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THE DAILY ASTORIAN • FRIDAY, OCT. 19, 2018 • 1C
IN THE HARVEST
TIME OF LIFE
Courtesy Thinkstockphotos.com
Just as weather changes the landscape, time changes us
By MURIEL JENSEN
For The Daily Astorian
T
homas Wolfe wrote in “You
Can’t Go Home Again”: “Then
summer fades and passes, and
October comes. We’ll smell
smoke then, and feel an unsuspected
sharpness, a thrill of nervous, swift ela-
tion, a sense of sadness and departure.”
Autumn was always my favorite sea-
son. I had my sense of sadness and depar-
ture in the spring when my husband
passed away, so, in the
knowledge that nothing
else can ever hurt that
much again, I’m wel-
coming fall and every-
thing else it brings.
Flowers really show
off just before they
wither, their fullness
magnificent. Leaves shout their color
before they fall. The wind smells as
though it came from across the world and
picked up every herb and spice along its
way. The river is alternately embroidered
with sunlight, beaded with boats or wears
the morning mist like a scarf.
Life is like that: brilliant, fragrant,
filled with surprises every time you turn
around, and just when you’re marvel-
ing at how wonderful it all is, there’s
that pinch of pain, the knowledge that it
won’t last forever, and you’ll have to say
goodbye.
But in the meantime, fall gives us a
lot to do. The farmer takes in the harvest,
the outcome of what he planted in spring
and nurtured all summer. Now it must be
cured, retained and stored. Those of us in
the city have used our gifts and talents,
all we’ve striven to learn and bring to our
community to make our little corner of it
a better place. It’s the result of everything
we’ve worked for.
There is a little sadness in the farmer’s
harvest and the city-dweller’s retirement,
because it’s over. But if we think of the
end of autumn as completion rather than
loss, the outlook is hopeful.
Muriel Jensen photo
Muriel Jensen’s fall decorations.
Excitement in the air
At the moment, autumn parallels
my life. You’re thinking I’m kidding
myself and I’m really a winter woman.
I used to always say as I grew older that
inside I still feel 17. A lot has happened,
though, and I’m not quite that breath-
less anymore. Still, I feel no more than
30, excited by the new day, completely
engaged in all that surrounds me, still
looking forward. So if you consider my
real age compared to how I feel, the
average puts me in the autumn of my
life.
Just as weather changes the land-
scape, time changes us. We grow more
interesting inside as we age because we
know more, we’re calmer, we wear
a certain confidence because it’s all
happened to us and we’re now phil-
osophical, even fearless.
Suddenly the skills
we’ve acquired on our jour-
ney can be directed in a way
of our own choosing. More
options are open to us
because most of
us no
lon-
ger
have to satisfy an employer. We are our
own bosses.
For the first time in my entire life, no
one else figures into my decision-making
but me. I do miss being able to turn to my
husband and ask, “What do you think?” He
always had a valuable opinion. But I now
make my own decisions without the prac-
ticality that was more his style than mine.
I’m wrong sometimes, but I can live with
that. Wolfe said, “Make your mistakes,
take your chances, look silly, but keep
going.” I love that.
There is excitement in the autumn air, “a
thrill of nervous, swift elation.” I love the
possibilities, the knowledge that the pretti-
ness is leaving and the substance is com-
ing. Anyone can deal with spring and sum-
mer, but it takes a hearty soul to negotiate
a cold, windy fall on the Astoria hills, and
nothing is quite as cold as a late Decem-
ber rain drop down the back of your jacket.
Unafraid of winter
But what a great place to be at this time
of my life. The same women who were
once my panel of experts when I was writ-
ing and needed the kind of research you
can’t get from a book are now my posse.
My dearest friends are a retired nurse,
a retired 911 dispatcher, a retired city plan-
ner, a teacher’s aide, a transplanted Cana-
dian. In that miraculous dynamic of how
we are all placed where we need to be,
somehow we are still all here together.
They have supported and sustained me in
ways that humble and amaze me. I like to
think that we could be one sturdy force for
good. We’re batting around ideas about
what we could do, and who could use our
help. We haven’t put the pieces together
yet, but the plan will coalesce in time.
Winter’s just around the corner, but that
doesn’t scare us. A lot goes on under the
earth that makes any thought of compar-
ing winter with death seem invalid. Snow-
drops, cyclamen and pansies all flower in
the winter. And though both conifers and
deciduous trees go dormant, some scien-
tists maintain that they do a sort of math
using temperature and time to determine
the right moment to bud. Can’t you just
imagine them with their eyes shut tightly
and their fists clenched (of course they
have eyes and fists) as they focus their
energy on the right moment to send out
their buds in a spectacular display?
So, fall or winter makes no difference to
me. Perhaps I’m both. Do you think there’s
such a thing as “finter”?
THERE IS A LITTLE SADNESS IN THE
FARMER’S HARVEST AND THE CITY-
DWELLER’S RETIREMENT, BECAUSE IT’S
OVER. BUT IF WE THINK OF THE END OF
AUTUMN AS COMPLETION RATHER THAN
LOSS, THE OUTLOOK IS HOPEFUL.
Muriel Jensen