The Day

The week has been magical; dry and sunny and the foliage seems to have arrived with the tour buses. Driving to and from home we pass underneath an archway of color. Windows down we hear our tires crunch through fallen leaves and watch them blow out from behind our car, like confetti following a parade. Light from the sun ignites the color which flits alongside our car, a lit match in the breeze.

Fall is, without question, my favorite season. I can’t imagine living in a place that doesn’t experience foliage. It is always awe-inspiring to watch the month-long transition from green to gold. There are many beautiful days but there is always “the day”- the one that occurs at the peak of color change. Today was “the day.”

For years Paul and I would faithfully watch the weather reports to find the day: we’d talk for a week about heading to Stowe to walk on the path. We’d think about details like what sandwiches we should take for our picnic. Best of all, we would play hooky from working to celebrate the season. There was something made more special by the fact that we ditched responsibility to eat tuna fish beside the river and stroll through the woods ablaze. We did it for ourselves but we did it for the sake of romance, for each other.

Time passes, as time tends to do, and it became increasingly difficult to make hooky happen. I took on more cello students, we got sheep, chickens, bees, more dogs. There was paperwork and back-logged repairs for business after all, and couldn’t we just count our walk on the weekend as “the day”? And so we did.

Last evening we checked weather. Today was going to be brilliant sunshine and warm. It seemed like “the day.” We laughed about traditions; forays into the forest that left us with sticks in our hair, hitting Laughing Moon chocolate shop and licking caramel off our fingers. Standing on the bridge and watching the leaves sail lazily down the clear river, passing large rocks covered with long strands of algae that floated off them like green hair. Paul talked about needing to get things done and I nodded, understanding, but not liking, the very real truth of that statement. We closed our books and went to sleep.

This morning Paul turned toward me and told me that he thought that today was, indeed, “the day” and that we should not waste a moment of it.

We hurried through barn and house chores and were on the road by ten thirty. As we pulled out of our driveway we rolled down the windows in the truck. Sunglasses on, sandwiches packed, wind in our hair: we were off duty, at least for a while.

Driving to Stowe hugging the curves of the valley, we meandered. Conversation halted for spectacular colors, we poked with our elbows and pointed. Each bright red more brilliant than the last. We pulled into a farm stand and picked two ears of sweet corn to have with dinner. Arriving in Stowe proper we realized we weren’t the only people playing hooky. Giant tour buses crept through town, their passengers safely deposited out onto the sidewalks. We continued driving through, enjoying peeping at the peepers.

The late morning was spent sauntering. Bicycle bells chiming from behind us to let us know we were being passed. We held hands and breathed deeply. Now and then a breeze would kick up and there would be an explosion of leaf activity leaving us laughing at being in the center of a snow globe.

Time passed too quickly, as time tends to do, and we returned to the truck waiting for us in the parking lot of the big white church in the center of town. We slowly inched out into traffic and headed out. As we passed the coffee shop Paul called out that we were stopping. We swung into a parking spot. We stole an extra ten minutes sitting in the sunshine at a metal table on the lawn outside.

This had been our day for stealing time, for joie d’vivre, for chocolate instead of kale.

Responsibility is important but today it felt equally important to play as hard as we work, to remember that “we” need to be prioritized.

Turns out that we were right. Today was indeed “The day.”