Waiting On Fall

National Asset and I are sitting on the newly cleaned front porch, enjoying our lunch.

"It feels like fall," I say, and he agrees. 

But it is only mid-August. My neighbor Bobsie and I were discussing this a few days ago over fresh blackberry cobbler. Fresh, as in straight from the bushes near the reservoir to my kitchen. 

"The oak trees are already shedding their leaves," I say. 

"And the acorns are falling, too," she adds. They make a gunshot-sharp crack! when they hit blacktop or roof.

We discuss this a bit. Is fall coming early? Is it the drought? Or does this happen every August?

This will be our third autumn up in the Sierra foothills. It ties with spring as my favorite season, and its charms include welcome cooler temperatures after the hot, thirsty summer; downward drifting oak leaves and maples turning flame-colored; bushy-tailed squirrels flying through the treetops, as if playing on a giant trapeze, while they gather acorns.  

There are other signs, too. There always seems to be more spiders, or least more webs, this time of year. These industrious creatures build the most amazing gossamer labyrinths in about every corner on the property. It is common to find very tough, sticky black widow webs extending from the eaves to the deck. If we were ever to get trick-or-treaters, way down here at the end of a very dark road, we wouldn't even have to decorate. The arachnids already have it covered.

Last evening, as twilight was sinking down behind the woods, we heard a loud knocking on our front door. We looked at each other, as if we had heard something totally foreign. It is rare to hear this sound, and it was so loud and persistent that it could not be ignored. 

"The doorbell is still broken," I say, as if that explains everything.

We hurry to see who is rapping, rapping, not so gently on our chamber door. The Asset outruns me and opens it. 

There stands a boy. He is nicely dressed and about the size of Oldest Grandson. He holds a colorful flyer in his hand. He is looking for work. The Asset listens politely to his schpeel as I peek around the door jam.

When he is finished he hands me his flyer, neatly titled "NoahWorks",  and I look it over.

"I can do all kinds of jobs," he says. "My work is guaranteed to be great, or it is free."

"How old are you?" I ask.

"I turned twelve yesterday," he answers proudly.

"Are you Noah?"

"Yes, I am," he replies.

He gazes up at the corners of the porch ceiling, then back at me. 

"I can remove cobwebs," he says tactfully. 

And I think, is this kid a born salesman or what? Between cobweb removal (number 2 on his list) and pull weeds (number 10) alone, he could probably earn enough money from us during the next six years to pay for his first year of college.

He asks to have the sole copy of his 'Work Available To Do' list back, and also for my email address. I hesitate. He assures me he will guard it with the utmost care. I give it to him.

"Do you know, are there anymore houses down here?" he asks in parting.

"Nope. We are the last house," we reply.

Then he walks back up the long driveway. 

Past the trash can I had not yet hauled back down to the house (number 17: haul trash cans to curb and return when empty). 

Past the brown oak leaves that are pretty much covering everything (number 6: rake leaves). 

Past countless numbers of random dead branches laying about (number 8: pick up sticks) and on home to his mother (number 14: walk dogs, with Mom's help).

So today I get out my broom and make hay of the cobwebs on the front porch and surrounding eaves. I move our $20 yard sale wicker furniture around and give the place a good sweeping. I  discover a wasp nest on the back of the love seat and choose to ignore it. Live and let live, I say. I've been sitting there all summer without incident and see no need to provoke hard feelings with them on this beautiful day. 

I prepare grilled sourdough sandwiches, filled with mozzarella cheese and fresh farmer's market tomatoes and basil, and we bring them outside to enjoy on our clean front porch. 

And yes, from this vantage point I can picture a young boy, eager to work and earn a little money, pulling velcro plant weeds and filling in the mole holes in our dead lawn (number 9: fill in holes in yard caused by pets or pests) and learning a little bit about life in the process.