Music Monday: This time of year

It comes at first in bits and pieces.  Hinting at itself with a single crisp morning, only to be swallowed up by the heat of a midday Sun.  Then a week later, perhaps two, you get an entire day of it, the oppressive humidity removed and replaced by a feeling so familiar yet not fully describable, so that it can only be called "fall."

September seems to arrive on a gentle breeze.  At first it's just a breeze, stirring the still warm air.  But after some days, it begins to turn and to chill.  Soon here the cotton will be dried and full, ready for picking.  Then the leaves begin their spectacular but all-too-brief magic show, as the sun begins to set on the year.

For me, fall will always be a Friday afternoon in 1989.   It's high school, and a pep rally.  The students have long since mailed it in for the week, and most of the teachers have done the same.  It's intentionally accidentally bumping into the girl I've wanted to ask out since the first day of Physics after school, then not quite getting up the courage to.  But still smiling because I got to talk to her.  And besides, there would always be next week.

It's those few perfect days where no heat and no AC are needed.  It's driving with the windows down and singing at the top of my lungs to my "Unchained Melody" cassette single because Bill Medley and Bobby Hatfield knew just how I felt.

Fall is a reminder -- of itself, of other falls gone before, and of so many other things you hadn't even planned on remembering.  But damn that breeze and all it conjures up...

Taking advantage of the change in weather, we ventured down to the Clarkson Covered Bridge Sunday afternoon.  I have included some iPhone photos for your ocular delight.  The scenery is God's (and the Alabama Historical Commission's).  The captions are mine.

As covered bridges go, she seemed like a long one.

Historical markers: The original Wikipedia

"I don't ever wanna feeeeeel, like I did that day.  Take me to the place I looooove..."

I like to call this one "Tree on Side of Hill, Hashtag Nature."

I did everything I could to save this dog, but as it turns out he actually was not dead in the first place.

And it being Monday and all, I know it's a little out-of-character for me to do a Music Monday.  But what the heck.  I haven't blogged in a month.  May as well throw everything I've got out there at once.

I had a couple of songs in mind.  One was "This Time of Year" by Better Than Ezra, but it's really hard to find decent live versions of songs and I couldn't find an official video for that one.  The other song isn't anything all that remarkable.  But it was written by a guy from my home county, and a couple of the people mentioned in the song are real people who do or did exist, and I'm pretty sure the gin is still there.  So in that sense, I guess it is pretty cool.  It's called "Sweet Southern Comfort."  And again for lack of a decent live version, this is the video for the song.  Try and ignore the cheesy phone call bit at the start. 



"Well, there's a feeling in the air / Just like a Friday afternoon / Yeah, you can go there if you want / Though it fades too soon..."

Music Monday: All those pretty people

Fall always seems to arrive in an instant.  Even though I know by the calendar it has to be near, that first chill of the season still catches me a bit by surprise.  But it's a good surprise, like an unexpected visit from a cherished old friend.  It leaves me smiling.

For the first time in several years, or so it seems, we've actually had about three solid weeks of what I would consider fall weather.  Temps mostly in the 70's during the day and 40's or 50's at night.  We decided to take in some of the fall colors this weekend, knowing the leaves won't be much longer.

At one of the scenic overlooks, someone spotted a couple of hawks across the valley.  Watching intently, I soon noticed a few others.  And then, even more.  At one point, I counted more than twenty of the majestic creatures circling overhead.

It was stunning.

As they glided effortlessly and without a sound, I stood and watched for several minutes, feeling small, and in complete awe.

Getting closer to nature and a little father from everything else always serves to ground me a bit.  And I'm left to wonder why I don't do it more often...

For some unbeknownst reason, I had this particular song stuck in my head the whole day, to the apparent dismay of some in my party. (I'm amazed at how effortlessly I can sometimes conjure up dismay.  It's a gift, really.)  Anyhow, Kenny Chesney recently brought this song into the pop-country mainstream.  But I'm kinda partial to Charlie Robison's original version.  It's a little grittier.



So what are you listening to lately?

"Did you hear the ocean singing? Baby, did you sing along, as you danced over the water to some old forgotten song? Or were you even here at all?"

As autumn stirs

Autumn arrived on a Monday this year, not according to some number on a wall, but just as she always does, with a familiar and unmistakable change in the air. A certain chill which serves notice that while winter may not be imminent, it is also not all that far away.

Autumn is a reminder. First, of autumns gone before. Then, of itself, of all the things that autumn is--windy days, a high school football game, Halloween and Thanksgiving, trees surrendering their leaves in grand displays of oranges, yellows and reds as the Earth slowly falls to sleep.

The autumn wind seems to stir up a rustle of memories. I think of Homecoming dances and driving my Ford Escort to school, rolling yards and backyard football games. I think of camping out, singing every song we could think of, and no one complaining when I broke into my beyond bad falsetto to sing "Sherry, Baby." I think of girls I knew and almost knew. And I think of jumping into big piles of leaves as a kid, and Thanksgivings when everybody I loved was still here.

Every year has one and only one, that first day of chill in the air when summer finally relents, knowing its hottest days have been spent.

There's a comfortableness. And yet something nostalgic. It's nothing you can grasp or hold in your hand. Just something you feel, and know, without being able to explain.

Summer is freedom--sunglasses and a smile. Winter is harsh and lonesome. Spring holds promise of things new and fresh, and the hope of something better.

But autumn?

Autumn remembers.

"The last time I saw her it was turning colder, but that was years ago. Last I heard, she had moved to Boulder. But where she's now I don't know..."

September Saturdays

Football season starts today! In celebration--and also thanks to Labor Day--I'm in the midst of a four-day weekend. By the way, how long does a weekend have to be before it stops becoming a weekend? I mean, if I took Tuesday off as well, would that be a five-day weekend? At some point, don't you just have to say you took a week off?

Football doesn't signal the beginning of Fall, but serves more as a harbinger of it. Summer is slowly tiring. The weather is still hot, but the days are growing shorter. Today, we'll be in shorts and short sleeves. But soon, we'll be in jeans and long sleeves, the familiar autumn chill evoking thoughts and memories and feelings as only it can.

Today the population of Tuscaloosa will swell from 80,000 to 180,000 or more. People will arrive hours before kickoff. Some arrived days in advance. The streets will be buzzing with activity, the campus redolent with the smell of barbecue and burgers.

The stadium will be packed in anticipation not just of a new season, but of a new coach and a new era, hopefully one that awakens feelings and memories of an earlier time.

They'll strike up the band and the players will run onto the field, a sea of crimson spreading across the lush green. Both occurrences will elicit cheers from the crowd while at the same time bringing chill bumps to many in attendance.

There will be sons and daughters attending their very first game, and others who haven't missed a game in years. They'll sit next to each other, young and young at heart, decked out in their crimson, gray, and white, donning their houndstooth caps.

But all will share the same burning hope and desire. To watch the Tide roll on a Saturday evening in Tuscaloosa.

"Well, there's a football in the air, across a leaf blown field. Yeah, and there's your first car on the road, and the girl you'd steal..."