A change of season, a change of plans

This is the first time we've been at our cottage at Seneca Lake in Upstate New York after Labor Day in about, oh, 40 years or more.

The end of the fresh veggies and the beginning of the grapes

We could feel the season changing --- shorter days, the bright colors of the early leaves changing, the last of the best sweet corn ever, treasuring the freshness of every last slicing tomato.

It was probably the hottest summer on record (again) in Upstate New York and it made for an endless summer of boating and swimming and generally finding ways to cool down. For all of you who poo-poo the difference between 90 degrees of dry heat and 90 degrees of humid heat, just try it out for yourselves. Ninety-five degrees and 80 percent humidity just sits on your chest and diaphragm and makes you seek shade near the coolness of the lake with a cold drink in your hand. Productivity diminishes as the temperature rises. Most of the houses in our area don't have air conditioning --- nor have they ever needed it.

Until now.

But the demarcation of Labor Day is still like a 'before and after' of summer. It was hot, hot, hot. Then the switch flipped and it was cold, cold, cold. Low of 42. High of 62. And now I get how the locals love the change of seasons. Pull out the fleece, make a cup of tea, and ho ho! Our energy is back and frisky, just like all the dogs that have gone from panting in the shade of the park to leaps and frolics.

Fall!

As we started to shut down the lake cottage, getting all the linens cleaned and dried and into plastic storage bags, scrubbing down a summer of dirt and fun so the critters will have less motivation to move in while we're gone for the winter, I time traveled back to every summer when we would go into mourning as we closed up and returned to the city the day after Labor Day.

School in New York started the Wednesday after Labor Day (and probably still does) so after months of running free, not having a schedule, swimming, skiing, playing games, hanging out, it was back to the 'real world' for us. No wonder we weren't eager to leave.
 
We had planned on being in New York for our first fall since our college years and have had so many of our snowbird friends tell us that fall is their favorite season there. That you can have warm weather, sun and swimming anywhere if you go south enough, but fall, ahhhhhhhh. It's special.

Mourning the last of the sweet corn

But in our normal subject to change lifestyle, we're in Sacramento today to see our kids and grandkids for a few days before we hop on a plane to go explore the Kingdom of Tonga in the South Pacific for a few weeks and write some stories, do some sailing as part of a regatta, dance some Zumba with the Tongans.

We'll have plenty of photos and stories to tell when we return, along with a plan, for sure, to spend next fall on the shores of Seneca Lake.

A 'Seneca Lake Appreciation Day'

We declared a 'Seneca Lake Appreciation Day' last week before heading out to NYC for a quick weekend visit with Michael's relatives.

A SLAD day, for locals, means you ditch all lists, all chores, all those things that you should do but don't want to, and you head to the lake. And you know all your friends will too because the weather, finally, is great. And the lake is finally warm enough for us wimps to swim --- in the low 70s, at least.

At least this wimp.

We headed out on The Spirit of Louise, our pontoon boat, in early afternoon, catching up with another boatload of relatives and friends on Cousin Roger's dock. It was too windy for us to pull in so we kept heading south to Cousin Ruthie's dock.

We packed every possible fun thing into those seven hours that we could --- jet skis, swimming, skiing, dinner.

Had to. Rain was predicted again for the next day.

About seven or more hours later, we were safely home, flashlights back in the bag to get stashed back on The Spirit of Louise for the next unanticipated night run home.

Michael and I were motoring home long after sunset, beautiful pastels in the western sky and reflections across a pretty placid lake. Bats were flying alongside, looking for their nightly bug buffet. A couple of bonfires along shore.

And no other boats.

We took a moment to simply appreciate the place, the moment, the great extended family, the blessed life we lead. Then on up our 'goat path' from the lake to the house to review a long list of delayed chores and errands. Maybe manana?