Looking for fall

Calvin and I have a rule over the winter that, as long as the temperature is above the single digits, we have to spend at least fifteen minutes out of doors every day. I say a winter rule because getting outside during the summer is never a battle as long as we're not in the middle of a torrential downpour. But in the winter, with the days foreshortened and the earth put on ice, it's a lot harder to bring ourselves to leave the warmth of our cozy home to get the fresh air we really need.

Today marked the first day this year that I would rather have stayed curled up on the window seat and left the out of doors to the birds on our feeders, but we followed our own rule and headed outside anyhow. After lunch we donned our jackets and hats and trudged out into the chilly November air in search of fall.

Since it's actually almost winter, fall was a little hard to find; most of the leaves are gone from the trees, and even from the ground as well. Instead we were surprised to find a bit of leftover summer in the form of little blooming wild flowers, the ones that look like miniature daisies, scattered throughout the vacant lots in our neighborhood.

There is no better classroom than the out of doors. Rousseau, I am sure, would agree. We counted flowers. We dropped sticks into the sewer to watch the water ripple and obscure our reflections. We identified birds by their calls and their colors. We made footprints in a field of mud and compared the patterns left by our shoes to each other and to the wheel tracks left by the house building equipment that had left, it seemed, only recently. And we ended our walk at the park with fifteen minutes of intense physical education (a three year old repeatedly climbing ladders on a play structure means a good afternoon nap, after all).

And then, on the way home, we found our way inside a tree, and stayed for a little while. (and then we went home and took that good, long nap on a chilly afternoon).