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It’s always bittersweet to bid adieu to summer. The fading light. The cooler air. The pangs of nostalgia. All signs that the hot, sticky days are behind us, and it’s time to pull out the flannel and wool.

The upside, of course, is that no one does autumn better than New England. It’s the season of seasons in Vermont, and positively my favorite time to live where we do. I feel giddy opening my trunk of sweaters, dusting off my array of boots, and surveying my pile of scarves and hats. This weekend, we retired our summer cotton and swaddled our mattresses in German flannel and colors of gold and orange and muted blue. We spent Sunday evening wrapped in the security of down, with falling temperatures on our breath.

I delight in the simple pleasure of spending my lunch break sitting in the sun, soaking up that golden light, without a drop of sweat on my brow, the cool breeze mediated by wool or cashmere. And don’t get me started on the gallons of fresh cider stocked in the grocery store and the sickeningly sweet comfort that comes from a warmed mug, spiced and steaming.

We took our yearly trip to our favorite apple orchard, and overzealously filled a half bushel with that crispy, sweet fruit. We’ve already consumed two apple pies, made vats of fresh apple sauce, and even tested a Bacon Apple Stuffing that, just, yes. Here’s to September!