Savoring the Season

Photo by Megan Roca

The change of seasons never fails to evoke uncanny, yet wonderful tinglings of excitement. Growing up in Maryland, the southernmost state of the Northeast region, April and October were my favorite months. I was enamored with the early April cherry blossoms that exploded into celebratory springtime revels in the day and whispered mysterious other-worldly secrets at night. And I admired the boldness of October's autumnal leaves as they showed their true colors of yellow, red, orange, gold, and brown in stark contrast against an azure sky. I loved their crunch and rustle on the ground, and the smoked-earthy smell that traveled with them in the cool wind and rain.

Photo by PK Torrey

I stopped enjoying April once I moved to Massachusetts. There, it's still winter, despite the daring attempts of a few blossoms, overconfidently thinking that the miracle of their delicate existence, along with their alluring smell, can actually ward off the chill. The cruelty of bleakest February tries (always and eventually in vain) to have one last stand. And even the enchantment of autumn, though brighter, crisper, and more glorious than what I knew from further down south, was always shrouded by the dread of the oncoming winter and months of brutal cold and enveloping darkness.

I wonder if many Brazilians feel the same gloomy apprehension for the blazing oven of summer that is now approaching. This is my fourth spring season spent in São José dos Campos. While the winter here is ever so much milder than that of the north, I find myself relieved when it finally passes. And then, it seems that only one week after the chill passes, summer has come to stay. Springtime is not as noticeable or intense here, and yet, it still has its own graceful charm, and I am learning to seek out and bask in its beauty.

This month, while North Americans are reaching for cozier clothes with delight, some Brazilians are still hanging onto their sweatshirts (even in the 26.6°C / 80°F heat of midday) as if to try and convince cooler weather to stay just a bit longer.

Rather than branches boasting the golden and vermilion tones of the northern fall, here, the ipé trees, among others, are celebrating with radiant hues of fuchsia, purple, and bright yellow. Some seem to have been sprinkled with spongy balls of sunshine. Their branches reach up to receive what they can from heaven and then cast it down to earth like celebratory confetti. On the ground, a muddled blend of blown blossoms and recently-fallen spring rain remind city-dwellers of the rhythms and seasons of life, and the certainty of death. The next day, the same blossoms, toasted by the sun, yet still a sharp yellow, compete with the dust in the air, as do a variety of floral scents, claiming the city that was theirs long before the cars and factories moved in.

Photo by Luciana Barros

 

Photo by Walterson Santos

Photo by Dani H. da Silva

In New England, for both native northerners and newcomers, apple-picking during September or October is a must. There is something about seeing the apple-laden trees and being the one to pluck them from the twisted, knobby branches that brings great joy. Apple cider, apple pie, apple crisp and all kinds of sweets that celebrate the magical pairing of apple and cinnamon seem to taste better during this month. And there is a huge number of North Americans who, with jack-o-lantern grins, firmly adhere to the cult of all that is pumpkin spice.

Photo by Dani H. da Silva

I mixed up a batch of pumpkin spice this week. I brought it, along with some other scents I consider American, to a conversation class, and invited students to smell and describe them. I wish I had thought to film it—the reactions to pumpkin spice were very entertaining! One student said, “It burns!” Another made faces that nearly scared away everyone else’s courage to try it. Another said it reminded her of the vapor rub her parents used to put on her chest when she was sick. My husband said it reminded him of my grandfather. Everyone was convinced that it had hot pepper in it, but, of course, it didn't. Strangely enough, they all said they liked it. They found it odd and amusing that it gets put into so many products in the U.S., though. Cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, allspice, and cloves in just the right combination is a powerful thing! It can create a festive atmosphere, bring comfort, evoke nostalgic memories, make an ordinary coffee into a celebration, or even shut down a high school!

I'm not sure if there is a counter-equivalent in the southern spring to the poignancy of the special scents and flavors of this time of year in the North. We enjoy fruit year-round here, much of it brought in from the northern states where it's always hot. While the first mangoes or jackfruits on our local trees may not be considered quite as miraculous as the first strawberries in the North American spring, they still emerge with a simple, honest joy. The fruits here bring their own quiet symphony that slowly reaches its climax when you least expect it. They get shy in festivities, but prove themselves a faithful, enriching accompaniment to life. Any Brazilian who has lived abroad will tell you of the saudade they feel for a favorite fruit from their homeland.

