September's Here, Slugs Are Gone

September in our household means two important things. By the time it rolls around, Fall is here. Never mind that Autumn is supposed to start the third week of September. When you can smell it in the air, it's here. The second noteworthy event occurs when all the slugs that meet daily to get to know each other and reproduce on the outside of our front door decide to pack it up and, thankfully, leave.

Of course, I can always see where they've been. Their tracks are all over the sidewalk and the storm door. Just as some people hate snakes, I loathe slugs. I would probably kiss a snake before I would willingly touch a slug. If they have some redeeming social value, I have yet to discover it. They're slimy, they look stupid and they slither into the bowls of food we put out as part of our cat rescue work. I have to clean these bowls every day. Yuck.

Pondering the yearly departure of the slugs during cooler temperatures - far less heralded than the yearly return of the swallows to Capistrano - caused me to reflect on the patterns of September childhoods in northwestern Ohio in the 1950s and 1960s (for some of you, the American Dark Ages).

As I was growing up, September was the second-most popular month of the year. It fell only behind December, which reigned supreme due to Christmas gifts. Personally, I thought the fact that were we without exception facing mounds of snow through December meant it should lose a few points.

Back in those days, virtually all public schools started the academic year the day after Labor Day. We also got two weeks off at what was still called the "Christmas holiday" by the school board. Summer rituals switched to those of autumn the very last week of August.

Without computers, cell phones, iPods or DVDs to buy, families were able to complete their back-to-school shopping in a week, sometimes in a weekend. A new school term meant buying those wonderful packs of a zillion crayons and ruled writing tables with the palest green paper. Pencils had to be #2. The junior high (now middle) schools and high schools all had bookstores where we purchased paper book covers for all our textbooks the first day of school.

High school students didn't purchase scientific calculators. There was no such thing as a backpack except for campers at the sporting goods store.

Most children got only new school and Sunday clothing before the new term started. Last year's Sunday-only dress might well be relegated to going-to-school use if it wasn't too frilly. The prior year's school clothes, assuming they weren't handed on to a brother or a sister, became this year's play clothes. This was our version of recycling.

There appeared to be a formula for shoes. Assuming your parents could afford it, each child got a new pair of school shoes and pair for Sunday-only use. In the spring, parents purchased a new Sunday pair to fit growing feet as well as tennis shoes for the summer.

September in Ohio meant the beginning of a familiar yet somewhat distinct rhythm each year. The fact that we knew what to expect, having watched siblings or other families experience what we were about to undertake, made it awfully comfortable.

I wonder how many children today have any sort of seasonal rhythm to their lives. It seems they experience more commitments than rhythms.

The rhythm of my Fall will begin again in our household once I firmly grasp that broom, open the front door and find no slugs with which to do battle. I will relish that familiar feeling that September's here and the slugs are gone.