Presented in partnership with the Lewisia Communications Board and Lewisia Public Library
Sponsored by The Historical SocietyHello, readers, listeners, and psychic osmosizers! Welcome to
A Lewisian Year, a monthly showcase celebrating the rich culture here in the Lake Lewisia district. Each month, we'll highlight some seasonal events, local celebrations and interpretations of national and world holidays, and historical tidbits.
SEPTEMBERThe Final SunsetIt's approaching seven in the evening when you walk outside and turn to the west. The sun sinks down to the horizon slowly, reluctantly, and paints the sky with fire as it goes. While the nights and early mornings have started to take on a chill--or at least, what feels like a chill to those now acclimated to the heat of summer--the days are still baked hot enough to carry over into evening. So you find a shady spot to sit, keeping the western sky in view.
Up and down the street, you can see your neighbors doing the same. Some have brought their meals out with them, but this is not one of the raucous barbecue events of the last three months. The groups are small and quiet, acknowledging each other from one front step to another with a nod at most. All attention is saved for that sinking sun. It's September twenty-first, and the Autumnal Equinox takes place tomorrow just after noon. This will be the last sunset of summer.
Of course, it won't be the actual final sunset of the year*, but just as we marked the return of the sun's strength in spring and its blazing zenith in summer, we will mark its waning into the growing dark and chill of oncoming winter. Much like the Window Opening Festival and Spring Equinox seed exchange that are the counterparts on the wheel of the year, the Final Sunset is something mainly celebrated at home, rather than in the public square. It is a moment of quiet reflection between the bright excitement of summer and the gleeful mischief of Halloween.
Legend has it, any creature that flies by during this time is an omen of the fall to come for the one who spots it. Crows for prosperity, owls for secrets revealed. Bats for visitors, gryphons for travel. So you keep your eyes on the sky until the sun is out of sight, the light has died to a banked ember glow, and the night chorus has started up in the planters next to the front steps. Did you spot something good, I hope?
When you head back inside, you pick up the bonfire-warmed stone you have from midsummer and hold it close to your heart. Its time has come to see you through the long nights and cold days ahead. Summer now is only a memory. Autumn sweeps in behind it and settles over Lewisia like a shroud.
*Historical note: it was, however, the final sunset of 1938, during which the winter was marked by a succession of astrological anomalies. Catastrophe on account of the lack of light was averted by the immediate arrival of a temporary and localized second moon, which provided enough illumination to keep life going.
Labor Day is observed in Lewisia as elsewhere, but it is the day (and even week) before that sees the most difference from the outside world. It is traditional to bring gifts to workers who have been of particular service to you in the past year. These days, the gifts generally take the form of large cash tips offered on the worker's last shift before the holiday. In the past, it was more common to offer food or durable goods of your own making as a way of repaying labor with labor.
Lewisian culture has always been one of fair dealings and decency, and as such has not been the direct site of significant labor protests historically. But many Lewisians work outside of the region and still others move to make their way in the wider world. So the town's ideals--and methods--have come into play in the fight for pay and protection for workers.
Several prominent anarchists involved in pro-labor demonstrations, riots, and bombings of the 19th century were Lake Lewisia natives now living elsewhere. At least three factory fires, at the time attributed to improvised incendiary devices lobbed through the first story windows, were later proven to be the result of several combustible newts set loose in the night. Exactly who released the newts, whose native habitat is well known to be coal mines and not textile factories, was never discovered. Suspects included Lewisian activist Milka Salonen, though, who upon her death in 1962, at age 101, donated an extensive private menagerie of incendiary vertebrates to the Knellen Family Trust's preservation program.
Continuing with the month's historical leanings, Lost Mail Day comes September 2nd with its long-delayed tidings. Part swap meet, part matchmaking event, part historical exhibition, this day is one last concerted effort to get the mail to its destination, however far off-track it may have strayed. The backrooms and storage bins of the postal service are opened up and their contents spread out for one more try at delivery.
Here is a letter sent from the European front in 1941 to a wife who had, unbeknownst at the time to her husband, disguised herself as a man and made her way to find and fight beside him. Here is an order form and enclosed payment for a correspondence course in the nearly-forgotten art of sentient paint breeding. Here is the last letter sent by a portal explorer to her parents before her disappearance into a time anomaly in the scented candle aisle of a DORSHOP megastore.
The public is encouraged to look through the collection for their own mail or that of their acquaintances. More so, the public is asked to volunteer to track down recipients not immediately identified. Every year, there is a core collection of these volunteers, who range from history teachers to private investigators to genealogy hobbyists, who turn their particular skills to finding someone, living, dead, or descended, who might wish to receive such a long-lost letter or package.
If, at the end of the day, a piece of mail remains unclaimed by either the original sender, the intended recipient or suitable proxy, or one of the volunteer investigators, it is given over to the care of the Historical Society for long-term preservation. While there have been a few rare cases where a letter was identified and delivered even after this stage, most will enter into the Society's extensive archive of historical documents and primary sources. These are available for researchers outside of the Society by special arrangement, with the arrangement generally being a Society member informing you via cryptic messenger that you have been selected for their purposes.
We turn our attention this month to a much more recent anniversary than our usual selections. Two years ago, on September 20th, 2019, the store at First and Lilac first opened as an otherwise unnamed organization in the business of time retrievals. Well, we say "opened," but of course the shop is rarely open in the conventional sense of hours in which the doors are unlocked and customers can come inside.
Those who have partaken of the shop's services report that it is possible to go inside to pick up items when they arrive from their prior timeline locations. No one could recall going inside the shop, meeting with employees, or providing payment in advance when placing an order. I did identify two people who work at the shop, but their answers regarding their employment proved less than enlightening. It is, if nothing else, reported to be a comfortable and satisfactory way to make a living.
Those who have been willing to admit to what they purchased listed everything from stuffed toys from childhood to disappeared pets to heirloom watches. One person very proudly presented to me an oak tree of stunning height and fullness, complete with an endearingly rickety treehouse nestled within its branches. I never entirely cleared up if it was the tree or the treehouse (or perhaps both) that was rescued from the depths of time. Many, even those who would not admit exactly what they received, spoke movingly of a loss at a younger age that had haunted them ever after.
If you will allow your host a brief aside, I know this month has leaned more heavily than usual on the subject of history, the past, and the passage of time. Call it my own Final Sunset-inspired rumination. From ancient days of early people observing the changing seasons to our own very recent, very personal pasts, we are always in conversation with time, however modern we like our daily lives to feel. What we call "history" is a fiction, an ordering of the chaos of our lives. It is all, always happening, each moment and memory ready to be plucked from the stream if we wish to keep it. We forever have another chance to change the flow of time around us.
That's a taste of what September has to offer us. See you next month, when October brings Halloween (and yes, maybe a few other things as well).
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