Dear September
Honoring the in-between of seasons
Suddenly it's midway through September.
It feels like Labor Day weekend just happened, yet here I sit, a mere 7 days away from the Autumnal Equinox aka first day of fall.
The transition from summer to fall is hitting me differently this year. Normally I would start feeling sad about the loss of summer, but more and more as I sink into adulthood, I find that I don’t mind fall’s onset so much.
I think the creeping summer temperatures in Portland are partially to blame. (And this is coming from a desert kid, mind you!)
After months of sunshine and warmth, I find that I’m not so much bummed to leave them behind as I am to welcome "cozy season” with open arms. To bring back the little rituals I forget about in the summer time, like snuggling up on the couch with a mug of hot tea or satiating myself with a delicious homemade soup.
It’s no secret that the transition to a new season can be made much easier when you have rituals reserved solely for that time. That said, I also don't want to rush it because there is beauty in the transition itself.
I’m frustrated with how quickly consumerism and capitalism want to carry us straight from August 31 into gourd and pumpkin season, completely ignoring what’s actually going on with mother nature.
The second September hit, my inbox and Instagram feed were flooded with PSL content. The limited edition pumpkin pie nut butter from my favorite nut butter company is already sold out. Call me stubborn, but I refuse to get a fall-spiced latte or buy a pumpkin until October hits. I want to enjoy September for what it is—a transitional month.
In trying to capture the sentiment I am having, I found myself penning a letter to September as if she were a dear friend. Enjoy.
Dear September,
I’ve been thinking about you in a whole new light this year, and seeing you for who I think you really are—the beloved in-between.
People seem to treat you as the forgotten, taken-for-granted middle child. They flock towards either side of you as strong fans of your older sister August, or siding with your younger brother October.
The August fans are summer die-hards and quite honestly curse the day that you come. They seem to think that your onset signifies the end of everything as they know it, forgetting that August will come back around in another year's time. But to them, you are the epitome of a sad love song. You represent the push and pull between two lovers who, try as they might, just can’t find a way to make it work.
Then there’s the October crew. Leaf-peeping, PSL-drinking, fall-loving gurus who treat you as if you’re a blip on their radar, mistaking you for fall when really, that’s only a part of you. Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking—they love fall so much that they only see what they want to see. And that means missing you for your unique nature, projecting fall onto you instead.
Well, I think you’re something else entirely. You’re a blend of August and October, of summer and fall, but definitely not one or the other. You represent the beautiful in-between and I think you deserve to be acknowledged for that, September.
You see, what’s special about you is that you never know what you’re going to get. (It’s no coincidence that there’s plenty of songs with you in their name!)
You bring the waning sunlight, plunging us into nighttime sooner than I think most of us would prefer (guilty), yet you also surprise us with your moods.
Just last weekend I found myself in your Friday night midst, oddly overcast skies contrasted with a temperature of 90 degrees. I floated on my new paddleboard clad in my bikini, comforted enough by your temperature to jump into the lake. Upon climbing back onto my board, I felt a bit chilly as your slight evening breeze made its way past my body. I was worried I wouldn’t warm up and that submerging myself had been a mistake, but within minutes your still-warm air nearly dried my suit.
As I packed up my board in the near dark, dusk having settled as I paddled back to shore, I experienced a moment of utter gratitude for the uniqueness you bring—days that feel like summer, bookended by mornings and nights that suggest something is changing.
The food you bring us is like that too, I realized.
Late summer tomatoes still flood us with their presence, nearly every produce vendor at the market overflowing with them. The zucchini are huge, still growing. At this point, I imagine the farmers are desperate to rid themselves of this bounty to make room for the new.
The strawberry plant in my front yard yields a handful of ripe berries every couple days, the months of sunshine having nurtured exponential growth that doesn’t tailor off until you arrive.
