As autumn returns and the cooler weather settles in, my mother has been on my mind every day.
When the seasons change, my parents come front and center in my thoughts, bringing back all the things I miss about growing up.
Fall always reminds me of my mom preparing homemade pickles and beets, filling the cellar and freezer up with homemade goodies.
To honor my late mother, I decided to write her this song called Mom's Pickles and Beets. Below, you will find the story of me as a fifteen-year-old girl back in September 1975. I hope you enjoy the story below and the related song.
A Page from My Life in 1975:
September 1975 brought that familiar, sharp chill to the air, signaling the start of a brand new season. I was fifteen years old and it was all in front of me.
For me, autumn was always the absolute best time of the year, filled with the return of school routines, skating lessons, and the comforting sense that September offered a fresh start.
Coming home at the end of the day meant stepping through the front door into a warm haven. The kitchen always smelled richly of spices and a pot of homemade soup simmering steadily on the stove.
Countertops would be lined with rows of freshly packed mason jars filled with homemade pickles and beets. My usual routine was to head straight for the living room fireplace to warm my hands, just as Mom would call out from the kitchen, asking me to head down to the basement to handle the laundry basket and grab a container of fudge on the way back up.
Mornings didn't always run smoothly, of course. There were frantic days when sleep got the better of me, and I had to scramble, racing into the kitchen to plead, "Mom, can you drive me? I'm going to be late!"
With a familiar roll of her eyes and a quick, resigned nod, she would agree, usually adding with a knowing smile, "You know, I won't always be here to fix every mess."
More than five decades have slipped away since those days. Yet every time the autumn leaves begin to turn, those memories return just as vividly as ever.
The scent of her cooking, the quiet warmth of those evenings, and the lasting comfort of her presence remain woven into every part of who I am today. I miss my mother.
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What memories do fall and the changing seasons bring back for you?
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🎵 I write and produce story-driven lyrics. Vocals and music are digitally produced (I am not the singer). I digitally direct and arrange the video and recording.🎵 ©2026 DragedaPoemsLyrics (B.T.C) - All Rights Reserved - Original Lyrics Authored | Sound Recording: Produced With Digital Assistance (Vocals and Instrumental) 2026. Licensed digital composition (Commercial Rights Held). The visual artwork may include AI-assisted digital elements. SOCAN Member.
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