I'm Hanging on to October
Ah, I love autumn. The colors, the food, the crisp air. I gleefully wave buh-bye
to summer's mosquitoes and ring in the cool moon filled nights by our
outdoor fireplace. We eat dinner outside, sometimes breakfast too. I
drool at the farmer's market and have a Rolodex of recipes flipping
through my head when I see all those earthy, muddy root vegetables that
melt into ambrosia when roasted. I love the bounty of apples all juicy
and messy and contorted into funny shapes that only occur in nature
without the aid of pesticides and Franken-gardening. Best of all, I love fall's wardrobe.
Boots. How I love me some tall boots. I've got them all polished and lined up in my closet.
And my boys look darling in their not-so-tiny-anymore jeans. Their flannel shirts and fleece vests are washed and ready to take a beating on the playground.
My husband prefers the shorts and sweatshirt look. He's from Wisconsin so the evening temps in the 40s are like summer to his midwestern blood.
I find myself honeymooning with the season throughout October. I drag out my fall clothes and putz about the house switching summer's light weight bed clothes to cozier quilts and blankets. I can't resist the pumpkin patch and add new orange orbs everyday. My dining table, kitchen table, and front porch are teeming with pumpkins and gourds of all colors. We have not one, not two, but three outings to the pumpkin patch planned. Hayrides! Corn mazes! The smell, the taste, the bounty of fall. I love it all.
October in North Carolina is simply glorious.
Then November rears his head, impatiently poking me in the ribs. He is suddenly hopped up, Type A, and demanding. He shakes me out of my honeymoon with October and thrashes me into a to-do list that seems impossible to beat. November forces me out of my lull and snaps my adrenaline into action. November chokes me and nags me, all up in my face about what's to come.
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