With the crisp browns and rich reds falling from the trees, I couldn’t help but wonder what this season means to those who merely mark it off in their calendars.
Does it mean raking the remains of my neighborhood’s branches into a single pile? Should I put down the trash bag and jump in, undoing what I just cleaned? Maybe that’s it, smearing the spotless again and again. It reminded me of an occasion with relatives, one where I would poke every spot of the dog’s fur until it grew uninterested. We were all growing, new and old. There was the cousin’s third baby, the grandmother’s newfound love for watercolor, the uncle’s change of heart for one football team over another.
This is why people call them “family gatherings,” I suppose. It is more than just the individual, but an exploration of unity. Of course, this comes with its challenges, since not every uncle will root for the same side in sports. But I am fl exible with the word “family”—after all, friends face similar realities. We all must reap the consequences of our actions in some way or another.
However, I feel that reaping is contextual. It could be a celebration, a reward for one’s earlier doings. These concepts took me years to dissect, for I was too focused on the next month’s empty days. I twirled my spoon, sipped my tea, waiting for the everyday to be meaningful. To be full of stories and sustenance.
Regardless, I now see gatherings as an act of giving and receiving. Whether it be the pecans on the pie or purring of the cat, they represent a continuous cycle of love. To acknowledge the messy, clean, and everything in between — this is what it means to gather and reap.