For those of you who were concerned, never fear--I remedied the Eric Whitacre situation :D
I think I associate fall with music more than any other season. In middle school I was always excited to get back to school and start playing again after the long summer of keeping my flute tucked under my bed or in the back of my closet. Even now I admit I don't practice as much as I should over the summer, and by August (and even the end of June) my heart aches for new music. And of course, in high school fall meant marching band! Sure, it started in June but fall was when it mattered--the crisp air at football games, hearing Mr. Slightom over the PA announcing the show, long hours taking the same steps over and over again in the high school parking lot until they were perfect and permenant. Having cheerleaders come up to me as drum major and say how much they appreciated all the work the band put into football games and tailgating parties, and how much more fun things were when we were there.
And now I think of all the wonderful autumnal joy in the TFL--hand turkeys and pressed leaves and apple cider and that mischevious crock pot. Playing with prospectives at Music Opportunities Weekend--and having all of them make hand turkeys, too! Missing and reminiscing about student teachers who are missing and recent grads, and getting to know new grad students. And last year, terrorizing each other with El Methods songs, welcoming songs for back-to-school and fall songs--halloween! Yesterday Nicholette and I sang "A Famous Man" in celebration of Columbus day, and I hummed the Christopher Columbus song from the Y to myself, too. I love hitting that point in the semester where there's still time to have coffee dates, that sweet lull right after a concert and right before Christmas music. I love the beginning of Recital Season, singing the Doxology in the atrium with harmonies like there must be in heaven (of course, tuned to Chelsea Keane!), and the smell of flowers and candles and warm cookies rising over prayers of thanksgiving. I love mingling after recitals instead of practicing or getting homework done or going to bed--and I love sitting in the hall right above the atrium and watching everyone else enjoy each others' company.
And of course, I love fall as a new (student) teacher. I love the smell of freshly-sharpened pencils (remember the box in the TFL?) and the joy of sweaters and name tags and seating charts, the anticipation and a level of preparation that I won't have time or energy for again until next fall. I love browsing through J.W. Pepper and seeing what might be good for christmas or spring concerts, hearing drum lines from other schools practicing from my open window. I love looking for school supplies, touching different notebooks to see how the paper would feel under note-taking, being absolutely obsessive over highlighter and pen colors. I. love. fall.
And that, more or less, is what I think about when I hear "October." I remember hearing it as a freshman when wind ensemble played it; I remember hearing it when Avon (I think?) used it in their marching band show--chilled fingers curled around chain-link fences, ears straining to hear from the wrong side of the field, breath visible in the dusk and caught by the beauty of the moment.
