The Professor happened to come home earlier than usual one bright October afternoon. He left the walk and cut across the turf, intending to enter by the open French window, but he paused a moment outside to admire the scene within. The drawing-room was full of autumn flowers, dahlias and wild asters and goldenrod. The red-gold sunlight lay in bright puddles on the thick blue carpet, made hazy aureoles about the stuffed blue chairs. There was, in the room, as he looked through the window, a rich, intense effect of autumn, something that presented October much more sharply and sweetly to him than the coloured maples and the aster-bordered paths by which he had come home. It struck him that the seasons sometimes gain by being brought into the house, just as they gain by being brought into painting, and into poetry. The hand, fastidious and bold, which selected and placed–it was that which made the difference. In Nature there is no selection.
The Professor’s House
I am no interior design expert. Both my gross lack of training and a requisite extravagance of funds for such a pursuit—for it is a pursuit—make it impossible. Nevertheless, I enjoy the approach and the duration of seasons, the newness of each timely arrival and its very familiarity. So I try to make the most of what we have to, as Cather wrote, bring the seasons into the house.
It is a joy to make the most of what I have to make our home attractive. While I constantly struggle to complete even the basic chores every day, the cleaning and tidying that never cease, I have learned to take some time each season to pull out silk flowers, arrange bouquets, and rotate small mementos and dishes to make our home timely. We follow the Church calendar and lectionary, and our days are measured by months and intervals, clocks and wall charts. The little efforts I make, then, to echo the outdoors and its cyclical changes within our walls seem a requisite, respectful nod to our connection to the world outside.
I use hand-me-downs and gifts, flowers and pumpkins and candles collected over many years of end-of-season sales and random $5 Hobby Lobby and Walmart buys. A boutonniere from an October wedding years ago. A fall birthday surprise from a dear friend. Is it kitschy and nostalgic? Sure. Nothing we own would look like much, or is much, on its own. But together, some vivid autumn colors and varied textures in simple objects can change what we see in our kitchen and living room every day. They can remind us, in visual ways, of time passing and of the importance of cherishing each day, of being thankful for beauty in every season.
A mason jar; some butcher block paper; a bit of ribbon. Small favors, but an autumn gain nonetheless.