Last "spring" (April in Minnesota), I scrolled through my Instagram feed with frustration and jealousy. Flowers, patios, iced coffees! People on the east coast were baring their shoulders and eating salads outside while I sat under a blanket, watching the snow fall outside.

And now "autumn" is upon Minneapolis (I use quotations again because those two in-between seasons are a little iffy up there), and friends are wrapping themselves in scarves and sipping on warm, pumpkin-flavored beverages. And once again I'm jealous, this time as I force a pair of jeans into the mid-80 degree North Carolina afternoon.

I lived in Minnesota for one winter--not long enough for it to become my new normal, but I let it in and felt it down deep and somehow it became a part of me, like I was supposed to be there; or like perhaps that winter had been within me all along.

I may not know what it's like to be there year after year as the snow piles up, feeling it in your bones and wearing on you. I have never hunted down the best patios all spring and summer or, in late August, exchanged groans and anxious faces, greeting people on the street like Game of Thrones characters--"winter is coming."

But I loved it there and felt at home-- loved the way the snow seemed to fall more often than not, loved the way you just dig in and deal with it, bringing your gloves with you everywhere and driving a little bit more slowly across icy roads. And yet here I am, settling in down south on a warm September day, daydreaming about fall and winter and sweaters and hot tea; laughing as I unpack our heavy winter coats and hoping to soon wake up to a hazy chill and that smell of leaves. Wondering where I belong, and already missing that impending northern snow.

Labor Day has always been a special time for me--when summer is winding down and fall hints at us in the early morning. My birthday is in a few days and I always feel as though I get to start over in some way, especially this year with boxes still waiting to be unpacked and so many new things from our wedding registry that were waiting patiently for this move before they could finally be opened and used.

This summer was a good one, and while I find myself already missing Minneapolis, I'm so looking forward to this autumn in Charlotte--our first fall as a married couple, sleeping in on chilly weekends and drinking hot coffee and joking incessantly about an upcoming winter that won't be nearly as cold and long as the last, even if I know I'm going to miss all of that snow.

Wishing you a wonderful Labor Day, friends.

I drove from Charlotte to Roanoke and back last week, and the way the late summer haze weighed on the mountains in the distance made me yearn for fall the way almost-August always does.

If I'm being totally honest, once the fourth of July passes by, I'm pretty much ready for autumn. I start thinking about hot cups of coffee and knitted hats and jeans. There's something so magical about the change in seasons that I start to imagine it well before any of it actually happens.

One chilly morning on the lake. One cool haze hanging in the distance. I think about autumns past, and living on the east coast once again for autumns to come. Will things be the same? Will they feel different? Will I? It's just so hard to know. 

There are weeks before we move, and even longer before those first leaves start to change their color back east, so until either one, I will do my best to take in the last of this Minnesota summer. Sometimes it's hard to remember, but there is not much to gain by wishing away the present.