It’s difficult to live in the Hoosier state and not be obsessed with the fall season. Pure heresy. So I mostly just keep my mouth shut. Mostly.

Can’t say that I don’t bid a hearty farewell to 90-degree days compounded in discomfort by 90-percent humidity. I do love butternut squash soup and pumpkin anything and the bins of miniature gourds and pumpkins with smiles painted on them. Mums are good. A crisp, fresh, tart apple and apple Cider, Yummmm.

But then my clematis, once heavy with deep purple blossoms, looks like a bundle of dry sticks. Strawberries are long gone. The last few watermelons taunt me, “You’d better buy me. I might not be here next week.” I almost cried last night when I stopped by my favorite fruit stand and was told, “Honey, the peaches are all gone.” Sweet corn. Done. And tomatoes–the star of my summer–only the most stubborn survivors hang on the vine.  Soon my supply will evaporate into fall air and I will be relegated to the supply of just-a-step-above-styrofoam tomatoes.

Halloween. Not a fan. Too scary. When I was a pre-teen, I desperately wanted to go out after dark and soap windows like my peers.  I needed a story for the next day’s lunch table. I was such a chicken shit that I begged my dad to go with me so I wouldn’t have to go out alone in the dark.

And then there is the worst possible day of the year. The day I am forced to store my flip-flops for winter. My toes are just not happy inside of shoes! Boots, the glory of winter for so many women I know and love, turn me claustrophobic. I only own one pair. And that’s a necessity because Indiana averages about 25 inches of snow per winter. I understand that is a mere one-third of the snowfall of Anchorage Alaska, but my point here is that I have to stop wearing flip-flops November to March.

Did I mention they gray skies of January and February? If you’re not careful the grandeur of the crisp, fall air and day after day of blue skies and sunshine can lull you into forgetting what’s coming. Indiana winter. Gray, dark, frigid.

I visited Adrian Orchards this morning and bought two large baskets of the few remaining peaches and photographed the rows of red and golden tomatoes because they are art. And then I sighed and requested a half gallon of apple cider and two caramel apples. Woe is me.

Goodbye to these . . .

Hello to these . . .