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I was in Ingles recently when I heard some people talking about the cooler weather. And yes, admittedly, I was standing in the Starbucks line, and the word “pumpkin” was bandied about, so judge me as you see fit.
Even walking through the aisles of the store, I found evidence of the season change – from the prominent hot chocolate mix displays to the shrunken variety of fruit to the lumpy piles of lumpier gourds. All the main social media sites, like Facebook and Instagram, are filling with Halloween cookie recipes and costume ideas. I even saw a woman wearing a Rudolph the red-nose reindeer sweater. (I’m looking at you, Anngee.)
Like most people in our region, I love fall for all the usual reasons – the bonfires, crunchy leaves and the fact that it’s the only season to feature two major feasting holidays, Halloween and Thanksgiving. I call it my “wig season” because my darlings, having spent the hot summer stuffed into wig boxes, can finally come out and play.
But playing in Cherokee County can be treacherous. We have experienced division under the tension of some gripping issues.
The $48.5 million settlement payout from lawsuits against the Department of Social Services, for example, can froth people up in a flash. The commissioners’ nearly unanimous vote (minus Jan Griggs) to charge for 911 calls requesting ambulance service can start a shouting match. Someone could whisper the words “school consolidation” in Murphy, and it would be heard all the way in Andrews and ricochet to Hiwassee Dam before the final syllable is uttered.
And by that time, a Bulldog, Wildcat and Eagle are battling it out unto death.
So we’ve all been a little tense, a bit defensive about our belief systems and our absolute certainty that we know how things should be done. Maybe we’ve been less courteous to the driver whose bumper sticker snubs our own, or more aggravated with the elderly man who takes a full two weeks in the checkout line to manage the card reader.
We’ve become impatient people. “Hurry up!” says the beep when the traffic light blinks green. Maybe it’s the autonomy of the computer age, blended with the COVID-19 lockdown, but some of us have turned into irascible curmudgeons.
That’s why I like season changes. Aside from the odd discord concerning which season is the best (obviously it’s winter), people harmonize about the weather. There is no political party to blame for the knock-you-over winds. Illegal immigrants didn’t cause the heat waves, and Baby Boomers aren’t responsible for the blizzards.
Weather is the great equalizer. Rain falls on the expensive salon haircut in equal measure to the kitchen chair cut. We might disagree about wealth distribution or policing tactics, but we all look up in wonder to watch the snow as it floats down from a wintry sky.
The people at Ingles were happy that day, waiting for their Starbucks treats. They smiled when they talked about fresh-made bread or their secret recipe for apple butter.
For that one moment, we gathered as strangers and unclenched our fists. We could talk about the weather as sensible people, agreeing to disagree that icicles dipped in sugar are superior to snow balls covered in maple syrup. We let down our defenses and allowed ourselves the dignity of our own opinions and traditions.
Many people think that talking about the weather is superficial, but not to me. I find it profound.
Abigail Blythe Batton is a staff correspondent for the Cherokee Scout. Her column runs every other week. Email her at abigailblythebatton@gmail.com or leave a message at 837-5122.