Every year, when the first of autumn's tendrils reach me, I am transported back through time and space to my hometown. Whether it’s the first chill, the uniquely autumnlike breeze, or the first time a leaf crunches under my foot, I’m taken back to my childhood.

I’m suddenly 12 again, wandering alone through a grain elevator at 10 P.M. on a school night, wearing oversized Carhartt work clothes that I’d eventually grow into, nervously clutching a flashlight as I plunged deep into its dark bowels to check on the machinery.

Or I’m 14 and at a country fair with friends, spending all the money my parents gave me on cheap rides and expensive food.

Or I’m at my first sleepover at my new house, watching rented Friday the 13th films with a childhood friend I haven’t seen in years, staying up late into the night drinking Mountain Dew Voltage and talking about the mysteries of life. 

These, and dozens of other memories, flood through me whenever I realize, intellectually or spiritually, that the season has changed for the better. 

Conventional wisdom says that spring is the season of renewal, and perhaps it’s simply the influence of being a lifelong student thus far, but fall has always felt more momentous than spring. 

Growing up in rural farm-country Ontario, spring was associated with the grueling 60+ hour weeks of planting and tillage, a precursor to a summer in the fields. A return to the status quo. 

Fall, however, has always felt more fresh. More awash in possibility. The nights begin to grow dark again, the delicious cold seeps in from the ground. The season itself feels like a second home.

In Arthur’s collective editorial all the way back in May, I talked about how I felt the world, or perhaps my life, or even both, were in a period of change. This of course is exacerbated by this being my 4th year of university, and potentially one of my last. Life itself is at a crossroads. Will I go to grad school? Get a job? Maybe I’ll just wander off into the woods.

It helps my romantic notion of fall that I’ve always loved spookiness. Or perhaps, horror? I’ve never found a single word that describes it perfectly.

I’ve always loved Scooby Doo. My favourite part of Ben 10 was when he was battling Werewolves and Mummies. I love fog and thunderstorms. Although I used to be scared of the dark (and still am on rare occasions), I used to wander out into the forest in my backyard at night and stand there in the dark looking up at the night sky. 

There is something so infinitely pleasing about ghosts, ghouls and whatever can be imagined to go bump in the night, and it delights me to no end that fall is a dedicated celebration to it all. 

I’ve never considered myself a spiritualist by any means, but I feel a connection to fall and October specifically. To Thanksgiving and farm festivals, as bastions of neighborly collectivity. To the eerie and the frightening that sparks imagination. To warm, comfortable clothing and cozy weather. 

Really, the only downside of fall is that it reminds me I’m not home. It sends pangs of guilt down my spine that I don’t know how the harvest has gone. I have no idea what the weather has been like, what fields I can grab peppers or brussel sprouts from. I miss the feeling of coming home after a long day, destroying any morsel of food I find, and then playing some games with the fellas. I miss the late nights with the windows down, radio screaming, rushing home in half the legal time in a farm truck. 

I know that for many of you that know me and Chatham-Kent, this seems ridiculous. It’s a municipality nearly 4 times the size of Toronto, with a population of 110,000, wedged between Windsor (yuck) and London (double yuck), yet it has constantly been on the periphery of my attention. 

It’s not like I don’t visit. 

Now I have a new normal. Just as the seasons have changed, so must I. Now I have 4 emails to check daily, and my evenings are more often spent doing work than relaxing in front of a screen or page. I go to the gym. I eat healthier. I even live somewhere where I can ride my bike on honest-to-God pavement. I’m sure that one day,I will look back to now as being just as delightful, just as memorable. I have time to forge new memories. 

I’d like to urge all of you who read this, both those of you who agree with me, and those Scroogian individuals whose mouths the very word “spooky” sends acid into, to take a moment and simply appreciate fall. Take a stroll down the river or enjoy a nice drink on a bench. Watch that movie with your friends. 

It’s the perfect season for it.