Whatever day it was, it was the coldest day since April. For months it hasn’t just been hot, it’s been just under unbearable, for us anyway. It was the last week of August, and it was 61 degrees outside according to the app on our phones. As if we’d been hibernating throughout the summer, I hustled to the front door and stepped out onto the front porch.
The air smelled that crisp, cold smell and the chill breeze hitting my bare legs was like sliding into a comfy pair of pajamas. I embraced it for as long as it took for me to shiver, which wasn’t long. I turned back through the doorway and with a smile on my face delivered the news to my beloved:
“Baby! It’s hoodie weather!”
Glee crossed her face and her hands bolted into the air. Yes, this is where we belong and this is where we find our zen. Surrounded by a chilly morning clothed in dark blue jeans, strapped into our brown leather ankle-high boots and draped with a light hoodie.
We immediately had to be outside, but we also had yet to put food in our bellies. No worries though, as we knew where to go in an instant. It’s as if our Pennsylvania Dutch genetics handed us down at least three things: A love of hard work, a love of cold weather, and a love of dense and delicious food. Eggs, sausage, fresh baked bread, seasoned potatoes.
Fall has begun (ish), and we feel right at home.