Autumn | Over The Backyard Fence

I’m trapped. I can’t get out. I see no exit, and there are no windows. I’m surrounded by, well, corn! And it was a great experience!

A couple years ago I took my Sunday school class to a fright farm—not to see ghouls or goblins, but rather to go through a maize maze. Have you ever been? Yes? Then you know how much fun they are. No? Then search for one in your area and go!

The Maize Maze I went to was 7 and a half acres of corn, 2 and a half miles of trails, and had one way in and one way out. The brochure said to allow 4 hours to get through the maze. Throughout the maze, there were food and beverage stations, tuba phones (for getting help from farm employees), bridges used to gain a vantage point to search for your next step forward, and clues to solving the puzzle, the mystery of the maze. It was an excellent adventure! Just when you were certain you were headed in the right direct, BAM!, you hit a dead end and have to retrace your steps. The stalks of corn are taller than you are, so you have no choice but to press on and follow the path not only looking for the way out, but also searching for the next clue that will allow you to solve the mystery of the maze.

Before you know it, you’re so engrossed in your endeavor that hours fly right by and you find yourself at the exit. As you step across that finish line, you turn and peer one last time at this humungous maze and you know that you’ve achieved success. You conquered the maze and solved the mystery.

I really enjoy autumn, and Halloween can be and should be a fun holiday. I’m not much for fright houses, horror movies, or monsters, but I enjoy searching for the perfect pumpkin and then carving it. I like hayrides and bonfires. I like the rich earthy tones associated with autumn gardens and decorating, and I adore masquerade parties! I like the appeal of the mask hiding your identity until someone figures it out and gives you away.

When I was a sophomore in school my youth group had a masquerade party. I worked and worked on my costume. My mom helped me. I sewed a hula hoop into the waistband of a pair of men’s trousers, then sewed a dress shirt to the outside of the waist of the trousers, making a one piece outfit. I pulled my hair into a bun and scrunched it under a work hat. Added a pair of work boots, and took some ashes from the fireplace, which I smeared on my cheeks. I left my eyeglasses at home and had my dad drop me off a block from the youth center so no one could see me with him and gain access to my identity.

Inside the center, I walked over to a group of my girlfriends and waited. They each turned and looked at me. “Great costume.” I heard from several of them. I nodded and smiled, but didn’t dare speak. I was out to see how long it took them to figure out who I was. Eventually, they wandered away from me and I heard, “I thought Valerie was coming tonight? Anyone see her?”

I smiled and refrained from squealing.

One of the cute guys asked me to dance, which completely took me by surprise because I was not wearing an attractive outfit by any stretch of the imagination. Plus, whenever I danced, the hula hoop sort of caused my costume to go in every direction at once.

He kept asking me questions, which I kept refusing to answer. A slow song came on and he actually reached an arm around me, somehow avoiding the hula hoop. “You’re really tiny,” he said, and I tried not to beam with pleasure. He said something about the hula hoop being between us, but I didn’t hear it. I was trying to keep my composure.

The song ended and he asked, “Not going to tell me who you are?”

I shook my head and he shrugged as he went back to join his friends—our friends.

That night I won most original costume, and I was pleased with that. Then the end of the evening came and the award for most mysterious was still up for grabs. I was called to the stage along with three others. When the youth pastor came to me and handed me first prize, I was thrilled. I’d pulled it off. Then it happened. A deep voice called out from the crowd.

“Hey Swanson? Is that you?”

My head snapped up and my eyes darted to my left, locking with my earlier dance partner. I’d been found out. I got to keep my prize nonetheless, plus it was the end of the night, so I was fine. I left the stage and headed toward my friend.

“How did you know?” I asked.

“Your eyes. There was something familiar about your eyes when we were dancing. It was while you were up on stage that I realized I was used to seeing them behind glasses.”

When my dad came to get me, he asked me how it went. I told him it was one of the best parties I’d been to, but that it was also one of the loneliest evenings I’d ever spent while in a huge group. My refusal to speak for fear of giving myself away proved to alienate me from my friends. No matter. It’s all about being mysterious. It’s all about the masquerade!

What’s your favorite autumn activity? Bobbing for apples? Trick or Treating? Hayrides? Regardless, I hope you have fond memories of the activities and the people who were with you.

Until next time, I hope you have a little mystery in your autumn days, and plenty of blessings to warm you at night.

Later this month, on the 20th, a family friend of ours turns 99 years old. Gladys is a woman whom I very much admire. She still lives in the house she and her then new husband moved into 70 years ago. Sadly, we lost Gene a couple years ago. Now, Gladys’ son and daughter-in-law live with her, but not because she needs oodles of help. She still gets around with the aid of her walker. She still cooks, cleans, and gardens. And she’s sharp as a tack. Trust me. She asked me something over a year ago and asked me again a couple months ago if I’d managed to do what she asked me. lol. No memory issues here.

She’s got a funny bone a mile long, she’s stalwart, and she’s also a loving matriarch to her family. This past weekend, she had the honor of being the Grand Marshall in her small home town’s Apple Cider Festival parade. You see, her town is also 98, so they grew up together.

Gladys wasn’t only honored at the invitation, she had a plan. She wasn’t riding in some fancy automobile. Not her, nosiree. She got on the phone, called around, and found a Model T (and it’s owner) to be driven in. The car, the town, and it’s matriarch—all the same age.

We knew this parade was one not to miss so made the 1.5 hour drive to see Gladys in action. It was one of the funnest days we’ve had in ages. I’d forgotten how fun small town parades are. Only one high school, so only one band. But the elementary school marched, also, as well as a group of kids on dirt bikes and quads. A local car club, along with princesses and queens. Rounding out the parade were the John Deere tractors. LOTS of John Deere Tractors. And log trucks.

Afterward, there were pie baking (and eating) contests, cider pressing, and food and crafts lining the streets to enjoy.

This was Americana at its best. No, that’s not true. This kind of goodness isn’t limited to America. It’s worldwide. So I hope you get to enjoy your Autumn fruits and labors with a celebration of all that is good.

And Happy Birthday, Gladys. Almost 99 years young. Thanks for being such an inspiration to us all!