The last late summer blackberries were still clinging to the roadside brambles when I arrived in Oxford this September. Apple season has come and gone; I’ve planted bulbs that I’ll only see blooming through a computer screen. My first week in the city felt like three months of summer heat arriving all at once, but on my last day, I watched the frosty countryside speed by from the window seat of my airport-bound train. Now that I’m back in the sunny auto suburbs of my California hometown, I find myself reminiscing about Oxford’s narrow alleys and the way the sunset light fell on the weathered stone as I walked home with my groceries. It has been a privilege to experience the changing seasons in a city with so much history, where for centuries so much has stayed the same.

 

Out of every view in Oxford, I must have spent the most time watching fall pass by from my kitchen window. The window by the sink looks over a patch of the college gardens, with a tree that has gone green to yellow to bare branches over weeks of doing the dishes. In those weeks, I slowly baked my way through a bushel of crabapples, six massive quinces, and innumerable apples. They were unexpected and delightful gifts from the Worcester gardeners that I was determined to use well, and for the most part (judging from the number of people I’ve bribed with baked goods) I think I succeeded. Of course I put together a recipe book for this fellowship’s final project, for anyone else who finds themself with more seasonal fruit than they can finish. It’s this spirit of local produce, sharing in abundance, meeting new people and making connections, and finding a community through nature that I hope to carry forward with me on my way home. Like a really good recipe for apple buns, the lessons I learned and memories I made this term are something that I will return to over and over again.