“And all the sumacs on the hills have turned their green to red.” 

                                                           --W.W. Campbell

And just like that, the underrated sumac has moved up from relative indifference to flaming overwhelm, in the flow of life that we know as autumn. Much like the lowly caterpillar emerging into its celestial butterfly form. Nature continues to teach us the life lessons that we so fervently resist. I should say, that I so fervently resist.

I have always had a tough time with fall, but this year, maybe because the colours have been so breathtaking, more stunning than I can remember, it has been somehow easier to let go of summer. Or maybe I’m growing up.

So I am using the simple sumac to guide me to reflect on the seasons of change in my life. It’s a good exercise this time of year for anyone looking for some inner work.

Letting go is almost always necessary before moving forward to something new. We must first empty, if we wish to provide space for what is waiting in the wings. It requires faith in life, in the process of life.

Trees have always been my touchstones, defining seasons and showing me how to trust this process. The great oaks and maples shed their leaves and are dormant before there can be regrowth. What do I need to shed in order to grow?

Or should it be ‘What more do I need to shed’?

Last spring I did ‘the big shed’, selling or giving away the material things of my life. I had a deadline, which made it both terrifying and easy. There was no turning back or procrastinating. I had to purge almost 45 years of accumulated ‘stuff’ that a family of six humans and countless animal friends gathers, and at the same time find a place to land. I had less than six weeks to make it happen.

I had watched woman friends perform this cleansing stunt over the last few years and come out the other end, not only smiling, but ecstatic with their downsize. This was my guiding light.

My super-sized carbon footprint was the other motivator. Just how many bedrooms, bathrooms and acres of hills does one woman need? It was clearly past time to jump. The adventure of a lifetime was on the horizon.

And here’s the magic: Once I made that decision and moved forward with it, once I said ‘yes’,  Life said yes to me.

Family and friends were there with barely an ask. Through friends I almost immediately found my new little nest. My dauntless children flew in from far away places for 10 days and took charge. Out with the old, in with the new. It was just as necessary for their closure as for mine.

But it wasn’t the stuff; it was the place.

It was the memories: building the house, building the barn, building the bunk beds and the decks; memories so ingrained that the boys connect the scent of cedar with building beds.  Still.

So we had a kind of goodbye party. There was a live ‘tribute concert’. . . songs of time and place. There were games -- MacDuffee Jeopardy, with categories and levels to which everyone contributed written questions. We sang, and laughed and toasted, and cried. And it was cathartic.

I still think of my touchstone trees back at WildWinds Farm and I miss them. But the lessons they taught me are ingrained forever.

“Consider the trees which allow the birds to perch and fly away without either inviting them to stay or desiring them never to depart. If your heart can be like this, you will be near to the way.”
I read the above quote daily to help me get it. To understand ‘the way.’

And today I can honestly agree with L.M. Montgomery’s iconic heroine, Anne Shirley: “I am so glad that I live in a world where there are Octobers.”