Fall in the South: A masterpiece unmatched

I met him on a job site. He arrived before me. He was standing with his back to me, looking off into a valley of trees and yellow fields designed to swell my eyes and make me fight for oxygen. I didn’t want to startle him, so I spoke as I got closer.
“Mornin’! Sorry I’m running late.”
“All good,” he replied. “Just been standing here enjoying this view.”
“Pretty, ain't it?”
“Man, I love Autumn,” he stated.
“Is that your wife?”
“Who?”
“Autumn.”
“No, I mean Autumn… like fall. You know, like cooler temps and when the leaves change colors. Man, it makes the whole world more beautiful!”
“Oh, you mean football season,” I reminded him.
Nobody calls this season Autumn anymore. The word is becoming extinct faster than gasoline-powered hotrods. We use words to remind us what we are doing, and not what time of year it is. It’s baseball season, Thanksgiving and we know when the largemouth bass go on their beds. We can tell you when to plant a garden based on when Blackberry Winter hit. But if you say something like, “I can't wait for Autumn to be here,” you may get asked, “Where’s she been?”
Sometimes we forget how our seasons all intertwine in the majesty of Southern charm. Just like everywhere else across our wonderful nation, we have four seasons, but ours just sometimes look different. For example, if you should ask someone from the Blackbelt region of Alabama to tell you the four seasons, he would most likely answer quickly. He would pull on his overall straps and holler them as if in a spelling bee: “There’s tornado season, football season, deer season and Christmas!” Then he would spit Red Man chew and go back to whittling on a cedar limb.
Someone in Texas may ponder for a moment and say something similar to: “Well, let's see. The dry season, and tornado season.” Whereas you may reply and say that they only gave you two seasons. That’s whenyou’d be reminded that there were no other seasons in Texas, and those two run simultaneously.
But if you're like me and are blessed to live here in the South, you get all the regional seasons such as deer season and pollen season, but we also get to experience the atmospheric weather of every season ever invented… and some days, those all come within a twenty-four hour period.
Many times, I have gotten out of bed and stepped outside onto a frost-covered ground, and before I finished my morning coffee, I was in flip-flops and looking for my spinnerbaits. By lunch, we were huddled into an underground storm shelter, whereas a cold front would come through overnight bringing sleet, snow and automotive insurance deductibles. Next thing you know — deer season!
But this time of year is the canvas I enjoy the most. God pulled out his best colors for this. There are reds, yellows and oranges that would make Bob Ross look like he had just discovered finger paints. It’s beautiful. One could get lost just enjoying the beauty of a Southern fall day. Sure, you may not be able to find a decent tomato during this time of year, but I would have to guess that’s because God used all the red up on the changing maple trees.
I remember riding the backroads of Marion County, Ala., with my old man. He never was the emotional type of guy. He would sometimes shed a tear at funerals and reruns of The Bear Bryant Show, but other than that, he was as solid as a pulpwood truck. But when the colors of fall would show up, we would ride for hours just looking at God’s beauty.
“It’s amazing, ain't it, son?” He once asked me.
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Just before something seems to go through a dark time in life, God reminds us of how beautiful it is. And then, it’s reborn. Spring comes ‘round. And what looked dead is transitioned into something new, and even more beautiful than ever.”
My dad didn’t talk like that often. He was not much of a wordsmith. His vocabulary consisted of short sentences and swear words. But we had just lost my grandmother when he uttered the words about the beauty of fall, and I think he may have been trying to teach me a deeper lesson.
Now that I’m older, I can see what he meant. Perhaps in our old age, we look weathered and frail. But through the Grace of God, we can be reborn into something more majestic than a ’69 Camaro. Our beauty is brought to a new level once we “spring” to life in His Kingdom. And I believe that’s what he was saying. It was more for him than me. He had to convince himself that his mother, my grandmother, was brand new again.
And still, to this day, that’s what I think about in the fall. When I see the colors of vegetation change, the Friday night lights come on, and I feel a chill in the air, I remember that life becomes more beautiful just after hard times. But also I realize that during periods of transition, things become the most beautiful.
I’m blessed to live here. I consider myself lucky even. I count myself fortunate to reside in this beautiful state that puts on a display of colors every fall. This place becomes magical, and the entire countryside becomes a backdrop. And I love it! Because I’m okay with change. Change keeps life fun, exciting and new. Change makes life never dull. Just imagine living in a world with only one season. How would we know when to display our football paraphernalia?
The dirt roads and homesteads of Marion County, and truly the entire South, become postcards. You may not be able to find blackberries growing wild, and perhaps the second crop of mosquitoes has just invaded us, but with a scenery like we have, would we even notice if we were drained into anemia by the little boogers? Our squash has given way to pumpkins, and we’ve traded Zebcos for Remingtons, and we couldn’t be happier. We stand on hillsides and smile until our jaws hurt.
 I don’t want to live in a world where there are no seasons. I want to embrace the spring flowers, even when my eyes are swollen shut from pollen allergies. I want to enjoy the summer months when our power bills have to be financed. I get pumped up for football season, fall festivals, chili cookoffs and the entire four months of Christmas.
And I want to stand in awe of the fall colors of Alabama. Should you ask me to pick my favorite, this would be it. This would be the one. And I wish I had more time to tell you about it… but I need to go make sure my tornado shelter is clean. ‘Tis the season!
(Editor’s note: Guest Columnist Russell L. Estes is a Brilliant native. He has published four best-selling books and writes columns daily for social media, digital and print papers and magazines. We love how well he captured “Fall in the South” and hope you are enjoying his guest columns as much as we are).

 

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