Pumpkins arrive at our local farmer's market just before the cool weather, along with an assortment of fantastic smaller gourds. This year, I noticed a section of mega pumpkins and I wondered, are they going to the homes that buy the tallest Christmas trees?
I like the color orange and pumpkin orange is my favorite. I love the sound of dry leaves: wind strumming through, tugging them from the trees, then they trickle to the ground, crunching under feet and tires. Ella, my fall-colored dog disappears against the backdrop of those leaves. The cool air lures us outside and holds us tight. Finding a spot of sun, Ella begs to stay a minute longer. Meanwhile my computer goes to sleep and my story waits.
My last book started in October with the protagonist's birthday and my current book will stretch through fall. Which prompts me to recall my younger years. Did my love for the season start there? I grew up in the 50s and 60s. In second or third grade, I remember marching to the lawn in front of the school, searching for autumn leaves under the magnificent old trees. We took the leaves inside to trace them on paper and I imagine (though I don't remember) we pasted the cut out leaves on the windows or hung them from the ceiling. The school held a fall carnival, very homespun, no thrilling rides or neon lights. Halloween costumes were most often gathered from dressers, cupboards and linen closets.
It's essential that people who write for children tune into current trends and be sensitive to the way today's youth experience the world. When I write contemporary scenes set in fall, they aren't authentic without elaborate Halloween decorations, superstores devoted to the holiday and every costume imaginable. But we writers draw from a memory well and what moves me to write those autumn scenes is a humble construction paper leaf.