"Where Fillmore County News Comes First"
Tuesday, November 25th, 2014
Volume ∞ Issue ∞
- 8:03:53, Nov 24th 2014 - FountainFarmer - Doc, Why do people like you have to turn stories that don't have ... [Read More]
- 7:13:36, Nov 21st 2014 - FountainFarmer - doc, why do people like you think that every story needs a sense ... [Read More]
- 3:50:54, Nov 21st 2014 - Frank Wright - Does the author of this article realize it is not April 1st? ... [Read More]
- 3:03:32, Nov 21st 2014 - Roberto - That IS a stereotype on Libertarians from extreme right-wingers BTW. See ... [Read More]
- 5:10:46, Nov 17th 2014 - doc - I'm surprised conservatives aren't picketing there for their war on women. ... [Read More]
- 5:09:30, Nov 17th 2014 - doc - Is it illegal to push THEIR snow into the street though? ... [Read More]
- 4:16:40, Nov 15th 2014 - Gudrun - Ralph's burial at Arlington National Cemetery is scheduled for February 12, ... [Read More]
- 4:47:53, Nov 7th 2014 - KingslandGrad95 - Hey winters coming, why don't you take your concerns to that of the ... [Read More]
- 6:43:44, Nov 6th 2014 - winters coming - Tell Fillmore central in harmony that it is against the law to push t ... [Read More]
- 11:34:53, Nov 3rd 2014 - Tom Kaase - First of all, thank you again to Editor Jason Sethre for allowing people ... [Read More]
Fri, Nov 22nd, 2002
Posted in Columnists
Posted in Columnists
Some seasons get all the breaks. Take spring, for example. Most of us look forward to the budding trees, the greening lawns, and even the yellowing dandelions. Summer, too, holds the promise of pinks and blues and purples in gardens and on bushes galore. In a good year, fall thrills us with orange, red, and gold up and down each bluff. Even winter takes a pretty picture when the distant sun causes icicles to sparkle on bare trees surrounded by a sea of white. But without that snowfall, November looks dismal.
In a vain attempt to create a colorful view this time of year, we force bittersweet and pumpkins to pretend to look natural on our doorsteps or near lamp posts, but we know the truth. November wears drab, and drab just doesn’t merit an "ooh" or "aah" the way lavender does. Retailers know this, too. As early as November 1, customers can buy a myriad of holiday lights to deck their halls or windows or trees, but you will not find brown. Gold, definitely; amber, maybe; but brown, never. But even our attempt to call everything brown is to look too quickly, to make hasty assumptions based on old habits. We’re tired of mowing the lawn, so we hope for fall’s frosts to bring on the on those brilliant colors which mean harvest, then snow, then Christmas and New Year’s and a few months of ice before we see spring again. We get crops in bins, clip the iris leaves, and busy ourselves with last-minute-before-snowfall chores which cancel out any chance for us to linger awhile, looking at the earth in its barest state. Possibly our lack of vocabulary prevents us from enjoying the view during this moment in the year. When we speak of holly green or apple red, others nod and imagine precisely the same sight. But which words describe this month’s colors? To speak of ditch drab or camouflage gray seems appropriate only in a setting for some dreary story of heartbreak or failure. So where do we find common names for the colors of after-fall. Look once, and you’ll see what I mean. To call the remnants in the ditches "brown" means disregarding the majority of what sways in the wind or lies there. Tawny works, but only a bit. Dappled amid those grasses stand a few true brown twigs, but "bone" or "speckled egg" might describe some of the other plants whose names I’ve never tried to learn. A spot of sunshine here and a shadow there add inflections of copper or gray. Beyond those ditches, patches of plowed dirt mottled with shreds of corn stalks still create a varied pattern, and beyond them the birches stretch thin branches across the bluffs. To call these sights black and tan and white comes nowhere near realizing the beauty that continues to clothe our countryside. Even as I find myself noticing the subtle differences in ditches and on hillsides, I wonder which words to use to persuade others that what I saw was beautiful. Maybe color crayon companies ought to have a contest to name these shades so we could all recognize the same palette; or maybe decorators need to swing the chic pendulum back to the tones of November to impress us with the hues we see each day. If no one else heeds the call, I may have to spend longer hours scouting these colors and learning their names. I wouldn’t mind the project, because although reds and greens of every shade fill my home, I realize that I’m beginning to like this near-winter landscape.