I’m about to head up to the Catskills for the last trout fishing of the year. The leaves are changing and I reflect on the season and feel a sense of wistfulness as the days get shorter. As far as fishing goes, I’m just happy to be out there. Anglers say that all the time, but this time I mean it! Any trout might be the last one until April and is more special because of that. I think about the high water in the spring, the hatches of May, the clear pools in June and the challenging runs in the heat of July.
I try to embrace a new angling tactic each year, like reading an author I’ve somehow missed (I still have to finish that Trollope novel before January!). Sometimes it’s fishing with wet flies or improving at Tenkara or visiting a stretch of the stream I’ve always neglected. I keep a fishing diary now and wish I’d done that earlier. It helps me recall who I was with and all the things that end up running together over the years.
I used to resist the passing of time, I held on too intently. Now nothing seems to end. Movies re-boot, bands reunite (almost always a bad idea). I just listened to a seven-hour podcast on The Smiths (hey now) and thought about how they were only together for five years which made them even more perfect. Instead we get what we want whenever we want it, bread overnighted from Paris. Now there are no distinctions, like a year without seasons. I like looking forward to having gelato in Italy or tempura in Tokyo. I like the anticipation and even the waiting.
Last weekend, my parents just closed our cabin in Wisconsin for the year. The boats out of the water, the furniture taken inside, the canvas shades lowered over the windows for the last time. Of course it’s sad. But that makes looking forward to the next season all the better.
I try to look forward to the moment I’m in. Now that’s striper fishing in Jamaica Bay, the Halloween Parade in the West Village, the World Series and fires in the fireplaces. You might bring your favorite scotch back into the rotation, the tweed is dusted off and you bring that into the rotation.
It’s good to have these seasonal passions. Some are set on the calendar, like holidays of course. Other traditions we create ourselves, like going to the Magic Flute, which always returns each winter. Maybe you go for an ambitious lunch with an old friend at a serious restaurant. Eric Rohmer’s characters are always on vacation, so those films are done until next summer. But here’s Metropolitan, which takes place over Christmas vacation, the characters in overcoats, perfect for December.
Of course it’s bittersweet when I leave the valley in the Catskills for the last time each year. I’ll try to enjoy the winter and that takes some effort, though growing up in Minnesota I think I’m well equipped for that. And when the days are the shortest I remember Riesling season will arrive soon enough.
The tenderness of anticipation and the pleasure and swift disappointment of attainment. Thank you, David, for articulating what we feel but can’t quite articulate. Another lovely post.
Perfect timing...loved this. London has just started to finally feel like autumn with the drop in temperature... which necessitated the much longed for return to the front rail of my Harris Tweed (Connolly of course) and Xmas inspired Tartan (Ralph gets it so right) Big Coats to keep out the chill.