Or is it fall scent?
Welcome, Fall! (a week overdo, but whose keeping track?)
We celebrated you one week ago, the first full day of your arrival, with a pot of fall scent simmering on the stove
What is that? Foul Stench? OOOHHHH! Is it your fall smell?
Try fall scent. It smells good, and I’m keeping it.
So go conversations with my eleven year old boy, these days. So far, no pots have been ruined in the simmering process. One week in. The most delightful whiff always precedes the beginning of a crusting burn to the bottom of the pot, and the stench of fall burn remains much longer than fragile fall scent.
Interesting. Very interesting.
An experiment of crockpot Fall Chowder was successful to all but a few.
Ugh! Not that yellow soup! I HATE that. Do I HAVE to eat some. WHY can’t it ever be what I LIKE to eat for dinner?
Welcome, Fall. We hope you enjoy your visit!
I pulled out an orange bin from the basement and unpacked some fall things, including the pumpkin patch picture of three littles in a pumpkin patch together. They are now all grown and out of the house.
My chest tightened and tears welled for a minute or two before intervention in some other present kid drama surfaced, and I had to shove them back and press onward into the fray. There are still three littles that aren’t grown and need lots of attention.
Draping some fake leaf garland around, I picked up pieces that had fallen to the bottom of the bin and stuck them around the edges of a grapevine wreath that hangs outside by the door. There. It looks like fall has arrived on the porch.
It will look good until the first real gusts of wind blow them off just like the leaves from the trees. No glue gun was used in the making of the fall wreath. Just five minutes of solitude.
Fall mugs are out for coffee. An empty pumpkin brew beer bottle graces the top of the hoosier cabinet. The mantle has fall on it, too, mixed together with pipe cleaner animals left over from a playdate two weeks ago. One is a squirrel; that counts as a fall decoration. And our paintings. They are up, also, along with the memory of a fun date night and the heartache of so many who have been disillusioned this year.
How long have we been married? My husband asks just this morning.
Twenty-two years. I reply. It’s hard to keep track of. We are in our twenty-third year.
The first batch of leaves has been raked into a pile. We don’t even have a tree in our backyard, but grace allows for one to hang over our fence, dropping just enough leaves for a kid-size pile to be raked and jumped into and raked again.
Welcome, Fall. We hope you enjoy this year’s visit.