I did it.

I broke out the pumpkin spice coffee this morning.

I was so excited when I saw pumpkin spice coffee at Fresh Market weeks ago that I had to get some. I put it in it’s coffee place in the pantry, and it’s smell immediately permeated the entire closet. Every time I opened the door, the scent punched me in the face, a very fragrant reminder of it’s presence. But I refused to drink it. With an average of 95 degrees as our high, it just didn’t feel right. “It needs to be fall,” I told myself. “Or at least starting to feel like fall.”

This morning, I just couldn’t take it anymore. In addition to the Fresh market brand, Drew had brought home a couple Keurig cups of pumpkin spice for me to go with the single cup coffee dispenser he found for way cheap at Goodwill. Those cups have been staring me down for about a week. They finally won. I popped one in and now I’m already well on my way to fall, despite the condensation that’s about to form on the windows from the summer humidity outside.

Fall is my favorite time of year. Unlike my dear friend who is lamenting fall’s arrival, I am welcoming it with open arms. Fall just fills me with warm fuzzies. Leaves changing and dropping to the ground so we can have that delightful *crunch* sound underfoot; scents of allspice and cinnamon wafting through the house; pumpkin patches popping up everywhere; Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade on in the background while the turkey cooks.

While I was on tour with the African Children’s Choir, I remember one specific memory, probably in October or November. We were in a church for a typical day of schoolwork and rehearsal. I think I had finished a rehearsal time and was taking some time to relax and unwind; moments far too seldom in tour life. Uncle Abraham, one of my fellow chaperones, was hanging nearby. All of a sudden, the scent of pumpkin pie accosted my nostrils. I sat up straight and began sniffing. Abraham looked at me quizzically.

“Do you smell that?”

“Smell what?”

“Pumpkin pie! Someone’s baking pumpkin pie!”

“What’s pumpkin pie?”

I forgot that I was dealing with an African, someone who had entirely different traditions. Of course he wasn’t familiar with pumpkin pie. (In Uganda, they don’t exactly have seasons. It’s the wet or dry season and that’s about as far as it goes.) I attempted to explain what pumpkin pie was and how glorious it was. He knew what pumpkins were, but had never experienced them in the pie form. He just gave me a weird look and went back to what he was doing. (He did get to try pumpkin pie later and didn’t like it. *sigh*)

I continued sniffing, and a huge wave of homesickness crept over me. In that single scent, it reminded me of holidays spent at home, of times spent cuddled under blankets in front of fires, of huge balloons floating through a parade, of Christmas music and lights beginning to appear.

This morning, as I sip the last bits of my pumpkin spice coffee, I am almost giddy with excitement for fall. I can’t wait for cooler weather, sweaters and scarves, and more of an excuse to sip hot beverages.

Bring it on, fall. I’m ready.