It is October, and the remaining orange, yellow, red, brown leaves flutter in the crisp air – beautiful in death, with a final fruition before departure – and some glide down to rest with the roots, joining the soil and recycling into the tree.

In my earth religious tradition, the harvest season is a time to celebrate success and acknowledge loss, a time to find peace in the darkness.

I learned this lesson five years ago, when my stepfather died.

I was devastated by the news. At the time, I was visiting my paternal family, which had gathered to recognize the expected passing of my grandfather, who was winding down his life after a serious stroke the year before.

The days afterward trickled by beneath my blank stare. A heaviness in the space became more and more apparent as the house emptied; my grandfather had made a temporary recovery, and most of my family had gone home.

Trays of sugary, processed gifts (from commiserating neighbors) covered the kitchen surfaces. The lights were dim and a somber quiet had settled into every corner. I sank into my private grief, often walking down to the lake alone to take solace in the water, knowing that it was the symbol for emotions.

An older cousin called out to me as I walked in from the beach on the fifth day. We ought to do something.

She led the way through the grocery store: a large pot of chrysanthemums, potatoes, turnips, and beets – earthy food to balance and ground us. And on our way out, she suggested that we duck into the adjacent shop. I followed her through the aisles of bright costumes and goofy toys until she found what she was looking for.

We arrived at the somber house, turned on some lights to awaken the space and bring out the last few family members, placed the mums on the counter, and began to roast root vegetables and tofu. A new energy swept through the space without denying sorrow. That night, we four women left behind sat around the table, each wearing a new richly-colored pointy witch hat, and tasted the earth.

At the time, I had only been identifying as earth religious for a year, but this moment of leaning on the autumn symbols for comfort in grief has never left me. By embracing the season’s message, I was able to balance my grief with the knowledge of the harvest death and renewal. The leaves fall to nurture the roots, where, from a tree-wide perspective, they are not lost at all. Samhain, October 31^st (aka Halloween), is the final holiday in the year’s cycle, the celebration of success built up from the whole year. Its balance is the knowledge that even the most beautiful, beloved things will take that next step into the cycle. A moment to look back on the highs and lows, and recognize that they are aspects of the same thing.

We can engage the darkness of death with the confirmation of life, with that sense of balance and connection. You harvest as much as you sow. You grieve as much as you love.

Photo by böhringer friedrich (Own work) via Creative Commons licensing CC-BY-SA-2.5.