anticipating autumn

It's only the beginning of August, but my autumn frenzy is already percolating. I feel it in my fingers, I feel it in my toes (cue The Troggs) and I'm ready to feel it in my tummy. Here meaning I'm ready to start cooking and/or eating anything containing and//or referencing pumpkin and/or whiskey. (I am delirious and/or too entertained by the and/or concept right now, forgive me).

Anyway, Dean and Robin and I have already begun plotting our seasonal treats which will include, but are not limited to: pumpkin turkey chili, pumpkin apple butter, and now this: pumpkin bourbon cheesecake.

Sweet. Mercy.

I'm practically drooling at the thought of it. This is the Pavlovian Response old Ivan never thought of. Those dogs have nothing on a few Autumn Children with an overwhelming affinity for epicurean delights.

Much as I adore summertime in the Pacific Northwest, there is nothing like the coming of autumn (the best season of all). Brigette and I are notorious for our autumnal exploits (she's right here with me in this train of thought; we are kindred spirits) and through her I first discovered Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury. Our fervor is perfectly summarized with this passage (albeit with more childish delight rather than eery darkness):

“Beware the autumn people. … For some, autumn comes early, stays late, through life … with no winter, spring or revivifying summer. For these beings, fall is the only normal season, the only weather, there be no choice beyond. Where do they come from? The dust. Where do they go? The grave. Does blood stir their veins? No, the night wind. What ticks in their head? The worm. What speaks through their mouth? The toad. What sees from their eye? The snake. What hears with their ear? The abyss between the stars. They sift the human storm for souls, eat flesh of reason, fill tombs with sinners. They frenzy forth. In gusts they beetle-scurry, creep, thread, filter, motion, make all moons sullen, and surely cloud all clear-run waters. The spider-web hears them, trembles—breaks. Such are the autumn people. Beware of them.” 

If ever I jump on the Portland tattoo-train, I would immortalize those words - Beware the autumn people...

And so, I will savour these warm summer days, the cloudless skies, the majesty of a pristine Mount Hood and the coming of my coveted August blackberries. But by September, the winds will change, the air will be crisp and weighted with the delicate scent of decaying foliage as it dissolves back into the Earth... And I will be the happy little lamb sitting in a pile of leaves with a orchard-fresh apple in one hand and a hot toddy in the other!

(photo by Smitten Kitchen)