Black Warrior Files: Fall Comes . . . And Goes . . . And Comes . . . And Goes . . .

So back in, oh, September when the fall foliage reports started coming out for New England and the upper Midwest, I started getting ready for the fall that would surely come south eventually. I hauled out the sweater boxes and checked that the sweaters we all there and clean and ready to be worn once we finally got that first fall day. I dug out my knee-high men’s tube socks that I started wearing under my jeans that first winter I moved back up to the Frozen North in 2002. I found my favorite scarf. I was ready for Fall.

But like a bad date who leaves you waiting on the porch for 35 minutes, Fall didn’t show.

As some of you may recall from my last winter in northern climes, I am not one to necessarily cherish temperature extremes that tend toward the negative. Trust me. Back in February, when Expat made the decision that the job in Alabama was The One, I did a happy little gig in my snowboots in my cubicle right there under the roof of my former Very Corporate Employer in front of God and everyone (read: the industrial Cannon laser printer that shared my cube). Still there is something of merit to the way the air snaps in those first fall days, to the way the sky looks So Blue it almost hurts. I knew that in coming to Alabama, I would be sacrificing a few things, I had just hoped (quietly) that one of them wouldn’t be fall.

And then, just as my heart was laid low by the endless string of mid-to-upper 70s weather the start of November, just when I was truly running out of fall-ish T-shirts and was about to resort once again to springy aquas and limes and sleeveless dresses, Fall showed up one day wearing Rainbows, a Hawaiian shirt, and a slightly sheepish grin.

“Where’ve you been, man?” I asked him.

“Oh, you know, around,” Fall said and scuffed his toes in the dirt.

He brought with him the scraps that had fallen to the bottom of the fall foliage bag and started scattering them judiciously around the Flagship State U campus. One week before Thanksgiving, just in time for Indian corn and pumpkins and my Grammy’s open-faced apple pie, a few trees erupted in a riot of color. It was subtle, elegant, and all the more impressive because it was so selective. Unlike a New England fall, the Southern fall doesn’t inundate you with color. The Southern fall is all about the second glance, the quick double take, the rounding of a corner only to have your breath knocked out by the one, lone, fiery maple.

I turned to Fall. I was impressed. I said so. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Neither did I,” he said. “I’m all out, though.” He gave the bag one last shake and folded it under his arm. He reached into the breast pocket of his Hawaiian shirt and pulled out a pair of Ray-Bans. “Think I’ll head to Destin. I’ll send you a postcard.”

It was true. The fall foliage map on the Weather Channel’s website didn’t extend past Birmingham, as though the rest of the state was simply boycotting anything other than brown that year.

Today, we had our first truly fall day, temperature-wise: down into the 30s at night, the 60s during the day. The students are running around in hats and Columbia jackets and those unfortunate Ugg boots that don’t seem like they’re going out of style down here anytime soon. Expat used it as an excuse to finally break out one of those sweater vests that make him look particularly English-professory. I finally unearthed my little red coat with the hood and put on a pair of knee-length socks. Sure, it’s odd for Fall to wait so long, but he made it in time. Just in time for the holiday sales. Just in time for Christmas.

This weekend, the city of Tuscaloosa will host its annual Christmas Afloat parade, where residents along the Black Warrior River light up their boats and parade down the river after dark and spectators side out on the banks on lawn chairs and huddle under blankets and drink hot chocolate. And maybe by then laid-back Fall will have sent me that postcard from Destin. One of those ones with a palm tree lit up with colored Christmas lights, or a girl in a bikini wearing a Santa hat. “See?” he’ll write. “Aren’t you glad I waited until December?”

I sure am, Fall. I sure am.