Don't Rush the Seasons

Today marks the first day of autumn according to the traditional solar calendar.

I know that probably sounds impossible. It's going to be in the nineties again this weekend, the cicadas are still singing, and the tomatoes are only just beginning to ripen in earnest. Most of us aren't thinking about autumn yet, and honestly, I'm not quite ready to let go of summer either. This year I've decided to wait until the Autumn Equinox before fully celebrating the arrival of fall, even though we acknowledged the First Harvest at the beginning of the month. Still, I love knowing that today marks the first quiet turning of the season because it reminds me that change rarely arrives all at once. The solar calendar recognizes something our ancestors paid close attention to: seasons don't begin on a single day. They unfold gradually, one small sign at a time, long before we realize they've changed.

Once I started paying attention, I began noticing those signs everywhere. A few trees have already lost the bright green glow of midsummer, their leaves taking on the faintest hint of yellow. The cornfields are beginning to dry, their rich green softening toward gold. This week the mornings were wrapped in fog, the kind that hangs low across the fields while the dew lingers on the grass well after sunrise. Those mornings almost felt chilly, even though the afternoons still remind us it's August. None of these things shout that autumn has arrived. They simply whisper that it's on its way.

And yet, there is still so much summer left to enjoy.

The tomatoes are finally beginning to blush red, tiny pumpkins have appeared on the vines, and dragonflies still dart across the garden in the evening light. There will be more thunderstorms before the leaves begin to fall, more evenings warm enough for a walk after dinner, and hopefully another trip to the lake or the pool before the season slips away. I hear people talking about Halloween decorations already, and every store seems eager to convince us that summer is over. Nature, however, seems much less interested in rushing.

I think that's one of the reasons I love late summer so much. It exists in this beautiful in-between space. In Traditional Chinese Medicine, this is Earth season, the season of transition, nourishment, and digestion. It's the bridge between the expansive energy of summer and the quieter, more reflective months ahead. Earth season reminds us that transitions deserve their own time. We don't have to leap from one chapter into the next simply because someone else has declared it time.

For me, the signs of harvest are showing up everywhere. This week I picked summer apples and spent the day pressing fresh cider. I made another batch of pickles, bottled this year's Fire Cider, and I'm watching the tomatoes closely because salsa season is just around the corner. Before long the kitchen counters will be covered in tomatoes waiting to be canned, herbs drying for winter, and vegetables lined up to be frozen. Every free afternoon between patients suddenly becomes another opportunity to preserve a little more of summer before the frost eventually arrives.

Harvest has a funny way of feeling sudden. In April, we plant tiny seeds and wonder if anything will grow. We water, weed, wait, and hope. Then one day we step into the garden and somehow there are more tomatoes than we know what to do with. It feels as though it happened overnight, but of course it didn't. Every tomato is the result of months of quiet work that nobody applauds because it looks so ordinary while it's happening.

I've realized that's true far beyond the garden.

Maybe your harvest isn't tomatoes. Maybe it's your health. You decide to take a walk every evening, even though nothing seems to change. You begin making more nourishing meals, getting to bed a little earlier, or keeping your acupuncture appointments even when progress feels slow. Weeks pass. Sometimes months. Then one day you realize climbing the stairs feels easier, your digestion has settled, or your energy is better than it was six months ago. The harvest appears to arrive all at once, but it was quietly growing beneath the surface the entire time.

The same is true in business. You write another blog that only a handful of people read. You make another social media post. You answer another email. You keep showing up, wondering if any of it is making a difference. Then suddenly the phone starts ringing, appointments begin filling, and people seem to appear all at once. From the outside it looks like overnight success. From the inside you know it was simply harvest time.

That's why I don't want to rush this season.

Yes, autumn is coming. The signs are all around us, and they deserve to be noticed. Prepare for it. Can your tomatoes. Freeze your beans. Stack the firewood. Get the kids ready for school. Organize your calendar. There is wisdom in preparing for what lies ahead. But don't become so busy preparing for the next season that you forget to fully inhabit this one.

There is still beauty waiting for us here. The fog will rise from the fields again tomorrow morning. The tomatoes will ripen a little more. The flowers will keep blooming for a while yet. There will still be warm evenings, buzzing cicadas, and sunlight stretching across the garden after dinner. Autumn will arrive soon enough, just as it always does. Until then, I'd rather linger here a little longer, grateful for the abundance that surrounds us and careful not to hurry past the season I'm still living.