Today started out as another rainy day and, for those who've read my earlier entries, such days often bring back the nostalgia of childhood and the importance of solitude to refresh my perspective on life. Unlike summer rains though which conjure up the warmth and embrace of the solstice, rain in autumn reminds me of the crisp air that fills the lungs with pure oxygen, technicolor foliage that can dizzy the eyes, the sweetness of freshly picked apples, the long drives down winding roads leading to a small diner or curbside stand selling corn. To sum it up, autumn rains remind me, first and foremost, of New England -- my childhood homeland. It serves as a gateway to memories (new and old) of location and place.
Of course, today's rain also reminds me of Hurricanes Katrina and Rita and the devastation to the Gulf Coast region. I awoke to NPR reports about the lives lost, properties damaged, rescue and relief efforts thwarted and successful. Learning more than I ever thought I would about the distinction between a category 3 and category 4 hurricane...about the role of local, state, and federal agencies...about the responsibilities of FEMA and national guard units. For the many people affected directly by the hurricanes, particularly those displaced and uprooted and grieving with loss, it will be hard to experience early autumn rain without conjuring up these hard, unforgiving memories of dislocation.
Yet even hurricane memories are not all bad memories. I remember when Hurricane Gloria stormed through my hometown of South Windsor, CT in October of 1985 [Read other people's memories too]. I was 16 years old and my best friend, Pete, and I decided to adventure through the eye of the storm. We foolishly tied a rope to our waists that connected us together and wandered through our suburban neighborhood, surveying the fallen trees around us, marveling at the changing skyscape, fearfully worrying about a sudden wind gust. Pete's mom realized we were missing and yelled at us from the front door of their home, telling us what idiots we were and to get the hell back in the house. We scurried back unharmed. I still vividly remember and cherish that memory as one which defined our strong friendship bonds...a willingness to die together (however foolish).
I also remember how my family sat in the family room all together, riding out the worst of the storm as a family. Suddenly, we heard loud successive bombs falling beside and on our home. Literally. Sixty to hundred foot trees in our yard were uprooted from the earth and slamming to the ground and onto our home. At least three or four mammoth trees fell onto our roof! It was awesome and frightening. Had the trees fallen on the roof at a given angle or altogether at once, the house may have collapsed. Fortunately, we survived (as did our house). The next day, neighbors emerged to survey the damage. Our home seemed to bear the brunt of the damage. My dad, brother, uncle and I, along with neighbors, broke out the chain saws and began to remove the trees from the roof and yards. It was a week of neighbor helping neighbor. Although we came from such different backgrounds, the hurricane brought out a degree of social capital which bonded our neighborhood.
But enough with childhood memories, no matter how validating and important...we live in the present and what present-day memories are conjured up by this autumn rain?
Well (technically), it has stopped raining, but the sky remains grey and overcast as I sit here at a coffeeshop, sipping gunpowder green tea, avoiding work-related readings. I just received a text message from my friend, Mike, wanting to sing karaoke tonight. I know it will be a long evening and I find comfort in it. Comfort in having such great friends with whom to share a Saturday night.
Yesterday, I had lunch with a friend who also happens to work at the University and I asked him if he and his wife felt like Minneapolis was their home. I asked him this question because I knew that they have struggled with this issue in the past. He shared that they only recently have begun to feel that Minneapolis is their home. He now realizes that by not claiming this place as their home, they were preventing themselves from putting down roots, from making long-lasting friendships, and from feeling a sense of place and belonging. I was happy to hear him make this statement, because I really want him to stick around and, more importantly, to be present in the here and now of life...to not constantly be looking back or stretching his neck always looking forward.
Like many of my friends, I have lived all over in my short life. After 17 years in the same town and state (South Windsor, CT), I've since lived in Great Barrington, MA (1 year), Boston, MA (4 years), Richmond, VA (4 years), Davis/Sacramento, CA (2 years), Austin, TX (3 years), and now Minneapolis, MN (5+ years). This constant movement has taught me the importance of making home wherever you might be.
Some people think of me as the ultimate extrovert, but those who know me well know that I need my downtime to recharge, reflect, refresh. Truth be told, part of my extroversion is also my conscious effort to make where ever I am my home. In academia, it's easy to get lost in one's own thoughts and not be a part of much else. Not profound science but it takes sincere effort to connect. In many ways, I cannot feel at home any place without making friends. I am a social being (we all are, even those professed to be social isolates) and friends are a part of what I define as my home.
In short, autumn rains remind me that I am one person who is part of a collective life, giving me a sense of place and location in life -- as one person in the shared midst of many. The importance of people in our lives. More importantly, autumn rains remind me to create new memories of my life experiences, to capture and cherish each encounter and interaction, to take in life with all my senses (as Thoreau once wrote "...to live deep and suck all the marrow of life"), because along with the crisp air and changing leaves (and all the other wonders of autumn) is the stark reminder that winter is a short season away. So remember the Buddhist saying, Where ever you go, there you are .
Posted by richlee at September 24, 2005 02:10 PM