Officially the New Year begins in January, but in my mind, September is the month when everything starts up again. Even after I finished all my schooling, I couldn’t shake the notion that September was the true beginning of the year. Sending my three children off to school by foot, bicycle, bus and (eventually) plane only reinforced that feeling.
January just doesn’t feel like the proper month for New Year. When we lived on the East Coast full time, January seemed like the beginning of the depths of winter—three or four long, dark months to endure until May. (Maybe if I had been a skier, I would have had a different attitude.) And now, in California, when January comes, I wish, hope and pray for a rainy winter.
In New England, September is a clearly delineated time of endings and beginnings. In small towns near the coast and inland lakes, the “Summer People” leave, taking with them crowding in restaurants, extra traffic, and the liveliness of the season. The marsh outside our window is turning from green to yellow. Signs of birds migrating are everywhere. The feeders no longer need daily replenishing. I haven’t seen a hummingbird for a couple of weeks.
On the other hand, the Fall foliage display in October is a celebration of Autumn color that everyone looks forward to. And in my garden, several clumps of Joe Pye Weed are already showing off. Why this plant is called a “weed” is beyond me, but I love it not only for its violet blooms but also for its name.
When does the New Year begin for you? Send me a note; I’m interested in your opinion. And meanwhile,
HAVE A GOOD WEEK!
