October has arrived with its redefinition of perfection, bathed by a special color of blue that is reserved only for October skies. Night time encroaches upon these hallowed days more quickly, a sharpened angle of sunlight illuminating our ancient cottonwoods as they gradually disrobe. October is the consummate Midwestern blessing, a reward for tolerating summer’s steam. It’s that annual passage that reflects who we are as Nebraskans, our fields bursting with billions of bushels of dreams realized. We are historically linked to the land, yet with the harvest, we willingly share our good fortune.
I welcome October as I would the phone call from an old fishing buddy. October is the sound of a crackling fireplace. It’s a drive to Nebraska City for apples and a taste of freshly baked pie. October is the feel of the wool blanket, the search for the ice scraper somewhere under the front seat, the sight of geese readying for winter vacation and a mug of steaming hot coffee in the back yard. It’s the final push for outdoor projects when windows are bathed and polished.
October is Friday night lights and a sea of red filling the city on Saturdays. It’s memories of burning leaves in the ditch with my dad decades ago. October is the end of gardening and the celebration of giant pumpkins, those great imperfect spheres that are surgically and artistically redesigned by young and old.
October is your favorite sweatshirt, the older the better, and flannel shirts and jeans. It’s hayrack rides and bonfires, marshmallows, s’mores and hot dogs. It’s apple cider and hot cocoa and the rustle of leaves.
October is a blessing not to be missed. And like most special times, it races past all too quickly. It is non-contentious. It is sharing our best and brightest. It is a celebration of life’s grandest gifts at our finger tips. Welcome dear friend. Pass less rapidly before us that we may know your beauty.