"Autumn is the crutch upon which the rest of the year leans," Ms. Gardner always said when I was younger. What she meant was that a good autumn meant that the rest of the year would be good as well, and in Oakville we always had good autumns. The breeze was always crisp and clean; cool enough to redden cheeks and to see your breath snake and swirl out of your lungs, but warm enough to keep teeth from chattering. The frosts were always gentle, preserving plants and flowers in crystalline beauty but miraculously not causing them to brown or wilt, instead keeping them in icy repose. Most spectacularly of all, however, were the trees. Oakville had healthy, towering trees all year long, but from September to early December their leaves turned a deep, lovely blood red that caught the eye more brilliantly than any spring flower.

For these reasons I and everyone else loved autumns in Oakville, but no one loved them quite as much as Ms. Gardner. A single woman who seemed to perpetually hover about in her late 50s, despite having been in that state from when I was born to the day I finally left Oakville for college out of state 18 years later, Ms. Gardner spent all of her time volunteering at the community center working on seasonal arts and crafts and helping with gardening for public places and other jobs to preserve Oakville's suburban charm. As a youngster I would often help her after school and on weekends, and with time she became like a grandmother to me, even more so than she was to everyone else in the town. I would cut out brown and red construction paper for her, and she would bake me some of her famous apple pies. As a teenager I experimented often with love, but no one I met exceeded my love of the town, of autumn, and of the beauty of Oakville's leaves.

But sadly, these years of suburban magic would eventually have to end. With time I became a young man, and I was forced to leave Oakville behind for the greater world of secondary education. It was my last night home, a balmy summer's eve with locusts chirping serenely in some far-off distance and no bugs in the air but the fat lightning bugs, which sailed past blinking green. My bare toes drank in the dew of a summer's evening almost as perfect as the fall that was soon to follow as I trotted through Ms. Gardner's long green lawn to her front door for a final goodbye.

"Jonathon!" She said happily, throwing her screen door open as I stepped onto the porch and locking me in embrace. "I was afraid I wouldn't get a chance to say goodbye!"

I laughed. "Ms. Gardner, you know I couldn't do that. Even I'm not dopey enough to forget you."

She smiled. She was a plump woman with graying hair wearing a bright sundress. Had she any more homegrown suburban goodness in her, she very likely would have been an apple pie. As if she were reading my thoughts, she then asked "Are you hungry? I just made up some iced tea and cookies."

I smiled and told her that I was hungry, and she led me into the kitchen where she handed me the first chocolate chip disc. I bit into it, tasting warm gooey cocoa and noticing a slightly nutty taste as well. "Fantastic as always, ma'am." I said. "Is this a new recipe though? It tastes a bit like almonds."

"Oh, you know how I am, always adding a bit of this and a bit of that. You ate that fast, have another." She said, handing me a few more cookies. I noticed that on the counter there was a raw chicken and a knife, and realized that she must've been about to start cooking.

"Oh ma'am, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt if you were in the middle of making dinner." I said, blushing. I always felt guilty whenever I got the slightest feeling that I was inconveniencing her, she had been so good to me naturally that I didn't want to ask more than she naturally gave. I stood up to leave but she put a hand on my arm reassuringly.

"Relax, Jonathon. I can cook any ol' time, but this is your last night in town."

I nodded gravely. Seeing my sadness, she prompted me to eat another cookie. I was starting to lose count of how many I ate, and the taste of almonds was starting to make me long for her original recipe. Trying to turn the conversation to slightly more pleasant ground, I said, "So, are you looking forward to this year's autumn? Getting ready and everything?"

"Oh Johnny, of course I am. The year I don't look forward to an autumn is the year April comes before March."

I laughed. It was a corny joke, true, but Ms. Gardner could always make me laugh. I laughed and I laughed, before a distinct feeling of unwellness in my stomach and my lungs washed over me and I realized nothing was quite so funny any more. Laughing turned to wheezing, as I fell off my chair and onto my knees, coughing so hard I could taste blood mingled amongst the still-soaked-in flavour of almonds. The caustic taste of bile joined next, followed by a stream of bitter vomit as I grabbed desperately at my mid-section in abject pain. My stomach emptying itself did no good, as the wheezing and the shortness of breath remained.

I looked up in horror, begging with my eyes that Ms. Gardner would help me, and I saw her give me her reassuring smile. She took something off the counter-I presumed some sort of pill or special aspirin- and then knelt down and cradled my head in her arms. I saw a slight metallic flash of reflected lamplight for a brief moment, but wrote it off as my imagination.

"Shhhhh." She said. "You'll be alright, Johnny. Just let it pass." I felt my lungs shutting down, and the world growing fuzzy, but I focused on Ms. Gardner's reassuring smile because I knew she would make sure everything was all right.

That was the last night I ever spoke to my family. I was sad to never be able to contact my family or friends, though I still spoke to Ms. Gardner from time to time, and she was always her same old self. She explained to everyone that where I was I couldn't find the time to reach them, but that I still cared about them quite a bit. I even managed to still help with autumn in Oakville more than ever before, and the deep red of the leaves will forever be my most beautiful memory. I do dislike the loneliness I sometimes feel now that my childhood in Oakville is done, but it's well worth it. After all, autumn is the crutch upon which the rest of the year leans.