Keepers of the Flame
Embracing autumn with open arms.
Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. —Dylan Thomas
Fall connects us with one another more than any other time of year. However contrived, it’s the season of tradition, wherein we impart our customs, our ceremonies, and ourselves onto new friends and trusted companions alike. But like all traditions, without proper stewardship and care, the very thing that makes the season special could be lost.
I recently spoke with a friend who expressed her enthusiasm for the impending end of summer. Mistaking her sentiment as anticipation of the upcoming hunting season, I eagerly engaged her in conversation. It soon became clear that, despite our shared excitement for the season of change, we had entirely different motivations. “I’ve just been so busy this summer,” she said. “I’m ready to hunker down for a while, not get up to too much, and just catch my breath.” It’s true that as the days grow shorter, and the nights cooler, it’s easy to regress into ourselves and ease our way toward eventual dormancy, just as the trees and wildlife do. To become less active and social than our summer selves would allow. But the fact is, we owe it to ourselves to do just the opposite: to exhaust every possible minute we have in pursuit of something bigger—something more important—than rest.
Instead, we must meet the season head-on and embrace its arrival with open arms and eager bodies ready for adventure and connection. At its core, autumn serves to bring us together for feasts and revelry; to share our respective harvests, bounties, and good fortune. Our streets are lined with hues of gold, crimson, and copper as the leaves turn and fall to the ground. It is the stuff of poetry, art, and profound prose—why not treat it as such?
The changing temperatures allow us to recreate in an abundance otherwise unseen in other seasons: climbing rocks that are dry and responsive; hiking trails that no longer bustle & hum with both humans and mosquitoes; bike rides on tacky dirt with muscles finely-tuned; paddle trips down meandering rivers to bask in the splendor of solitude; the promise of early-season ski tours and fresh turns in unmarked snow; and, of course, the chance to finally take to the hills, the mountains, the lowlands, and the prairies for the most archetypal autumnal activity of all, hunting. Yes, there is much to do, and like every season in Montana, so little time to do it. And so, we must ask ourselves “How will I make the most of it?” lest our lives—and our traditions—pass us by.
A year from now, when the first fall breeze awakens us to the season ahead, and we trade our sun hoodies for, well, hoodies, and our swim trunks for sweatpants, we’ll reflect on where we were and what we did when this year’s cold came knocking. Will we be happy with all we accomplished and the bar we set for ourselves when the leaves began to change? Or will we scratch our chins, ponder where the time went, and wonder how exactly our weekends were spent between the road work and snowplows? Will we remember our giddy exhaustion from long days afield and long nights together? Or indifferently reflect on how well-rested we felt on an arbitrary Monday after a weekend of “catching up”?
Fall in Montana is all too short, and though we can never make more time, we can always make something of the time we have. Don’t lose your momentum, don’t let off the gas pedal, don’t go quietly into that good night—rage, rage against the dying of the light.
