if a leaf falls

I love the smell of falling leaves. Yes, they actually have a distinct smell to them, and if you pay close attention on a sunny fall afternoon you will likely notice this. It's not the pre-rot of foliage as it lays on the ground, but that does give us a good backdrop on the scented stage. This smell is a clean, yet dusty aroma that seems to kick our instincts into low gear for the upcoming cooler season.

This past weekend I had the opportunity to visit some of our Okanagan communities, and even stretched the road trip as far as the West Kootenay area to include Revelstoke, Nakusp & Kaslo. The drive took us through some spectacular mountain roads and across small ferries, into communities preparing for a winter sleep away from the busy season of the tourist.

Through it all was the undeniable scent of falling leaves. The smell made part of me want to heat up big cauldrons of stew and settle in a comfy chair. Another part of me had childhood memories triggered by that unusual and unique scent. These back country roads, empty except for the occasional deer looking for a snack, brought out the memory of our annual fall family ritual.

Some kids remember fall as the time of sports sign up, soccer games and the fitting of last season's snow suits. I remember fall as the time of outdoor weekend adventures in the wilderness with my family, miles from nowhere, deep in the forests of Ontario. That heated stew made an appearance, too.

September for me brought text books, the dreaded school bus, and wood. Lots and lots of wood. We heated our home with a wood burning, air-tight stove, and to make it through a winter we needed anywhere between 5 and 8 cord of wood. What's a cord? Well, think two wilderness trees of average height, cut down into little four foot lengths. Now think that five to eight times over. That's a lot of wood.

Each September, our family would start the weekend outings to whatever area on Crown land (land owned by the province) that we had obtained a permit to fell (cut down) and buck up (cut into manageable lengths) our own trees. This was an all weekend event, over many weekends, starting early Saturday morning and ending late Sunday evening. And it was so much fun - for us kids, anyway.

Early in the day, mist laying low among small openings in the woods along the roadside, and we were already hard at it. By eight in the morning there was usually one or more trees felled across the road at our designated work site, and my dad would work quickly to clear a car lane while my sister and I stood a distance away for traffic control. If there even was any traffic. Usually not.

This pattern continued from September and into October - sometimes even to November, with the lightest of snowfalls. We were in the bush, the back country, each weekend, and we were happy. Big trees became road blocks, which eventually became a chair or a table for our impromptu lunch. Mom would get a fire going to heat a big pot of stew - sometimes chicken, but usually venison - which we would eat with mittens and gloved fingers, breath pluming out around our faces while we laughed about one almost accident or another.

The days were shorter and cooler, but we didn't mind. All around us was bright sunlight and the smell of falling leaves. To this day, the smells and sights of fall can quickly take me back to those days spent in and around the back roads of Ontario. It's an easy and welcome journey.

Grab a pumpkin, take a walk, drive along your favourite stretch of road. Whatever your favourite fall stories are, don't forget to make new ones to tell next year.


~ Jeannette