Episode 08: Fall Festival
Today was the day. Clara raced through her chores, barely able to concentrate. The moment she could pass them off as done, she flew out of the barn and into the house to change. Today was the Fall Festival, and she had been counting down the days since the weather had begun turning chilly in the mornings. Now Fall was well and truly here, and the day had arrived. The whole town had been preparing for weeks. There was going to be cider, tables upon tables of food, craft goods, and games. But, if she were honest, the food and games held her interest most of all.
She had grown so much during the Spring and Summer seasons that her mother had made her a new winter sweater with yarn they had picked out together. The yarn was the most beautifully rich dark brown chocolate color she’d ever seen, and Clara was in love with the decadent new sweater from the moment mother had begun knitting. Tonight would be her first chance to wear her new sweater, and she scrubbed with more care than usual as she got ready and dressed.
Waiting on the porch, she bounced from one foot to another with anticipation as her father had readied the horses and carriage for the ride into town. Bundled up and finally on their way, she smiled broadly at leaves and sky as they made their way down the road and through the glen. Though both of her parents surely admonished her to behave well during their outing, she was certain she didn’t hear a word of them as her head swirled with visions of the food and fun they would have this evening. If she squinted, Clara would swear she could make out the outline of buildings far in the distance, though they were yet quite a ways from town.
Arriving in town, she could see tents and booths stretching from the churchyard into the town square with people milling about in every pocket of space to be seen. For their part, their wagon was loaded with every jam and preserve that could be imagined. For weeks they had harvested in the orchard and worked into the dim lights of the evening canning and preparing. Not only would this harvest help shore up their own cellar’s inventory, but the opportunity to trade and bargain with others in the community would allow them to lay in goods for the winter to come.
She could hardly sprint fast enough once the wagon was unloaded and the cans were stacked. Her mother, crouching to her eye level as her skirts billowed around her, gave one last warning. Don’t get into mischief, Clara. Don’t have too many sweets. Mind the adults and be polite. With mother’s speech concluded and a kiss still damp on her cheek, she made straightaway for the cider tent. Weeks ago, they had brought a load of their own apples, as many others had, to be made into cider and jugged for tonight’s festivities.
With a steaming mug in her hand, she took in the sights and smells around her. Just a few stalls down, there was the unmistakable aroma of sugary sweet candied fruits and nuts. She could hear her schoolmates and their other children laughing and playing games in the square. Her cheeks rosy but warmed by her drink, warm sweater, and the energy of the town around her, she returned her mug and ran to the square to join in the games.
It didn’t take long to spot her friends from school in the reverie. Giggles turned into full belly laughs as endless ring-around-the-rosies left them dizzy and tumbling to the ground. Then, remembering the small grove of trees behind the church, they decided to play hide-and-seek before setting in search of a sweet or two. She couldn’t remember a more perfect day in all her life as she linked arms with her friends skipping to the stand of trees.
After a couple of rounds, it was Clara’s turn to count and seek. Squeezing her eyes shut, she leaned against the trunk of a gnarly tree and counted down aloud. She tried listening for the crunch of the leaves on the ground to give her a clue for where to search. “Ready or not, here I come!” she yelled. Opening her eyes, she spun quickly toward the trees around her. She felt a sharp pull at her arm and heard of woven fibers. Her heart sinking, she looked down at her arm, afraid that she already knew what she would see — a giant hole in her beautiful, brand new sweater.
“Come out!” she cried, “my sweater is ruined!” It took a moment for her friends to appear, as they suspected her cry was meant to lure them out of their hiding places. When they noticed she did not search for them, they crept out to see what was the matter. Kneeling on the ground, she looked down at the sweater in her hands as tears rolled down her cheeks.
“How will I ever explain this?! My new sweater is ruined!”
“Maybe it isn’t so bad,” one of her friends said, attempting to comfort her.
“It is hopeless,” she wailed.
How could her perfect day be ruined in a flash? There would surely be no sweets now. No lovely new sweater to wear through the seasons of cold. After stalling for as long as she thought she could, her friends hugged her tightly, and she made her way back to her family’s festival booth.
Noticing her distraught look as she arrived at the tent, her parents rushed to her side.
“What happened?” they asked in a rush. “Are you hurt?”
Hanging her head low, she held out her sweater, showing them the sleeve that sported a new gaping hole.
“We were playing hide and seek, and my sleeve tore,” the words spilled out of her as she tried to explain today’s terrible turn of events.
Taking the torn sleeve in her hands, her mother examined the hole and assessed the damage.
“It may be a wiser choice not to wear our best sweater for a game in the woods, wouldn’t it?” she asked in her familiar firm and gentle way.
“I’ll tell you what,” mother continued, “if you help us trade a few more of these jars, we will make our way about and see if we can find a similar color to mend with at one of the other booths.”
For the first time since that terrible round of hide-and-seek, Clara felt a tiny spark of hope that not all would be lost. Quickly she set about attracting the folks walking by to take a look at their stock of goods. In no time at all, jars were flying into the hands of new customers. A lull in foot traffic had them taking count of the remaining jars, and the number had dwindled significantly.
With a sparkle in her eye, mother shot a gaze toward father and asked, “Do you think you can manage for a moment? It would seem we have some textiles to set about finding.”
Smiling at each other, mother took her hand, and they walked down the makeshift aisles, spying into all the booths on the lookout for yarn and other textiles. Finally, just around the corner from the booth of sweets, they found what they were looking for. As they looked through the skeins of yarn, they came across some of the softest, most beautifully colored material they had known; baskets filled to overflowing.
Locking eyes on a deep brown color, they smiled, picking the color from the stack and holding it against her sweater — a near-perfect match.
“This will work beautifully to mend this tear. And we will have plenty to spare for an extra project or two,” mother remarked.
Clara’s heart cheered at the thought of her beautiful sweater restored.
“Have you ever seen such lovely colors? These are so beautiful,” she said.
“You know,” her mother began, “a young girl ought to have a sweater she can play games in. How about we pick a second color, and I can set about teaching you to knit as well. You can learn with me and have a beautiful sweater of your own making.
Smiling broadly, she picked a deep blue color, the color of the deepest water of the nearby lake. As they left the merchant, they passed the sweet shop again, this time stopping for a candied treat. Making their way back to where her father continued working, her mother tucked an extra candy into her palm.
“Save this to savor on the ride home,” she said, her eyes twinkling.
Warmth filled her heart to the brim as she worked with her parents in the booth, enjoying the break for a warm meal with the whole town gathered. As they made their way home that evening, the sweet taste of her pocketed candy danced on her tongue. Riding along, Clara decided that today had been better than perfect after all. She already couldn’t wait for next year’s Fall Harvest Festival.