We live in what is practically a secret section of Massachusetts: not the Boston area, and not in the Berkshires, which are on the other end of the state. Yes, there is actually something in between.
When I look outside of my window in the fall, I know there is no need to drive an hour and a half down the Mass Pike for leaf-peeping. We have it all right here.
We live within walking distance of the center of town, but still we’re tucked away at the end of a dead-end street and are surrounded by woods. At this time of year, our house is ringed in yellow. It shines in my bedroom window in the morning, and in the afternoon I find myself grousing about people who leave lights until I get into a room and I’m hit with the golden glow from outside.
So fall is here. We did our first pass of leaf blowing yesterday, one of many to come since we have an acre and a half of woods. The man who invented the leaf blower may have destroyed the peace and quiet of our world, but in my books he’s a god. No way could I have conquered this yard with a rake.
Our pumpkins are on the porch, the mums are on the deck, and the acorns are on the ground. If acorns are any indication, we’re going to have one humdinger of a winter. And now we haveour own free-of-cost security system. Whenever a vehicle hits our street it sounds like popcorn on steroids, or maybe Goliath having a therapeutic bubble wrap session.