Day 13: If you asked me to name my favourite season, I would answer "Autumn" without the slightest hesitation. Certainly it is a time when storms may keep me pinned down at home, but even torrential downpours and the howl of wind have a lyrical quality to them. When they lift and the freshly washed sky again leaps overhead, it has an intensity of blue not seen at any other time of year. Autumn is the season of jewel-tones, rich colors which enfold the visual sense in their warmth, and nothing says "autumn" quite so clearly to me as a bowlful of festive gourds.
My gardening season is too short by a good third to be able to grow these otherwise useless cucurbits, so I buy them in a departure from my accustomed thriftiness. They won't dry properly in this climate, so in a few weeks when they begin to mold, I'll resign them to the compost pile as I tell myself I've gotten my money's worth from the pleasure they gave during their brief span as objets d'art. After all, a bowlful of gourds doesn't cost as much as a movie, and it lasts longer (a feeble justification, but one which has served me in good stead in other matters as well). In their rustic charm lies a reminder for those stormy days when I long to be out hiking: Autumn is beautiful, warts and all.
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