Fall is a special time of year here in Iowa.

Although July and August can bring triple-digit heat and thunderstorms, and December and January are locked in bitter cold and blinding blizzards, fall in Iowa is one of those rare instances of absolute perfection.

Chilly nights, warm days and just a hint of the coming winter on a northwesterly wind characterize this time of year, transforming the rural landscape of this state into a picturesque landscape of earth tones challenged, perhaps, only by the great forests of the Northeast.

An Iowa autumn is indeed a wondrous thing, and we Iowans have learned, over the decades, to take advantage of every second.

The great moments of rural life generally occur in the fall: Farmers harvest their yearly abundance of corn and soybeans, the last of the tomatoes come in from the garden, and pumpkins ripen in the late autumn sunlight. The work goes on, sometimes with an even greater urgency than before, and the farmer’s cycle of early mornings and late evenings is compounded with nights spent in a combine.

But fall in Iowa is never just about the work.

We’ve also learned to savor these last days before the coming cold, knowing what awaits us in the depths of December.

High schools across the state celebrate their homecomings with parades, dances, activities and – oh yeah – the occasional roll of toilet paper flung into a tree. High school volleyball is in full swing, as is cross country. Then there is football, which is accorded an almost sacred place in the hearts of communities of all sizes. It’s the time of year reserved for long days of hunting pheasant and deer, enjoying the beauty that is rural Iowa in autumn.

The hum of the grain dryer, the rustle of dry corn stalks, the roar of a Friday night football crowd – these are the soundtrack of autumn in Iowa.

In many ways, Iowa autumns shape rural Iowan values: A taste for hard work honed by long evenings in a grain cart, a tacit pride in the youth of the community, confirmed by a successful third-down play on Friday night, a conservative attitude toward risks, gained after too many Novembers spent picking corn in the snow.

Our hard winters make for hard, tough people, while our warm summers teach us never to be too comfortable. It is our autumns, however, that shape the character of the Iowan quintessentially – thankful to be out of the heat, but ever mindful of the bitter cold to come.

Autumn in Iowa harkens back to a simpler time – in places still as simple as those times. In fall, there are certain truths in rural Iowa, the most pressing of which is that the crops must be brought in.

Through depressions, wars, social upheaval and political change, the endless cycle of planting and harvesting culminates yearly here in Iowa’s rural fall days.

Fall crops and autumn harvest weigh heavily on the minds of all the old farmers, each of whom has probably memorized the local average frost date in his area (Sept. 26 in Ames). To this end, he spends his days in the fall reaping the harvest of America’s breadbasket long into the night, staring out into the dust and darkness until his work is over. Next time you see a farmer, say thanks.

Other states may well be pitied for their weather this time of year. The Southeast spends the fall months either in their ubiquitous mid-80s or battening down in advance of yet another hurricane. Little changes in the Southwest: 90s in the morning, triple-digits by noon. On the Pacific Coast? Rain. More rain. Northeasterners, confined to their cities and freeways, can know but little of the open space and damp chill that is an autumn evening in Iowa.

The pall of dust thrown up around a combine. The steady wobble of an opening kickoff under the lights of a high school football field. An early morning frost slowly disappearing in the sunlight. These are the images of autumn in Iowa – let us treasure them always, and be thankful for this place.

– Ryan Frederick is a senior in

management from Orient.