It’s an odd contrast to the pumpkin-everything I see in mass retailers and coffee shops, even the small shelf-stable purveyors. Fall squash are just beginning to come out of hiding, a few of them dotting the tables of the market vendors, but easily overtaken by those bright reds and greens.
You’re like a chameleon, taking on the colors of your current environment to blend in.
As much as I respect and admire you for your ability to fool us into fall while still savoring the tastes of summer, you also confuse me.
Because, dear September, what the hell am I supposed to wear? If you were my dad, you’d tell me “layers!” And I know that. I practice that. Yet I find your range of temperatures impossible to count on, no matter how many times I check the forecast before leaving the house.
The other day I met a friend for lunch, thinking my jeans and long-sleeve t-shirt would be perfect for the mid-60s. But as I sat outside waiting, you created just enough of a fall crisp in the air to make me wish I’d brought a jacket.
Even as I’ve been writing this, I’ve watched the sky outside my window shape-shift from light maybe-I-should-bring-a-rain-jacket gray to bright blue dotted with cotton-ball clouds.
When it comes to fashion, you’re the clog of footwear. Half-covered, half-exposed, ready for the weather to change any minute.
Earlier this week I came across a quote about in-betweens (c/o
). While the author was clearly talking about the transitions of a human life, I think there’s something to be said for the transitions of nature’s seasons, too.Even as a kid I acknowledged the in-between of seasons. Whenever I ate a Neapolitan ice cream sandwich, a favorite treat of mine, I rattled off which “season” I was in as I ate my way through the bar's three flavors. Chocolate was fall, vanilla was winter, and strawberry was summer; the meeting of chocolate/vanilla represented the transition from fall to winter, and the vanilla/strawberry convergence the change from winter to summer. (Apparently being an Arizona kid forced me to forego spring for summer.) While the transition from strawberry summer into chocolate fall didn’t exist due to the shape of the sandwich, it existed in my mind.
And I think you, September, perfectly encapsulate that seasonal in-between and should be applauded for it.
For you give us humans time to reflect and be sentimental, while also acknowledging that change is happening. And to perhaps ask ourselves, if we haven't already, what kind of change do we wish to manifest? And what are we grateful for that summer brought us?
Thank you for the beautiful space you give us. I’ll be enjoying the remainder of your 15 days.
Until next year,
Morganne
More seasonal inspiration:
In his cookbook Six Seasons, largely centered on how to prepare in-season vegetables, Portland chef Joshua McFadden explains his logic behind six seasons:
“But what's a season, anyway? Winter, spring, summer, and fall don’t adequately reflect what’s truly happening in the fields, so I divided the book into six seasons instead of the traditional four. In this book, summer is three sections, because summer is where the action is, with waves of new families of vegetables arriving every few weeks, almost like micro seasons. June brings fresh and delicate colors from light greens to ivories to yellows; an August market basket will vibrate with supersaturated reds, oranges, and purples. And of course seasons are different in different parts of the country, so you need to to adapt to the rhythms of your latitude, soil, and climate.”
- honors eight seasons in her newsletter - sadly on hiatus but I still listen to her aptly-themed playlists! Early Fall & Late Summer on repeat.
- ’s SAD Girl Survival Guide - I just love her midsummer night’s themed dinner (and her intentionality in general). I’ve been craving hosting a seasonal dinner party for a while. I’m afraid I missed the boat on doing it on the fall equinox weekend but I’m going to make it a point to book a date for the future.
Where else do you see people paying homage to more than four seasons or honoring the in-betweens? What am I missing out on? A girl needs to know!
I love this - beautifully said. I like the idea of celebrating the transition time. I'm going to try practicing that as a remedy for feeling sad when summer is over. Funny, summer is the only season I get sad about its ending!
I love this so much, Morganne 🫶 I love the comparison of September as the middle child and your appreciation of the changing seasons with your Neapolitan ice cream (I remember doing things like that when I was little too!). This is making me rethink September and appreciate the beauty of the in-between. Thank you for the mention, as well!