By Danielle Clark
Fall is such a nostalgic time of year for me. Some of the most exciting events happen this season: Back to school, Halloween, and Thanksgiving. My birthday even falls on the first day of fall. Besides the special occasions, the quaint, minor memories of this time strike me as just as important. They tend to evoke more happiness than anything else. Just the other day, as I sat in my chair looking out from Tilly at the Art Building on campus, admiring the Victorian, ivory-laden, brick structure, a cold breeze floated in, enveloping me with chills. A single memory from my childhood enters my mind, playing back like a movie.
In this flashback, I was around the age of 6. My mother and I went shopping at the Christmas Tree Store that was just a town over from where we lived. Mom was buying decorations for Halloween and Thanksgiving, and I just tagged along in hopes of getting a toy for good behavior. I helped my mom pick out some scarecrows and pumpkins. When we returned home, I ran out to the backyard, where my mom placed the new decorations. The sky was light gray, just barely cloaking the sun. The trees were not completely bare yet, but brown and orange leaves still cluttered the ground. A chill filled the air, warranting me to pull on a jacket, mittens, and my favorite, cozy, red hat.
While my mom was inside cooking dinner, I was out playing with the new scarecrows as if they were dolls, like any little kid with a vast imagination would. I gave each other the four scarecrows names and roles in the story I was going to play. I always had a knack for creating in-depth plots to the stories and games I’d play by myself or with a friend. That love of storytelling I had at such a young age later developed into my love for writing novels.
From the corner of my eye, I could see my mom watching from the window, smiling. She was happy to see how much fun I was having. I was afraid I was going to get into trouble for moving her new scarecrows around, but she didn’t seem to mind. Our puppy Kasey was outside with me, sniffing around the yard and looking for squirrels to chase. She was good company, but I wanted someone else to play with. My older sister Lindsey—who is currently a BSU graduate, a former honors student, and is now engaged—was inside chatting with friends on MySpace and probably listening to Fall Out Boy. Bugging her to play wasn’t an option.
Once I grew tired of being in the cold, I rushed inside with Kasey. My mom had dinner set out for me at our counter: chicken, mashed potatoes, carrots, and hot cocoa. I filled my tiny stomach with warm, tasty food while watching SpongeBob. Happy, simple times.
Back to now. I can hardly believe it’s the fall of my freshman year in college. I’m an honors student. I’m taking classes. I’m in clubs. I’m 19 now and am one step closer to being out in the working world. It’s a bit difficult to wrap my mind around the fact I’ve come so far. I often wonder where the time flew. Cherishing my time here at BSU is a must because when I’m older at my job, I’ll be looking out the window at the onset of fall in the world around me, and I’ll remember sitting at Tilly, looking out at the Art Building. I‘ll smile.