There is a certain smell that I associate with the oncoming of fall weather, a smell so distinct yet indescribable that I can't even begin to find the words to explain it. I just know it.
My fear in moving out to the west coast was that the subtleties that constitute fall in my mind would cease to exist in the sunshine state. Fortunately, I moved to Northern California, where the seasons still seem to change, albeit less extreme. And this weekend fall arrived, right on time.
Despite an unusual heat spell last week (my car thermometer registered 110 degrees Fahrenheit at one point), October brought with it the cool calmness of fall that I know and love. A slight breeze was comforting rather than chilling, and for two days I wanted to do nothing but stand outside with my nose up in the air and breathe it in.
This past weekend was the first since I moved out here where I had nothing planned. Nothing at all. After a hectic September where I found myself working plenty of overtime and traveling across coasts to see family and friends, I was ready to relax. And, if you know me at all, you know it takes a lot for me to say, "I think I'll do nothing today."
So, of course, in spite of my best intentions, I found myself doing the opposite of nothing on Saturday: I drove into San Francisco with Nathalie and my new friend Laura for the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival in Golden Gate Park.
It still amazes me that San Francisco is barely an hour away from Napa, yet the weather so drastically different. The air in the city had a chill to it, instead of the crispness that felt so soothing in the valley. That, coupled with the hour and half that it took for us to find parking, was enough to sour my mood on the free hippie festival that we took in for a few hours. Some of the music was decent, but I was much happier when we returned to Napa and had a leisurely drink by the fire outside at Farm at the Carneros Inn.
And I was even happier when I woke up on Sunday to the most perfect October day. I practically had a skip in my step as I trolled the aisles at Whole Foods, picking out ingredients to make the season's first pumpkin bread (thank you, Heidi, for the recipe!). I whipped it together alongside Gary, who was cooking a lavish meal for his family dinner that evening at our house.
Inspired by the invigorating fall air, I decided to take the time to do something I hadn't done since moving in: I was going to spend the day making my room feel like my own. With Nathalie's help (me and power tools don't have the most loving relationship) and a glass of 2006 Tenbrink Chardonnay from Gary's dinner party downstairs, I set to work at rearranging furniture, hanging up posters on the walls and even building a bookcase! (Okay, Nathalie did most of the work, but I at least tried to tighten a screw myself).
It was something that I'd neglected to do for months, being too preoccupied by being social and taking every opportunity to meet people. Yet, the truth of the matter is, feeling comfortable in my own space is something I should have set out to do right at the start. As soon as my room felt like my own, I felt like a different person - relaxed, more content.
And isn't that the best foundation for making the most of your time somewhere, feeling comfortable in your skin (and room)? When you're happy with yourself that resonates, and I feel like my room is oozing happiness. As is the rest of my house, which is warming up to fall quite nicely, I'd say.
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