Loran Smith: October, the greatest month of the year

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Loran Smith: October, the greatest month of the year

Loran Smith: October, the greatest month of the year
Loran Smith

The heat will subside in a few weeks.  I think, and I hope.  Usually after Labor Day, we begin to see a trend toward more compatible temperatures, and once the retreat begins, it moves with a modicum of alacrity.

That means that October will soon be here.  Oh, October, the greatest month of the year.  That glorious coming of cool mornings, fire in the evenings, and the harvest scenes that enrich our lives.

 

 

 

 

The harvest moon will appear next week.  How nice, although I prefer it to make its appearance in October.  It just fits when it “shines on” in the tenth month.

However, when the harvest moon blesses us with its presence, we know that the weather will soon be just right to enjoy football and tailgating to the fullest, splendorous fall color, pumpkins, and that eternal feel good anthem, “Shine on harvest moon.”

That inspiring tune dates to the early 1900’s.  Its lyrics speak to our hearts and remind us that the good things in life are often so easily in reach and leaves us pining for more.

 

 

 

 

Although the recording by Neil Young in 1992 is the most popular musical version of “Harvest Moon,” I prefer the rendition of the song by the “Four Aces,” whose recording was released in 1955.

“Harvest Moon” is like “White Christmas.”  It is a song that has endured for decades.  It will never grow old to those who swoon to the comforts of autumn.

It reminds us of Sydney Lanier’s “Song of the Chattahoochee.”  We never want it to go away.  Most of us have traveled to other states in our beautiful and intriguing state which enables us to explore distant landscapes.

Fall color in the Blue Ridge mountains is only a couple hours away for many Georgians.  Anyone who has the good fortune to find their way to New England in the fall, will simply be overwhelmed with the autumnal beauty that makes you regret the coming of darkness.

And the color in the Rocky Mountains leaves you in awe.  Once on a trip to Denver around the first of October, I asked for directions to the office of a businessman who was a Georgia graduate.  The student assistant who did the search printed off directions to his home a few miles from downtown Denver, not his office.

That was the most serendipitous error ever.  Fall color generally lasts from mid-September to mid-October in many locales in Colorado, and I was literally overcome with fall color.  I parked my rental car and walked through the neighborhood, taking photos for at least an hour.

On a trip to see the Packers play at Green Bay, I spent two days driving through the state and enjoying the small towns and taking in the intoxicating color.

This is why I don’t think I would enjoy living in the Caribbean or some other tropical zone where there is no change of seasons.  

Recently, I made a trip to Hartwell and took the back roads one way—through Royston—and returned home another—through Colbert.  I was mesmerized by the fields of hay and the plethora of John Deere tractors.

Time constraints kept me from stopping and leaning up against one of those multiple haystacks and daydreaming.  Also, it was too hot.  One day soon, I will ride out to the Vana community, find a hayfield where I can do that.

I will think of my late friend, the accomplished author, Terry Kay.  He was a farm boy who appreciated, among other things, the rural way of life which had an accent on agriculture.

He chose to follow another path which was far different from following a mule, but he never failed to appreciate the lessons that life down on the farm taught him.

Hurry our way October.  Haybales, pumpkins, firewood, harvest displays, harvest moon, John Deere tractors, flyfishing the Chattahoochee and football homecomings.  I will always savor October.

 

 

 

 

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Greg is closing in on 15 years writing about and photographing UGA sports. While often wrong and/or out of focus, it has been a long, strange trip full of fun and new friends.