Next weekend will bring the first of November, a sort of boundary for me -- October is autumn, November is winter. To herald the change, today the first flakes of snow, mixed with some spitting rain, fell outside my window.
Looking around me, I notice that I'm running behind on my seasonal chores. I still have to stow the grill and the lawn furniture. For the first time in five years I won't be winterizing a car, but the motorcycles will need to be prepared for storage. Eventually I'll pull the mower deck from the lawn tractor, lube the chassis and swap the engine oil for winter-weight, and then mount chains, wheel weights and a plow blade -- but not 'til I've finished dealing with autumn cleanup.
I haven't even started on that yet. Our trees are still hanging on to most of their leaves.
Incidentally, this year I've made a conscious effort to burn no more gasoline on lawn care than absolutely necessary. If the grass grows a bit long and a few leaves blow out of our yard, that's fine with me. Let the neighbors grumble.
Snow, on the other hand, doesn't defer to frugality and can't be ignored. With any luck, we won't have another record-setting snowfall like the one we saw last March.
I haven't been a total slave to procrastination. The furnace has had its annual checkup. Yesterday I gave Mrs. KintlaLake's car a good once-over and changed the oil. My truck (that's what I'm calling it now) had a thorough mechanical inspection and a complete transfusion before delivery, so it should be ready. This weekend I'll shut off the water supply to the outside faucets.
Anyway, my chores will get done, the seasons will change and I won't resist the inevitable slide into winter. In fact, if our fireplace was in better shape and I had a decent heater out in the workshop, I might actually look forward to it.