so heavy that the fields glistened like cloth of silver and there were such heaps of rustling leaves in the hollows of many-stemmed woods to run crisply through.” -L.M. Montgomery
“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.” -Albert Camus
“But when fall comes, kicking summer out on its treacherous ass as it always does one day sometime after the midpoint of September, it stays awhile like an old friend that you have missed. It settles in the way of an old friend will settle into your favorite chair and take out his pipe and light it and then fill the afternoon with stories of places he has been and things he has done since he last saw you.” -Stephen King
“Fall has always been my favorite season. The time when everything ursts with its last beauty, as if nature had been saving up all year for the grand finale.” -Lauren DeStefano
“There was a filmy veil of soft full mist obscuring, but not hiding, all objects, giving them a lilac hue, for the sun had not fully set; a robin was singing … The leaves were more gorgeous than ever; the first touch of frost would lay them all low to the ground. Already one or two kept constantly floating down, amber and golden in the low slanting sun-rays.” -Elizabeth Gaskell
“I cannot endure to waste anything so precious as autumnal sunshine by staying in the house.” -Nathaniel Hawthorne
“Is this not a true autumn day? Just the still melancholy that I love – that makes life and nature harmonise. The birds are consulting about their migrations, the trees are putting on the hectic or the pallid hues of decay. and begin to strew the ground, that one’s very footsteps may not disturb the repose of earth and air, while they give us a scent that is a perfect anodyne to the restless spirit. Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.” -George Eliot