It’s official. Summer is over, once again.
As per tradition, we spent another fall equinox squeezing the remains of summer into a glass and drinking it dry. If we travel even farther south, I’m sure we could hold on for just a bit longer, but I’m tired. Exhausted, really.
This week I cut open my first fresh winter squash and let the aroma fill my nose. I packed up all our summer clothes and filled our dressers up with wool socks and turtle-necks. I had the girls try on snowsuits and mittens, corduroys and sweaters. I took stock. I cooked hot soup and baked warm bread. I told Matty he’d better get around to cleaning both our stove pipes because it’s gettin’ cold in here.
Fall is here, and now is the time for us to be home. And I’m ready…but someplace in the back of my mind I wonder: how many more weekends are we going to pack up and head to the shore before we realize we could save ourselves a lot of packing and a lot of driving if we just lived there?