Having lived in different climates, it is a delight to watch the seasons change. Mostly. There is a certain nostalgia (paranoia) that comes with the harvesting of the fields. It appears that winter comes with alarming regularity to the Midwest. I like the idea of seasons more than the reality of 0 degrees with a the wind sharply whipping across formerly planted fields. Goodbye tassled companions. Til we eat again. I mean meet again.