Fall, the Psychopath

People worry about mental health in the winter, but for me, it’s fall that causes the greatest distress. It’s unpopular to say, but I tend to think of fall as a psychopath with a family - Fall, with his beautiful Pumpkin Spice wife, and a lovely set of red-leafed children. “He’s so nice. They were so great together. I didn’t see this coming.” 

It’s always the husband.

And that’s what Fall is to me - the husband who kills his family, the man that, no so long ago, was Spring, raising his leaves from the tiniest of buds. While so many think of fall harvest as a time of plenty, I worry that plenty will never be enough. Could two bags of dried apples cover our snacking habits this year? How fast do we drink cider? Will my canning attempts stay safely sealed?

I waited for Fall with a buzzing anxiety. I had to be ready but patient. Fall’s first frost could stop an apple’s ripening, making them perfect - ready for storage. But a frost could also kill. It was Fall’s ugliest side, the warning sign that everyone would miss but later recall. “You know… there was this one time…”

I knew that I could go to the grocery store, yes, but would the grocery story play its part this year? COVID showed a supply chain weakness that no one anticipated, and anyway, I hated to waste this natural food source.

And so here, in fall, my stress abounds. I pick apples every morning. I dehydrate. I can pint after pint. I tell myself I’m doing enough. But in my head, I think: “If only Pumpkin Spice knew what Fall was capable of.”