A couple of months back I lamented that autumn seemed to have passed us by this year. I take that back, as the past two weekends I have experienced rides that my senses told me were autumnal, that fall had indeed made a visit this year. Part of that feeling comes from the visual cues, such as golden and red leaves falling off trees, persimmon trees heavy with fruit, surfaces littered with acorns and buckeyes being picked over by woodpeckers, deer, and squirrels. The weather, overcast and cool with a moistness indicating rain, is another clue. But for me, a lot of the fall experience is olfactory: fall has its smells, and those as much as anything have told me that fall is here. The damp, earthy smell of wet leaves decomposing, the sweet smell of the remnants of the apple crop being converted to alcohol by the forces of nature, the odors of fermenting grapes being coaxed into wine, the smell of wood fires lingering in the cool air all tell me that this is autumn.
Thinking of the smells of autumn has made me a bit homesick for the southwestern high country where I used to live. At times like this I miss waking up in the morning, walking out into frosty air, the surrounding hills golden with aspens still clinging to their leaves, the sweet odor of juniper smoke mixing with smell of the pepper harvest being roasted in propane fired roasters. That would be a fine day to start off with a plate of eggs smothered in freshly roasted green chili’s and sopped up with some fresh corn tortillas, all fueling a long ride along the rim, and a return to a lunch of steaming hot posole washed down with cold beer. Geez, I need to get back for a visit one of these years.
