Signs Of Winter

This is a story that one of our friends, a math professor from BYU-Idaho, wrote. He has written some really good stories. To see more of his works, visit DarisHoward.com

Signs Of Winter
By
Daris Howard
copyright 2006
all rights reserved
Any commercial use of this article without written permission is strictly prohibited though sharing on the Internet is encouraged.

It is that time of year when I go out to help my mother winterize her yard. So recently, one evening, I took my son along to help me with the heavy lifting. I also took my two littlest girls to see their grandmother.
It was a beautiful fall day. The geese were winging their way south, honking to the rhythm of their wing beats, like a person directing the rowing of a racing canoe across the blue ocean of the sky. They were fat and happy from gleaning the grain the farmers had left behind in the yellow stubble fields.
The trees were dressed in a kaleidoscope of colors: oranges, browns, golds, and purples. The regalia they wore made them look like royalty in fine robes and golden crowns, with leaves cast at their feet, as if they were golden coins strewn in their path.
All around us the harvest was still in full swing, though it was beginning to wind down. There were plenty of potato trucks rumbling by and, no matter where a person went, the clang of diggers and pilers was audible in the autumn air. The smell of the rich dirt being rolled and tumbled by the machinery wafted across the cool breeze.
The days were already starting out crisp in the morning and the gardens looked like sleeping giants with quilts pulled up over their heads, as the most industrious and stubborn gardeners, reluctant to give in to the nightly frosts, tried to extend their growing season by coaxing another week or two of maturation out of their tomatoes and pumpkins.
Driving along, I nearly sent a family of racoons to racoon heaven, as they waddled out for their nightly foray into a neighbor's corn patch. They stood on their hind legs and eyed me suspiciously, as if I might be there to steal their ill-gotten winter sustenance.
We drove along while eating hot bread that was smothered with warm apple butter, freshly made from the apple trees in our yard. The spices for pickles, cinnamon for pies, and other rich aromas of canning and baking lingered on our clothes. Our pantry was full of potatoes, apples, and carrots to enjoy through the coming winter. Jars of canned peaches, pears, applesauce and assorted jams and jellies lined the shelves.
The harvest moon hung bright and full in the sky even though the sun was still measurably above the horizon. The clouds roiled in the western sky, carrying an ominous warning of snow in our not-too-distant future.
It was at this point that my five-year-old, Heather, turned to her three-year-old sister, Elliana, and announced that winter was coming. Elliana looked at her older sister with great admiration. "How can you tell?"
I looked at all of the beauties of the world around us, inundating our senses, and wondered which one she would expound on to explain how she knew this important fact.
She looked straight at her little sister and, in her great wisdom, said, "Because grandma is packing up and heading south."