Fall-ing

Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can’t go back
And moods that take me and erase me
And I’m painted black

Well, you have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It’s time that you won

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We’ve still got time
Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice
You’ve made it now

Falling slowly, sing your melody
I’ll sing it loud
Oh

Take it all

Falling Slowly. Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová

It’s fall in Australia. Forgive me if I call it fall. Fall is the older English usage, and I like it better – it’s familiar and trim, so apt for the season; its fitness for purpose, its spiritual intimations (the end of paradise, the falling of the year). This end of a season.

Rain is falling. Temperatures are falling. Even some leaves are falling in the evergreen Northern Beaches.

Days are getting shorter. The star-lit nights are getting longer. Daylight savings time ends tonight. Falling backwards by an hour. Hello darkness, my old friend – I’ve come to talk to you again...

I spent the day in bed, hiding under my warm doona, looking at UGG boots and electric heaters online. Yesterday I was wearing a summer dress. Today, I am fantasizing about an Oodie – an oversized blanket hoodie that looks awfully cozy and warm.

The first day of autumn was on March 1, but never mind the official date. You wake up one morning (I think it was on a Thursday) and the weather takes on a different feel after weeks of soupy humidity. You walk to the bus stop and the air feels different. Not only colder, but drier and sharper against your skin. You regret not having brought a sweater. Later, as you are running from one classroom to the next, you briefly look up to see a crisp blue sky, scrubbed of its summer haze. In the evening, when you return from school, you realize there are new scents in the evening air: damp earth, eucalyptus trees, and a wood stove burning close by. The sand feels colder to the touch, as you settle down to watch the sun set, creating the bold and beautiful orange, red and pink colours you see more of in the cooler season of fall. And when I say cooler, I mean average temperatures of 15–22 degrees. I am not complaining.

As the summer lingers, the days are still warm even as the evenings get shorter. Locals go for a swim after work in the ocean waters that are actually the warmest in the month of March and April. People still shop the supermarket barefoot  (I’m still not used to that).  Gone are the tourists that flock to the beaches on the weekends. It feels like the town is being returned to its rightful owners. You get back your favourite spot at your favourite café. The local eatery doesn’t run out of your favourite dish of meatballs and rice.  Knit sweaters appear in the shops’ windows. One last call from the cicadas. Small living things like ants and cockroaches and spiders decide to move in with you. The kookaburra continues to laugh, even though his laughter sounds a little sentimental, too.

As autumn arrives, so does a certain sense of melancholy and sadness. Gone are the days of heat and sunshine and being outdoors all the time. The year is about to come inside. Things are about to get serious. Feeling a bit more alone and homesick feels appropriate for this time of year. I miss celebrating birthdays with my family. Remembering anniversaries of loved ones that have passed with loved ones that are still alive but thousands of miles away. 

With the arrival of fall, I realize that I do not know Australia in autumn at all. That I have no idea what it is like. The last time I was here, I had to leave at the beginning of April as the pandemic was settling over the world like dusk setting in on a rainy autumn day. Do the leaves change colour? Do the trees go bare and naked? Do people eat pumpkin pie for Easter? Does the Easter bunny hop in the opposite direction?

Easter. Easter is such a spring holiday to me. The symbol for new beginnings and life, for flowers and short-sleeved outfits, for pastel colours and new hope. Teaching my students about Easter, I realize that all the schoolbooks we use have an Easter in mind that happens in spring. Not in fall! It’s a good thing that we always have a variety of beautiful flowers blooming down here, no matter what the season: giant Hibiscus, red bottle brush, prickly Banksias and the bright purple Tibouchina trees. So we add a few brown and orange and yellow leaves to our picture of the Easter bunny hopping through fall flowers. The children don’t mind. I find it hard to get used to this new Easter setting.

Autumn in Australia to me is early morning runs in cool, fresh air. The end of our first term at school (three more to go, before it all starts again). School holidays and flying out to Germany to see my dad and sisters. Falling back to spring. Springing back into fall. As I said, I am confused. 

One a day not too long ago, when it was still hot and summer, I went to the movie theatre to find some reprieve from the heat. The film “Shackleton” which tells the story of an expedition gone wrong and a ship being crushed by ice in Antarctica, seemed perfect to cool me down. Not only did it offer me a break from the stifling late-summer temperatures, it also gave me some unexpected advice on how to handle my own sense of feeling stuck at times.

1. Focus on your mission. Change your mission if you have to (I am on a mission to find out what this place feels like in autumn. Screw you Covid!).
2. Improvise when needed (Had to drop my race in Canberra to fly to Germany instead, which might have saved me from having to walk 21 km).
3. Use your emotional and social intelligence (if you got any).
4. Be persistent and resilient (every day!).
5. Manage the vital details (I cooked lentil soup this week – the perfect autumn meal).
6. Communicate frequently with the people on your team (not much of a caller, but I actually zoom called with my sisters this week, and it felt good!).
7. Learn from your mistakes!

Cheers!