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lyrics
the sky is clear, the wind is cold
the trees are turning red and gold
a sign on Sauvie Island Road says,
come pick you some apples
I recall being ten years young
trying to eat those sour ones
from a store we couldn't afford
city rent's a battle
come fall, my mom would read to me
the tale of Johnny Appleseed
I wondered if I’d ever see
one growing in real life
well, now a wagon drops us off
beside a row of Macintosh
the air is sweet, the leaves are green
against that sunny sky
is it too late
or can I still grow up here
in this place where real things
come out of the ground
year after year?
my heart falls hard for Sauvie Island
when the fruit falls and the harvest moon is rising
came here from the city, hoping to be changed
fall on Sauvie Island comes
and makes me who I was again
the sun is down, the barn is packed
big old line for apple snacks
band is playing “Applejack"
by good old Dolly Parton
I saw her the very first time
twelve-inch screen on a Monday night
kids at school said country wasn’t cool
I hated kindergarten
is it too late
or can I still grow up here
in this place where real truths
are sung loud and proud
for all to hear?
[chorus]
is it too late
or can I still grow up here
In this place where real joy
is mine to be found
year after year?
[chorus]
fall on Sauvie Island comes
and makes me who I was again
credits
released October 6, 2021
written & produced by me, Siena.
vocals, guitars, banjo, harmonica, piano, & bass by me.
viola & mandolin by Rhea Christie.
pedal steel by Pete Burak.
recorded at Dignified Deathlings Studio (aka my music room).
dedicated to my friends Charming and Jillian, to everyone who loves autumn, to all children, and to all children-at-heart.
--
about the song:
Sauvie Island, located northwest of Portland, Oregon, is beautiful year-round, with its long, winding river beaches and sprawling fruit farms. But in autumn, the magic really begins.
But... why write a song about it?
Well, because Sauvie Island is the kind of place I could only dream about as a kid. Born and raised 5 minutes from downtown Los Angeles, I heard about seasons, but hardly experienced them. I was fascinated by Winnie the Pooh's Hundred Acre Wood and Calvin & Hobbes' forest adventures. They seemed so mythical.
I often felt like a nerd, playing with sticks and leaves at the edge of the playground, instead of with the other kids. Secretly, I longed to live in the countryside. But I didn't see myself represented in country-living magazines, either: I wasn't blonde and pale-skinned, simple and clean, uncomplicated by the structure and stress of city life. So maybe it just wasn't my destiny.
Eventually, I grew up, more or less. I moved to the northwest to be closer to my extended family. And then, one day, I came to Sauvie Island during the fall harvest. I picked apples and pumpkins with my new friends, drank cider, listened to twangy country-folk bands crooning into the night while perched on bales of hay. If I didn't belong there, no one told me.
All in a rush, I'd become a little kid again. The experience was powerful, and as fall died down and winter came on, my memories of it were vivid. I wanted this joy I'd found to be available to everyone. Maybe writing a song about it could help in that endeavor.
Lately, Sauvie has been pretty touristy in some spots, so I try to be mindful about when and where I go. But if you live in the PDX area, and if you're as wild as I am about apple picking and pumpkin patches and corn mazes and autumn leaves, it's worth it.
I'm still floored that I get to be in the same band as Emily Johnson-Erday, Lauren Oxford, & Gray Buchanan. This is our first EP, recorded in one hour, in one take. Folky harmonies, honest songs. Siena Christie
Lauren Oxford is one of the most compassionately honest & vulnerable songwriters I've ever heard. Her debut is nothing short of a masterpiece. Acoustic chamber folk, centered on Lauren's voice. Siena Christie
This was the album that made me really fall head over heels for Emily Scott Robinson and her incredible writing. Her storytelling and crystalline voice are just transporting. Siena Christie
