“Come, little leaves,” said the wind one day; come o’er the meadows with me and play. Put on your dresses of red and gold, for summer is gone, and the days grow cold.” George Cooper, an acclaimed poet from New York City, wrote Come, Little Leaves. Decades later, I recited it in elementary school.

Earlier this week, however, the wind was still and the air was warm when I went out for a walk to view streams and green meadows against the backdrop of autumn’s reds and golds, now transitioning in places to the color of butterscotch pudding. I saw deer in the meadow grazing not far from the forest. They lifted their heads and looked at me as if to ask, “Do you feel the change, too?” I often see them, and I’m confident they recognize me as they never run away but instead stand and stare for a bit before grazing again.

That particular day I was not only checking out the changing landscape but also looking for wild grapes. Last year I had enough to make jelly and can several pints of juice concentrate. This year they are a bit smaller, perhaps due to the lack of rain, but they are plentiful and full of the promise of tasty goodness through the coming winter and spring months.

In my early adult years, I made nearly everything for my family. Not only did I sew for my home and children, but I also canned anything that wasn’t nailed down. In addition, I never refused gifts of extras, such as corn, green beans, and tomatoes. Once the children were in school, people would ask what I did with my time. I was in wonderment at such a question. It was a time, however, when those who stayed home full-time and cooked, cleaned, nursed, and transported their family everywhere were undervalued and often criticized for being lazy because we weren’t bringing in a paycheck. I wasn’t the only one experiencing this unfortunate criticism and judgment, but fortunately, I think we are seeing this attitude change.

As my children became teenagers, I chose to stop gardening and making everything for my family. We had a busy schedule of their activities, as well as my volunteer work and caring for my mother. I caved to the pressure and sometimes outright bullying from those who didn’t understand the value of home life.

About the time the kids were in high school, as a family, we were questioning the additives in store-bought goods, and so I began to switch back to baking things myself and buying from local artisans and farmers.

As I ponder leaves of red and gold dancing across the meadow, I remind myself that change happens. A decision we made at one time can be turned into something else. Each moment brings its season. What is old or needs changing will be let go. What we have created and is to our benefit will stay.

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