I love this town.

I love living in this area.

And let me just say,  I have lived in plenty of other places to know I like upstate NY the best.

But something weird got to me the other morning.  I was bringing my daughter to day care.  As the Ford truck sped down our oil and stone paved back roads I had a 'feelings' flashback.  It's not that I suddenly recalled an event or a singular moment from my past.  But rather I had this sudden feeling that I was in the late eighties...I was a teenager...and I was completely in love with my life. 

I think it's the fall.  It's always my favorite time of year up here in the north east.  But it's even better in Westmoreland....it was even better in high school and I think that's my spiritual tie to this moment in this town. 

The foliage on the hills and mountains of course is the biggest breath taking draw...they're the things that train rides and made of.  The way the leaves go though their change from green to a bright, vivid red or burnt orange color is just gorgeous.  I think it's the way their brilliance lays against the gray bark of the trees that makes them seem so radiant.  Even the gray however seems deeper and more enriched this time of year.  It's beautiful how the leaves gently fall to the ground and lightly cover the lush green carpet beneath creating even more contrast.  It's just so much color in one little corner of the world. 

But what else about the fall in this small town adds to it's appeal?  For the average passer by...probably nothing.  But for those of us that live here, there is so much more to recognize. 

See not only do we have the beautiful fall foliage, but there's more to it on a whole.  More that let's us feel the winter moving in.  More that makes us feel the next phase of our lives about to begin. 

There's the tall stalks of feed corn still standing at attention in their rows.  It's turned a sad khaki shade of yellow and appears, to the untrained eye, to be dying and forgotten.  Then there's the other fields that have all been cut.  Perfect little rows of corn stalk stumps cut off bluntly and sprinkled lightly with fresh manure.  The large John Deere harvesters sitting in the field all night where it's driver had to leave it so that he could tend to his cattle and have a quick dinner between never ending chores.  It's stepping outside in the evening and noticing that the strong stench of manure has started to dissipate and give way to the crisp fall air that's fresh and clear as it promises a frost in the near future.  It's the sound of the ground cracking and crunching under every step your boots take.  Every thing is ready for it's conclusion.  The world has begun it's cycle into renewal.

The greatest feeling of remembrance however is football in the fall.  It's homecoming weekend in Westmoreland, and I can remember those weeks so clearly.  Spirit week.  Dressing ridiculously all week, decorating the halls, pep rallies, floats, parades....loosing my voice.  It never failed, that every single year by the time the Homecoming game got here my voice would have been completely robbed of me.  But the games were always great.  Winning or loosing never mattered as much as the turn out.  The cold.  Sometimes rain.  The energy the weekend brings to a sleepy little town in the North East was just the best. 

I think as I turned off Bartlett Road the other morning, I remembered driving around with my girlfriends after practice, or actually I think it was the nights before the game when we would hang signs on the Senior's homes.  I think that was the feeling that came back to me.  That one spot for some reason triggered a memory.  I was transformed to a simpler time where the whole world revolved around my friends and much simpler times...nothing else mattered much.

It was such a nice flash back moment.



Then I hit a squirrel....and it was gone.