In the garden, coneflowers and black-eyed Susans are fading, but on the deck the marigolds are still going strong. They bob their bright orange heads and beg to be pinched when they’re beyond their prime.

After I touch them I inhale my fingers and revel in their distinctive aroma. It’s a scent that keeps the pests away … which means I should probably have them all over the yard.

The sight and scent of marigolds reminds me not of a particular autumn, my first year teaching high school English. I had no car so took a subway north from Evanston to a commuter bus. There were marigolds growing near the bus stop even in the cooler northern Illinois October.

For that reason marigolds have traditionally carried a hint of melancholy or at least of anxiety. (The first year of teaching is not for the faint of heart.) But I seem to have broken that spell this year. This summer, I finally see marigolds for what they are, a cheerful flower that brightens the days.