This evening I was doing some thinking and some remembering about autumn evenings. In the neighborhoods of my youth the smell of burning leaves was a part of what made autumn, autumn. Apple pie, pumpkins, indian corn, cider and donuts, and tart Johathan apples in my lunch sack or eaten with my Dad on the back steps on a Saturday morning while listening to Big Ten football chatter and fight songs on the radio fill my fall memories.
This evening I got to thinking about how political correctness has robbed us of the perfume of burning leaves. I googled it and found someone who has expressed my own heart so well.
One Caveat: I am a life-long teetotaler, otherwise I wholeheartedly concur with my friends sentiments and suggestions about how to deal with the missing memory of smoldering leaf fires.
Pastor,
This really brought back the memories of my childhood down in Alabama. Every fall was special; we had a huge field that ran not only behind our house, but also the neighbors’ where my dad taught me how to hit a homerun. All the neighbors would gather on a Saturday late afternoon to play softball…if we could get enough for two teams! If not, we still played. But, I remember those same neighbors gathering to burn the leaves back there…and yes, there is something wonderful about that smell! Thanks for reminding me of a special time in my childhood!
Thanks for the comment. God bless you with a bunch more good memories