North by northeast

I’ve fled to the beach so many times. It’s time to try something different. This time I fly to Idaho, where the trees already show the first hint of fall in the yellow that tinges their leaves.

Out here, in the northern mountain west, the temperature still climbs – but slowly, verrry slowly, during the day. The sun crosses lower in the southern sky and days are shorter. The cool morning lingers and an unexpected drizzle wets the pavement, startling this Californian out of her drought.

This is the high desert so summers bake the hills a golden brown, but Idaho obeys the calendar, which clicks over to autumn this week. What’s left is the ghost of summer and that’s ok by me.

Sacramento in mid-September is ghost pepper hot, 104 degrees that leave my heat-loving tomato plants scorched and wilted in dismay. It’s either give them water against drought rules or let them sag. They sag.

Out here, autumn is all around me. I drink in the morning chill as I walk to a nearby coffee shop, crunching through the sidewalk leaves. When I return, what I think of as fall will still be weeks away. In the afternoon, a light shower keeps those thoughts at bay for a little longer.

Everyone needs a break, whether it’s toward something or away from something. This time, both forces are at work. When one place gets too hot to handle, a cooler alternative is necessary. Thank goodness for this northern sanctuary.