Tumblr and Pinterest are blowing the hell up with candy corn cookie recipes, leaf wreath instructions and close-up photographs of cable-knit socks, but I can’t find a can of pumpkin in any of Amsterdam’s grocery stores.
I’m facing the fact that my favorite season is an American pastime.
Autumn has become America’s beloved season. Maybe it’s a result of the DIY craft revolution, the Starbucks empire or Buzzfeed’s infinite number of “Hocus Pocus” articles.
At home, I didn’t fully appreciate Louisiana Nursery’s mountain of giant pumpkins, the warehouses that temporarily become Halloween supply stores or the availability of massive, cheap bags of trick-or-treat candy. But those things don’t exist outside the fall fan club that is the U.S.
America’s autumn attitude is a different animal. We remember reading, as Anne of Green Gables realized, “I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers,” and we agree. We take advantage of every cloudless day because we know all too well that “winter is coming,” and we’re afraid.
Scarves come out, socks grow tall and lattes become pumpkin spiced.
Louisianans in particular know how to appreciate every 70-degree day. From almost 5,000 miles away, I knew right away when the dropping temperatures announced fall weather’s arrival in Baton Rouge.
The Facebook updates, the Instagram photos and the sharing of “Sweater Weather” by The Neighbourhood were a clear indication of people’s excitement for the season. Autumn’s fresh, dry days are in short supply for students demanding perfect conditions for frisbee on the Parade Ground.
But celebrating fall goes beyond enjoying clear skies and crisp air.
Though boiling southern summers spill into what should rightfully be fall’s territory, and chilly, wet winters encroach on the end of autumn, that doesn’t deter the spirit planted the day we flip our calendars from August to September.
The leaves don’t change colors, but we feel warm at the sight of brown, monochromatic foliage on the ground. We sweat in September’s heat while sipping spiced cider. Shorts and flip-flops are appropriate attire for watching New Yorkers shiver through Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.
This dedication is a country-wide phenomenon, and from Vermont to New Mexico, this time of the year is entwined in our national identity.
Of course, Thanksgiving is exclusively American, but I didn’t realize Halloween has only barely begun to haunt the Netherlands. What will people think when I show up in the Amsterdam clubs on Oct. 31 as Feminist Taylor Swift or the human incarnation of “Sharknado?”
Granted, Oktoberfest events are almost an adequate substitute, but lederhosen doesn’t look sexy on just anyone.
While each country celebrates the season with its own traditions, what we think of as fall festivities are rooted in American pride.
We know Thanksgiving is based on some pretty skewed historical information, but the holiday still represents our gratitude for living the American way and our connection to the land’s native people. We use this portion of the year to celebrate the pioneers of our territory and the early history of our now free and independent country.
That, and football, of course.
Both Halloween and Thanksgiving share decorated pumpkins. But the orange produce is native to North America and our enchantment with the fruit is scarcely found outside the states.
Classic American horror films dominate the season’s screens. And what would childhood be without a fall full of Tim Burton films?
Without us realizing it, autumn has become an American symbol of patriotism. Our perfect season is reliant on local products and constructs that can’t be perfectly recreated outside our domain.
Believe me, I’ve tried.