Autumn Pastoral

High-altitude winds drive a scattered weave of clouds swiftly across the sky above me, now and then letting streams of sunlight slip through to set alight the colors of the nature around me. My eye falls on the zucchini plants in the distance, whose large leaves greedily gather the light that nourishes them. But the summery illusion given by the sight of their bright orange blossoms is broken by a shiver of cold running along my arms. I glance at the thermometer: fourteen degrees. Nothing unusual, really, for a Lithuanian August.

After lunch Goda has holed up inside. I, instead, linger on the porch, letting the sharp gusts of air, heavy with damp smells, awaken my memory of autumn. I have a cup of tea to warm me. It’s just a pity there’s no slice of crostata; the tall, buttery, crisp kind, topped with a nicely browned layer of jam, made according to my mother’s recipe.

That’s how I used to make them when we lived in Rukainiai, a small village twenty kilometers southeast of Vilnius, in that little house on the edge of the forest. There I got my imprinting of the Lithuanian autumn, and the cold wind carries my mind back to those places.

Memories resurface with nostalgia of running along country roads, in the red sea of buckwheat ready for harvest. Of the smell of apples that hits you when you pass one of the many wild trees. Of mushroom outings (often fruitless), and even of the hours spent cutting, stacking, moving, and restacking the firewood for the heater.

In Vilnius, with central heating, city life is certainly more comfortable. As soon as I wake up I no longer have to rush to light the fire, and then wait for the house to slowly warm up. The freezing winter temperatures are now just a curious fact I notice vaguely when I open the window to air out the room.

And yet I miss the discomfort. Five years in the city have strengthened my desire for a life closer to a rural, more primitive dimension. At least here, in the summer cottage where Goda and I spend part of the season, I get to live a bit of that. Will it be enough? Who knows. I’m going to light the fireplace.