Oct 13, 2020 4 min read

Fall is upon us. The leaves have begun to change into a beautiful kaleidoscope of color and drop to the ground. The nights are cooler, and there is occasional frost on the ground in the mornings. It is time again to prepare myself for the long, cold, dark of winter.

We’ve already done plenty to prepare. Our firewood is cut, split, and stored inside the barn where it awaits being thrown into our stove. (Doesn’t that first fire of the year smell wonderful? And doesn’t it seem to warm your soul as well as your bones?)

We have preserved the last of the garden produce and stripped the plants from the garden. We have mowed the grass for the last time and stored the riding lawn mower inside until spring. We have gathered new fire brick to line the inside of the stove and have brought our ash barrel up to the house. The air conditioners have been pulled from the windows and put away.

We’re nearly prepared, physically.

Still, there’s something about the winter that is hard for me emotionally. Perhaps it’s because we are so connected to the land, the weather, and the sun for our vocation. With fewer hours of sun, it is far more difficult for my husband to do his job for months on end.

Perhaps it’s because, in winter, I arrive at work before the sun comes up and leave after it has set and could go days on end without even seeing it. Perhaps I am lacking the levels of serotonin that can sustain steady emotional levels without constant access to the sun. At any rate, I have to prepare myself to work harder now to maintain joy when it is not so naturally abundant for me.

After the first fire in the stove, it won’t be long until the dirt that comes with firewood will grate on my nerves. All the extra layers of clothing that we are required to wear (and I am required to wash) might bring me down. Wet clothes, wet dogs, and cold temperatures will be a struggle. “Struggle” is a good way to define my commute during inclement weather as well.

Some things about fall that I do look forward to is that there will be more evenings spent cuddled under blankets watching movies. Because of the way our ductwork runs, my heated bedroom floors will soon be returning. Not having to worry about whether the shirt I choose to wear will show off weird tan lines is something else to look forward to enjoying.

Comfort foods like pasta, soups, and all things pumpkin will make their return to our menu. Although we eat some soup all year-round, heartier soups like chili, creamy potato, and beef stew will replace spring and summer’s lighter, brothier fare.

I’ll make all things pumpkin: pumpkin bread, pumpkin pie, pumpkin oatmeal, pumpkin butter, and pumpkin granola. I’ll bake homemade bread to spread with the pumpkin butter. There is just something wholesome and wonderful about the oven warming a cooler area of the kitchen while smells of deliciousness waft forth. I’ll enjoy it on many weekends this fall and winter.

Trying to anticipate all of the things I enjoy about the shorter days and cooler nights will help me prepare. Still, there will be days that it won’t be enough. So, on the days that it’s just not working, I’ll sit in front of the sun lamp wearing a floppy hat and shades and imagine to myself that it’s already spring. Maybe that will also help me remember I can’t eat every one of the tasty treats I churn out this fall, pumpkin-flavored or not. Otherwise, weird tan lines next spring will be the least of my worries.