I miss the country in the farming seasons. Summer, of course, is a farming season, but it's less active--in the summer, I wish for the woods and the water. It's the spring and fall that get to me. In the spring, it's the disconnect I feel from the world returning to life. We live in a green neighborhood now, but it's still very different than living in a place that goes from grey and dead to the vast green Midwestern carpet seemingly overnight.
In the fall, it's the harvest, and both tradition and modernity have made that a meaningful time. I miss the way the air feels in late August in central Illinois, because it doesn't feel like that here. I miss the smells of drying grain, the slow increase in the rustling of corn as it dries in the fields, and the roaring buzzing of the late summer cicadas. We have cicadas in Toronto, but they sound...different. The pitch is higher, and the echo from being so surrounded by buildings changes the tone.
I miss hot air balloons and back-to-school sales. I miss the way the hallways in old school buildings smell on the first day, and the way classrooms smell when all the supplies are new. I miss being a student and being a teacher.
Maybe I'm not so much homesick as missing the way I'm accustomed to experiencing autumn. It's not the same here. The city is always the city, even if the leaves still change. To me, cities are winter places. There's nothing that feels so much like winter to me as heading to a city's downtown and looking at window decorations (an old family tradition that, sadly, dates me, lately. Stores don't really do those anymore). When I can smell the cold lake air weaving its way through snowy streets, I'm in a place that feels like its season. But that's only winter; summer, to me, only feels like summer in the forest or on the sea, and spring and fall only feel like themselves when I'm surrounded by cornfields.