Fall lures you in. Autumn is the season everyone romanticizes and nobody is prepared for. We spend September extolling the virtues of barely changing leaves with captions like “sweater weather!!” any time the thermometer dips below 68 degrees.
The first crisp mornings feel magical. You open the windows. You wear a flannel shirt and maybe a jaunty scarf. Is this what it feels like to be a Hallmark movie character? Three days later, the temperature drops 25 degrees overnight, and you are Googling “is it too early to turn on the furnace” like a person with unlimited funds. Then we blink and we are scraping frost off the windshield with a gift card we found in the console because we still haven’t found the actual ice scraper from last winter.
That is the real autumn ritual: the furnace standoff. In most households, everyone has a different threshold for how cold is too cold. One person is shivering under three layers of clothing while another is still in short sleeves insisting “it’s only October.” Fortunately, Mr. Wonderful and I are on the same page. That would be the page that says fuel oil is upwards of $5 a gallon and putting on another sweatshirt is free.
Ohio autumn deserves special mention, because Ohio doesn’t do seasons so much as it does weather roulette. Mornings require a winter coat, afternoons require sunscreen, and evenings require you to just give up and go to bed as soon as it gets dark around 7 p.m.
Let’s talk about pumpkin spice, because it may be required by Autumnal Law to do so. Every fall, the entire economy pivots to pumpkin. Pumpkin coffee, pumpkin candles, pumpkin dog treats, pumpkin cat litter (probably), pumpkin-scented everything. I’m not saying it’s a cult, but I’ve seen people get genuinely emotional about a latte. And you know what? Let them have it. Winter is coming, and winter is at least three months of gray skies. If a spiced beverage gets someone through it, let them have that happiness.
Autumn cooking is a lifestyle. By October, I am over grilled foods and potato salad. The real MVP of autumn is soup. Chili, potato soup, chicken noodle — I start making vats of it like I’m feeding a small army. Cold weather turns me into someone who says things like “I just feel like baking today” while wearing fuzzy socks.
By November, the romance with crisp air and autumn joy is dead. It is dark by 5 p.m. Lips are chapped. You’ve lost the heating bill battle and made peace with it.
If you have dogs, they spend their days begging to go outside only for you to open the door, the frigid wind hits, and they look back at you like you’ve betrayed them.
Nova will spend the entire cold weather season being personally offended that I am not somehow making it WARMER outdoors. I can control the inside temperature, she seems to say, but on the outside I am not even TRYING. She harumphs back inside and demands a warm blanket. If you have livestock, breaking up ice from buckets and walkways consumes an unreasonable amount of your time.
In the animal kingdom, the geese have the right idea. Every fall, they form their little V and head south, honking the whole way. I like to think they’re yelling “good luck, suckers!”
Nonetheless, autumn is still the best season: the leaves, the soups, the sweaters, the bonfires, the excuse to stay inside with zero guilt and two dogs snoring on your feet.
So bring on the frost, the furnace bills and the 40 layers of clothing. Autumn might be playing spicy little tricks on us, but at least It’s the season that says “you worked hard all summer. Take it easy. Have a hot drink and a cookie.”
