Remember “The September Song”? In one version it used up all the keys on the piano, over and over again. It was a big hit. In fact, it was a Hit Parade hit song. If you know what I am talking about, you’re old enough for a walking stick.

It’s September, the month of fall – the season. I spent a few hours outside yesterday with my chainsaw and chipper, cleaning up some downfall from our recent storm. I was impressed with how the deep green of summer has now changed into a dusty faded green sprinkled with the occasional yellow and red “signal” leaves with their clear message: “Clean your chimneys, keep your wood dry and don’t let these hot muggy days lure you into complacency”. Or something like that.

I think it’s interesting how I find that I am “ready” for the next season when it’s time has come. I am not, to be clear, done with summer, but I don’t resist the coming season. I have a friend north of here off of Rt.1, who can’t wait to light a fire and spend the day in front of it listening to books and watching movies on his iPad. Personally, I can wait for that first fire.

There are several remedies for adding warmth before lighting a fire. You know, shut the door – close the window. Long pants help some as well as wool socks. A sweat shirt is a sure sign that change is in the air. I flat refuse to wear long underwear inside. It’s the southern boy in me I suppose. I do know some folk who joyfully wear them all winter long, inside and outside.

You ever hear the story of the guy who took off his long johns to wash them one January and died of pneumonia? Sounds to me like a tale told by a winter’s fire, drinking Wine Spodeeodee.

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Be well, and stay tuned –