Norfolk to Chesapeake - Just a Thursday Afternoon

Although the temperature yesterday was 91, I can feel it coming – fall time; and I love it. Always sad to give a fond farewell to summer and all it offers here, I do love the fall. I drove home from work yesterday appreciating the first turn of a few leaves here and there on trees lining both sides of the highway. It made me drive a little slower, calmer and take notice of the beautiful oranges, slight yellows and tinges of apple red that were quietly present among the many green leaves, against a cloudless blue sky backdrop. As I merged into the heavy traffic that throngs us all Sunday thru Sunday, I felt lighter, happier and peaceful. I stayed in the left lane where necessary and when I could, I moved over to the right lane so as to time my drive home to my own pace. I turned the radio off and just enjoyed the brilliant sunshine and quiet rhythm of my tires on the asphalt. I became unaware of the hurried fast-pacers around me and felt grateful for the change of seasons that gives me something new to look forward to every few months.
The beauty of fall time always sweeps my thoughts directly to where I consider home, Upstate New York; Saratoga Springs to be specific. If you have been there you know the magic of the downtown area and the wonderful feeling of a Victorian town, steeped in history. Although I don’t get there enough for my satisfaction, when I do make a trip back I find it to be differently the same. There is something there with the beauty of the Skidmore College campus, the drive around Saratoga Lake, the well-maintained sprawling Victorian homes lining many of the streets and the sight of the Olde Bryan Inn that captivates my heart. Even with the expansion on the outskirts now offering more shopping and places to stay, I still feel the peace and comfort that I felt the six years I lived there.
I watched my daughter begin Kindergarten there, take her first school bus ride and saw her smiling face through the window while I wept and laughed at her evident independence. I had a house up on a steep hill in Greenfield Center which is approximately a fifteen minute drive from downtown Saratoga. It was a challenge in the winter, with the cold, snowy roads to make it up the hill, turn left into my steep inclined driveway without sliding into a ditch. Sometimes I made it, sometimes I didn’t. I had wonderful neighbors there who helped me as much as they could with my many trials and tribulations. My memories hold all of them in a special grateful and thankful place.
The house sat on almost a full acre lot, complete with woods behind me and across the road. Fall time was something to behold; it was a huge canvas of bold red, yellow and orange for as far as I could see. Unlike Halloween here, where many years my pumpkins have rotted on the porch from the heat of the autumn sun, there is no shortage of frost on the pumpkin in Upstate NY. Trick-or-treating was even done in a snowstorm one year; much to my young daughter’s disgust at having to cover up her costume with a winter parka. If you haven’t ever seen a New England fall, I implore you to make the trip – it’s breathtaking. If you have, you know there is nothing else like it.
Fall time beckons to us to get in our cars and take a leisurely ride or to climb back on our bicycles and gaze at the beauty around us.
And for some, it even says, “come home.”

A Reunion

Late last night my husband, son and I drove out on I-64 to Route 58 towards Suffolk, VA. We were heading out to find a gas station to meet up with a family from N.C. We had exchanged phone numbers earlier in the day and agreed to meet where we were "pretty sure" there was a Shell gas station. The night sky was dark, filled with storm clouds and some much needed rain was hitting the windshield in a sort of reassuring rhythm. Although it felt a little strange to be leaving home so late at night, we all had a bit of excitement at seeing old friends. They had lived next door to us when we bought our first house here in Chesapeake fourteen years ago. Our son Jon-Michael was just three when we moved in and their son, Zack was closer to four. It didn't take long for them to become best friends, inseparable most of the time.
At that age they were playing with firetrucks and still taking an afternoon nap, when we could get them apart. Over the years the toys went from firetrucks, to GI Joes, to miniature hot wheel cars. We shared so many days together, and so many deck parties behind our house at the end of the work week. The adults would all wander over, we would cook simple meals of hot dogs and hamburgers and rinse them down with adult beverages; usually wine for the women, cold beer for the guys. When darkness fell, we weren't deterred from our good time by anything, including hungry mosquitos. The boys ran non-stop into nightime activities of chasing fireflies, running with flashlights and playing hide-n-seek. We gave it up usually late into the night whenever we just couldn't stay out any longer.
As we approached the gas station, we discovered it was a "Kangaroo," not a Shell station but we knew we had the right place; it was the only one out there for miles. We pulled in and saw we had arrived first, so we sat and waited. We quietly talked about how much time had gone by since the day Zacks Mom told us they were moving away to N.C. The boys were around eight and it was the first time I witnessed true sadness on our son's face. We had walked over to their driveway and struggled with holding back the emotions of saying goodbye.
As we watched headlights come and go in and out of the gas station, we finally saw a vehicle with N.C. plates and it pulled up beside us. As we all got out, I couldn't believe the 6' plus frame that climbed out. After the hugs and hellos, we took Zack with us to our house for the next two nights. The next morning, they made plans to drive to the Outer Banks to spend the day with friends at the beach. The boys who used to push their little cars across the floor, complete with the sound effects and dream of driving one someday, had arrived. I watched as they drove away in Jon-Michael's Honda Prelude with sun roof open, windows down, radio blaring. From eight to seventeen had passed in the blink of an eye, even when I thought I was looking. It was good to see them together again. The bodies have grown, the toys have changed, but their smiles remain.