The Fall
September 30th, 2025
On the farm, the beginning of fall sets in like a new rhythm. All summer we climbed up into tree after tree, snipping off excess kaki that fell like a light rain. Now, with our baskets slung over our shoulders, gradually filling up, we move slower, cresting and bottoming out like waves. If it sounds like heavy work, that’s because it is, but today made me appreciate the heaviness of fall.
First, I want you to know something about the word fall. Only North Americans use it for the name of a season; in other English countries, “fall” is archaic, and “autumn” is almost always used. Fall in this sense is from the expression “Fall of the Year.” This name by itself thrusts its meaning onto the time of the year: Fall is the period of decline and weight, the downslope of gravity’s rainbow.
(Two praying mantises)
Where do I see all this falling happening around me? In the heavier footsteps we all take as we carry our baskets back to the truck for sorting, in the smooth arc we make when we take the ripe fruits off the stem and carefully place them in the basket. I feel the downwards pull as I climb up and down on my ladder. I even see it in the farm truck:
These crates loaded on the little truck seem like they must weigh as much as it does.
Like a bear before hibernation, like a pack-mule for pioneers crossing the American continent, the extra weight on its frame makes it seem like a completely different thing.
So, fall is the time when the fruits of the summer come down to earth, crisp and packed and inert. It may have seemed like I was complaining about the heaviness, but let me have you take one more glance at where we’ve been. There is something truly satisfying about seeing these branches totally bare of fruit. I think it’s all the negative space where the fruit used to be, now empty and light. And, with my mind also now empty, let me finish my diary.
Reed
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