In William Kent Krueger’s most recent novel, the first page is about leafless trees, total darkness by 8pm, and the aches and pains of climbing out of bed.* There is no doubt in my mind that the seventy-four year old author wrote these words on a day much like today. Any writer, if he or she lives long enough, probably gets around to equating October with agedness. For a young writer, “the autumn of life” is a cliché to be avoided. For an old writer, it just is.
The following is my take on autumn and aging. I did, by the way, write the first draft of this blog before reading Krueger’s new book.
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Autumn in the Upper Midwest usually descends quickly. This year it came in a day. October 5th was 85 and sunny; October 6th was 60 and overcast. One day I was in shorts and a teeshirt. The next day I was in jeans and a windbreaker over my teeshirt. My 18-year old dog went from summer lethargy to a hint of his old self.
My frame of mind shifted as quickly as the weather. I noticed the geese congregating in the marsh, even though they’d probably been doing so for weeks. I wondered whether the fall colors were late this year and was reminded that I’d know the answer to such questions if I just kept a personal phenology. I pulled Halloween decorations out of the rafters of my garage and, as I long as I was up there, took down the snow shovels and ice fishing gear. I went online to see when I needed to change the clocks.
My joints have also turned to fall. After a summer without pain, I now feel the change of temperature in my knees. I dug out heating pads from a cabinet in the bathroom, and I wrap them around my legs when I watch tv.
In spite of my achy knees, fall is still my second favorite season (next to summer). It definitely is the best time to kayak. The jet skiers are off the river, and lower water levels keep the large motorboats in the main channel. Canoeists and kayakers have the backwaters to themselves. I bring along a fishing pole when I paddle in the fall, but I rarely use it. The fish stop biting when the river turns (i.e, when the cool surface water sinks and water from the bottom rises), so I spend my time exploring places I’ve never been before.
I am writing this blog on the day after my annual flu and COVID shots. My arms and back hurt enough that I hardly notice my knees. Inoculations, at least for those of us who aren’t anti-vaxxers, are another part of autumn.
* William Kent Krueger’s new book is Apostle’s Cove. 2025, Atria Books.
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