Jessie: In neighboring New Hampshire searching for wool socks.
Two mornings ago my son had to scrape frost off his car before driving to school. Last Friday a friend brought me a ripe pumpkin she grew in her back field. Yesterday, my husband broke down and fired up the pellet stove in the kitchen to take off the chill. All signs indicate autumn is crouched and ready to pounce.
Truthfully, I don’t mind. I love summer and long, lazy days lolling at the beach. Grilled food is always on my list of favorites and I never tire of daylight lasting until nine p.m. But let’s face it, summer involves a lot of pressure, especially in New England.
In summer, everywhere you look something, or someone, is urging you to make the most of the season. If you happen to have been raised by parents from New England every sunny day reminds you of their exhortation to “Go out and play. You never know when it will be nice out again!”. Even when your adult obligations dictate you sit at a desk the guilt of squandering such a meteorological gift is crushing.
But autumn is more of a gentle soul. It kindly offers the pleasure of fall foliage, the first scented curls of woodsmoke, the comfort of slow-cooked stews and hot rolls fresh from the oven. It never clamors or demands you acknowledge its worth. It simply goes about its business until it fades away with a final rustle of leaves and a blanket of snow.
So, it’s with a light heart I plan to swap my sundresses for sweaters. I’ll replace lemonade with mulled cider and ice cream bars with pumpkin squares. Instead of tiki torches on the patio I’ll light candles in the dining room. I couldn’t be more pleased.
Readers, do you love fall? Or is another season your favorite? What is the best thing about fall in Maine or in your part of the world?