This is a repost, and slight update of an essay that was originally published in 2016. Things are so strange with the Pandemic, social unrest, the upcoming presidential election, and all sorts of other turmoil. Thankfully for me, I’ve got the writing to keep me grounded these days.                                                                           Word Count: 936

My Own Version of

September Song

I have so many mixed emotions when it comes to this time of the year. On the one hand, I’m somewhat depressed because we’re into fall, and obviously that can tend to be a sad time of the year. One of my yoga instructors read us a passage at the start of class last week that crystallized the situation so perfectly. Comparing feels of depression and loss to the diametrically opposite feelings of joy, positive growth, and change. One sensation directly leading to the other-the death of certain things consequently contributing to re-birth and new beginnings later in the year.

At least that’s what I think the passage she read us indicated. At the time, I was still trying to wake up after getting only five hours of sleep the previous night. I could’ve been dreaming the whole thing, so the incident might’ve been a bizarre figment of my imagination? The jury is still out as to whether or not the event even happened in the first place. My theory is that it could have.

Here in Silverton, fall can often be a very sweet time. Although the days are getting shorter, we’re also getting this unreal, cobalt blue sky, sunshine brighter than being trapped in an interrogation room with the spotlights staring you in the face-type of days. A moment in time you want to treasure. Reaching out and grabbing onto it with everything you’ve got.

All of a sudden, the monsoon rain pattern that greeted us every day earlier in the summer has suddenly slowed down. The tourist crowds have thinned out, the kids have gone back to school, and people seem to have more time to enjoy their vacation. Like my father I love to talk, and tourist season in September seems to allow a person ample opportunities to converse with visitors. My restaurant job is a classic example of that.

A tourist walks into the eating establishment, they’re looking for directions, and suddenly they mention that they’ve got lots of time on their hands and a beautiful day to do it in. They ask if I live here year-round, whether I ever get used to all that snow, and wish it would just go away.

That opens the floodgates, and almost as quickly I’m telling them I do indeed manage to survive in such a cold, desolate place and I actually enjoy all that snow. Then I mention that I’m a skier, and say the El Nino weather pattern didn’t cooperate last winter like it was supposed to. October predictions of over 600” of snow turned into half that amount, with lots of storms giving us tons of the white stuff in December and January, but then coming to a complete and utter halt in February & March. Drier than eating an entire bag of potato chips in the Mojave Desert without the accompanying drink as I like to put it.

After they get over the initial shock of discovering that a few people live in this town year-round and that not all of us hightail it to warmer climes when the winter months show up, just as quickly I go into my free advertising spiel for Silverton Mountain. Telling them its 100% expert skiing, you have to sign an indemnity waver before you can even think about buying a lift ticket there, the management isn’t interested in selling real estate, and my all-time favorite description of the place; its kind of like the anti-resort (keep it that way). Am I being elitist? Probably.

Its no secret I enjoy doing certain jobs that a lot of folks would consider an act of supreme suffering. One of these happens to be a task related to this season in and around Silverton; helping friends collect firewood to get through all those cold winter nights ahead. Not anything related to operating an actual chainsaw since me carrying out tasks with certain machinery is akin to violently pounding that square peg into a round slot. Being partial to holding onto all of my fingers and other appendages, I can imagine writing isn’t so easy when you’re missing a digit or three. Misuse of your motorized cutting tool while collecting firewood out in nature almost always guaranteeing this will most certainly happen.

No, what I really enjoy is stacking the wood cords in the back of a truck, and then neatly piling all of it up once you get home. Something about doing the job that brings out the inner masochist in me. Let’s just say I enjoy working in the great outdoors and leave it at that. This almost sounds half way legitimate.

My all time favorite thing about the month of September in the San Juans is the colors. Having viewed the fall foliage back east and in the Midwest at various times in my life, due to all the hard woods in that neck of the woods, the fall display is quite a bit more colorful. They contribute to a lot more reds and browns accompanying all those bright yellow and orange coats the deciduous plants put on. Downright stunning on a golden autumn day. If you ever get a chance to experience the environment, take advantage of the opportunity.

With the exception of New England and other parts of the east coast where the Appalachians cut through them, what they don’t have that we do is this dramatic landscape. Vertical terrain that everyone refers to as Mountains.  A big reason why I’ve moved back, and live here in the first place.