October: time of change in the northern regions, pivot towards winter. Clocks fall back; a sudden, darker onset of evening. And wind. Great movements of air boiling in the Atlantic, scattering the heavy lingering heat of summer from the Iberian peninsula, temperatures dropping from 28 to 16 in the space of a couple of days. Last weekend a compact but vigorous depression, formed off the south west of Portugal, unruly child of larger air masses currently lashing Great Britain, and surged violently across Spain, with local downpours in Extremadura, and with the wildest winds here in Archidona, in the province of Málaga.
Satellite dishes were ripped from roofs, pine trees in the forest above the town were flattened exposing shallow roots, branches were severed from the pines, and for the first time ever smoke was blown out the air vents of the Jotul wood burner, when fierce gusts harassed the chimney. Confession: the stove has been lit earlier than the ritual date of November 1st. Not such a good idea in that exceptional wind, but when a power cut ensues, at least you can boil an egg in the small, black Le Creuset cast iron pan, and pretend that you have an Aga, a tribe nowadays falling out of fashion, though affection lingers.
The autumn stoves must be gentle ones, emitting a quiet modest heat, fed slowly with those very dry wedges, cut from expiring, legendary, massive trunks of grandmother olive trees, sun-dried in the lucent air. Gentle stoves, valued as much as a source of light as of heat, even as that parent orb, now declining, now hidden by the scudding host of cumulonimbus, is still the source of all our energy, our local life force.
But of rain, not much is apparent, yet. A little amount, one impressive storm, though lasting only thirty minutes. The earth has been parched for two years or so, and the olive trees are struggling. The pine trees lean over; some fall over completely. At least twenty five young saplings were planted, but died in the drought.
Still, this transition from Autumn to Winter, gives a strange pleasure of anticipation, a permission to go within, to stay in the cave with the olive wedges glowing. It is said that the Autumn solstice drives one inward, not just inside the cave, but to be a little more introspective. It is the time of year to feel most alive, to appreciate shelter, to start a process of renewal by the fireside.
Still, there is repose after the storm and wonderful autumn skies. Above the Chapel of the Virgen de Gracia an ancient wall and fortification has just been restored, revealing some finer perspectives for those who make the climb.
