Only in October ~ my column from Sunday's paper

NOTE: This column grew out of a short post from last week.


The month of October is not for pluviophiles (people who love rainy days) because it’s one of the driest months in the South. But it’s probably the favorite month of the “philes” that love sunsets because without rain clouds obscuring the evening skies, the sun shows out.

October tantalizes all the senses. Driving home one evening earlier this week, a neighbor was burning autumn leaves. I’m not a fan of most kinds of smoke, but the aroma of burning leaves on the evening breeze is blissful.

A family cookout is on the calendar for my great nephew Stone’s birthday in a few weeks. We’re doing a chili cook-off in the evening, and we’ll eat outside while enjoying the warmth of the fire pit.

Most years, our apple tree is loaded with fruit that’s at its peak in October.

Last year we had a hayride and stopped the wagon beneath the branches of the apple tree so that the kids could stand up and pluck softball-sized apples from low-hanging limbs. If you’ve never experienced the sweet juice of a freshly picked apple, you haven’t lived fully. Our tree decided to take this year off so there’s not a single apple that made it through spring and summer.

October is not all fun and games because that’s when the flu bug seems to take root. So as a rule, I get a flu shot each October.

This year was no different, but when I ran by the local pharmacy yesterday for the shot, the clerk got a snippy little message on his screen that read “Not Approved.” I was a little perplexed because I’d gotten the shot there last year.

They said no problem; they’d file it another way. It’s easy to grow impatient waiting for the rusty gears of the system to turn, but I sat to the side and waited. Some of the techniques picked up in my recent online meditation course came in handy.

Instead of getting all stompy-footy (is that a word?) and huff up a lung, I sat there and breathed. I knew my daily walk would be delayed and that daylight was waning, but worse things could be happening to me. That lesson became clear a few moments later.

An elderly lady who looked gravely ill took a seat nearby while one of her grandkids (I’m guessing) stood at the counter and handled the transaction. She was shadow thin with dark circles under her eyes. It’s hard to know her story, but I feel sure the last few months have not been kind to her. She sat there uncomplaining as her gears began slowly turning.

The clerks behind the counter were scurrying about trying to work out the kinks in my issue, but rather than have them frazzled and have the lady beside me wait a second longer than necessary, I told them I’d call the insurance company later and work out the problem.

As I turned to walk toward my truck, I smiled at my chair-buddy and said a silent prayer for her.

Once home, I grabbed my spider stick and headed out for a short walk.

At one point down close to the barn, the sun in a last-ditch effort threw spears of light through the undergrowth and in those few moments created a sumac sunset. I thought to myself — only in October.