Jackfruit Tree
Photo by Dani H. da Silva

While we may not have festivals or fruit-picking outings here, I’ve witnessed quite a lot of seasonal joy recently around the jabuticaba tree at the school where I teach. Between classes, students, like bees who have found a floral treasure trove, swarm around the tree, helping each other pick these grape-like berries that are sometimes just out of reach. Sometimes they use a tube to grab them from above.

Jabuticaba is a round berry with dark, tough skin, and a sweet, but tart inside, white in color. People usually suck on the fruit, and spit out the seeds and skin, which can cause indigestion. The first time I tried one, for some reason that I'm sure is unrelated, it brought to mind the “mystery flavor” of a Dum-Dum Pop® that I remembered from my childhood.

Photo by Dani H. da Silva

It's hard to pry students away from the jabuticaba tree when the bell rings. I ignore the cups full of berries that they bring to class, noting how easy access to this seasonal drop of sweetness provides some much-needed energy late in the afternoon. These teens are often stressed, with much on their minds, but this little berry, only available for a short time from this local source, animates them in ways that only nature can.

Just as it would be an extreme act of folly to separate autumn-loving Americans from their pumpkin spice, wisdom tells me to welcome the cravings brought on by the first strong rays of springtime sun here in the South.

Photo by Natalia Gato

Alongside jabuticaba and other fruits, as the days get hotter, people here may savor caldo de cana, sugar cane juice, which we often buy, fresh squeezed, from little truck stands on the road. The sugar cane is run through a clanging mechanical press, which squeezes out a sweet juice that tastes as fresh and green as its color. Some people add pineapple, lime, or even mint for a refreshing sugar rush on a hot day. And, usually sold at the same truck, is coconut water, also a good refresher, great for hydration. (But not to be enjoyed together with caldo de cana, as this indecisive gringa found out the hard way. On a hot day, my first year here, I shared one of each with my husband and had an upset stomach for the rest of the day!)

Photo by Dani H. da Silva

And, as the sun starts to fire up its intensity, locals also enjoy acaí, a dark purple power-berry loaded with vitamins and antioxidants, mixed together with the sugary syrup of guaraná, another energy-boosting power-berry. The processed mix is frozen and eaten like ice cream. It can be layered with powdered milk, sweetened condensed milk, any kind of fruit (though usually banana), granola, or even chocolate. My favorite is simple, with strawberries.

Although these flavors may be enjoyed year-round, I think they take on a special potency as the seasons change. 

Many people think there are no seasons here. They just complain when it's hot, and then complain when it's cold. In Boston, we like to complain, too. We call the four seasons "almost winter, winter, still winter, and construction." Here, perhaps it can be something like "hot and sticky, sweltering and scorching, still sunny and sultry, and then, sinus infections and hot chocolate."

Even though it's summery for most of the year here, there are still distinct times of the year marked by special scents, sights, tastes, and even particular feelings in the air. Learning to see and savor them enriches and uplifts us, even if they preface times of year we may not like as much. My grandmother introduced me to Elizabeth George Speare's book, The Witch of Blackbird Pond, which tells the story about a young woman transplanted from Barbados to Connecticut in the late 17th Century. It taught me to welcome New England's sharply-changing seasons, each with their own unique beauty, even while I was longing for winter to pass.

Maybe the excitement of ripe mangoes or coconut or jabuticaba can quietly refresh and gladden hearts here in Saint Joseph of the Fields. Maybe a taste of caldo de cana or acaí gives folks the serenity or the energy they need to take on challenges during the heat of the day. Maybe the color of spring blossoms, even those on the ground, can instill some vibrancy and hope where it's most needed. For everything there is a season.

Photo by Dani H. da Silva

Photo by Dani H. da Silva

Photo by Simone Valcourt

What are your seasonal favorites? Do you have stories of a scent or flavor you greatly missed or learned to long for while overseas? And is there a Brazilian cultural equivalent for pumpkin spice? I await your thoughts!