The skies hang heavy with ripe color, the autumn air crisp like cider apples, enough to bring nostalgia to anyone. Grape skins litter the lawn, watermelon vines turn yellow, and leaves carpet the ground as nature returns to the dirt. Light falls on upturned faces, abundant and golden. The river sounds like fall. Ask anyone who lives in northern Idaho, they’ll tell you. April rivers and October rivers are not the same.
October makes me want to bury my face in the dirt, or shout at the Canada geese winging across the sky. Life is moving too fast; this is too sacred.
We stopped in the thrift store parking lot as a woman hurried over to us. “Hey, you guys wanna see some puppies?” Her smile lit up her face like a finger of sunshine.
Did I want to see puppies? Not particularly. Did I want to make this lovely human happy? I went to see the puppies.
Six yellow labs crawled over each other in the back of her car. The mom huddled in the front, scruffy and suspicious. The woman shoved one in my arms.
The wrinkled puppy face burrowed into my arm, its pink tongue exploring my skin. I don’t like dogs. But I know of puppy love.

Just today, an old woman beamed at me, and said, “Have a joyous day!”
You too, ma’am. Wrinkles and wisdom paired like that makes one realize the world is bold and beautiful, more so because of age and brokenness.

Driving through town, you’ll see old farmers shuffling on the sidewalk, stained jeans held up by suspenders, and you know they would bore you to death with stories given half a chance. You know they’ll sit on the porch this evening and smoke their health away. You know they’d hold the door open for you and they’d offer to carry your groceries to your car.
You’ll see school kids running across the street, their backpacks almost bobbing off. You know they’ll go home and sit on their phones all evening. You know they would smile sheepishly if you’d catch them staring at your impossibly long dress. You know they’ll scratch their sibling’s eye out a couple times a day. You know they inherit the only kingdom there is.
This is how James Herriot felt. These people are the salt of the earth. And all that’s autumn is found in this rapidly growing town.
It’s appropriate, I guess, that only one thing is left to say.
Thank you.