More acutely than any other time in my life, this October has been a lesson in preparing to hibernate.
As we all know, I am a native Minnesotan. I know how the seasons work here... we all find excuses to leave work or school early on fridays between May 15th and September 15th. We spend as much time outside as possible, soaking up every ray of sun and every glorious moment of outdoor recreation this beautiful city offers (and dude. There's so much to do, I can never get it all in in one summer anyway.) And then, we collectively get in our cars for 3-4 weeks between September and October and scatter all over the state to look at leaves, pick apples, run through a corn maze, buy pumpkins... you know.
And then we get to hunkering down. You notice the days getting significantly shorter. You start yawning and reaching for the sweatshirt and lounge pants as 8:15. For me, I start paying more attention to my Netflix queue and less attention to my running shoes. I start eating way more potatoes and forget that there's still goodness from the farmer's market.
And I slow down. I stop feeling so frenzied and that summer sense of urgency wanes just like the temperatures moderate.
Today it became official. I wore my long scarf and coat in today. I'll wear it through, off and on, now. It takes me through the last remains of fall, through the gray rest of November, through the candlelit soirees of December. It will usher in my 28th birthday in January and will wrap me in comfort as I face the long brevity of February. It will walk with me as I crunch through March's old snow and bravely take out those running shoes again.
It's meant to rain and snow tonight, and that's OK. I cannot stop the seasons; I cannot stop the change, and I wouldn't really want to anyway. But I get all kinds of quiet when I think about it. It's time for one little part of me -- the part that's a sunbathing goddess, a queen of the garden, the barefooted, lake-dwelling, bike-riding, porch-swinging girl -- to hibernate.
Good night, summer Sarah.
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Yes, yes. I have found myself lighting every candle in the house at night, strapping on the jams and opening up the pantry to the bottom shelf to find the chai, hot chocolate and tea that has been sitting there for months.
It's always a transition but even though the midwest doesn't have hills and mountains, we do have seasons, and I'm very thankful for that too!
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