I adore fall. The crisp air, the excuse for ungodly amounts of baking, sweaters, boots, jackets, knitted hats and scarves. I’ve already put up Halloween decorations, planted mums, and am planning on making even more fall decorations. (I may or may not have also pinned Christmas decorations from West Elm to my Pinterest this morning. The only season I like more than fall is Christmas.) The whole panoply of fall is exciting. Sartorially it’s a judging system, especially in the south (or technically, the mid-south, but Arkansans look at you funny when you explain the state’s odd geographical location), where if you jump into fall clothing too soon, you’ll just end up sweating profusely by the end of the day. The same goes for the baking and stew making; if you jump too early, it really is too warm or too heavy to eat the things you want to make. So fall, perhaps more so than spring, is a waiting game. Some seasons it’s a slow slide into colder weather; in Texas, it can be a really slow slide, so much so that some years you’re wondering if you’ll get to wear a sweater at Thanksgiving.
But you also have the southern cold front way into fall. It typically happens when the day is unseasonably warm, and then within 12 hours, the wind has shifted direction, thunder and rain has rolled in, and the thermometer has dropped 30 degrees. Fall this year announced itself in just this way. I went from air conditioning to heating overnight. It’s not supposed to be above 55 today, and while it’ll creep back into the 70s this week, fall has officially arrived. I’m trying to contain the baking urges–grading must happen first.