Thread: Autumn in Afghanistan

Last year that this time, my wife and I had just returned from a trip to California's wine country. It was our first, but certainly not our last. California is beautiful in autumn, but different from what I am used to. In my adopted home state of Arizona, at least in Phoenix where I live, there really is no autumn. Things just get a little cooler, and anyway, cacti have no leaves to shed.

But autumn here in Afghanistan reminds me a little of autumn in New England, where I grew up. The temperatures are similar, though perhaps a bit warmer than my old home. There's even a burning smell in the air here – but not the malodorous stench of burning trash and plastic that so often permeates this place. No, it is wood burning, and I think it is from the homes in the villages surrounding the base.

Sometimes I catch a whiff and it smells just like the New England I remember from my boyhood, and how I imagine New England still smells on a crisp, cool fall afternoon. It makes me think of hunting the mountains of Vermont with friends Matt and Mike. It makes me think of our old family tradition of freezing while watching the local high school Thanksgiving Day football game, with my father and grandfather when he was still alive. It makes me think of sitting by a crackling fire reading Jeff Cooper and sipping hot tea. It makes me think of last year's bittersweet trip to Sonoma.

I often think about what I would be doing this autumn if I weren't here. Perhaps the wife and I would be making another pilgrimage to wine country, to visit some more of the vineyards we didn't have time to sample the last time. Perhaps I'd be visiting friends and relatives back in New England, playing backyard football then settling in with a cold beer to watch an NFL game with my brother-in-law and nephew and father. Or maybe I'd be deep in the Ozarks on the family hunting plot with my uncles Frank and John, trying to find the elusive ghost of the forest, the whitetail deer, with my new scout rifle in hand. Perhaps I'd just be sitting home, on the balcony of my new house, sipping wine with my wife and talking deep into the night.

But here I am, and by my own hand. My wife and daughter at home prepare to host family and friends for Thanksgiving dinner. Thanksgiving is by far my favorite holiday, for it is the one that revolves around fellowship and feast rather than gifts and often-strained cheer. This will be a difficult November…but it will make all the Novembers of the future that much sweeter.