Tag: fall

  • Tastes Like October: A Love Letter to Dairy-Free Pumpkin Spice

    Tastes Like October: A Love Letter to Dairy-Free Pumpkin Spice

    There is a particular stretch of early fall when the light gets thinner, the evenings cool off just enough to justify a sweater dress you do not actually need, and every coffee shop starts smelling like a candle that has opinions. I have, for longer than I usually admit out loud, been extremely susceptible to that smell.

    Autumn valley with pumpkins, spice jars labeled CINNAMON, CLOVES, CLOVER, NUTMEG, and GINGER
    A warm autumn landscape brings together pumpkins, spices, winding paths, and a glowing sunrise.

    Pumpkin spice and I have a long, mostly private relationship. I do not announce it, even though I crave pumpkin pie year round. I do not post the seasonal cup. I just quietly order it, or make it, or accept it when it appears, and feel briefly and uncomplicatedly pleased. My long-distance boyfriend, who has a talent for noticing the things I like and then arranging for them to show up at my door, once sent a small jar of pumpkin spice nut butter. It arrived on an afternoon when he was virtually unavailable to me. I opened it while watching Bridgerton, ate a spoonful with no particular plan, and then, somehow, the jar was empty. I am not proud of the speed. I am also not especially sorry.

    So yes: a bit of a basic bitch, if we are using the technical term. I have made my peace with it. The problem is not the flavor. The problem is the vehicle.

    My stomach and dairy have been on uneasy terms for years. I went years without it, which was fine until it was not. It is just consistent enough that I have stopped testing the boundary for fun. And yet the thing I want, specifically, is a pumpkin spice milk or creamer I can pour into coffee without thinking about it later. Hot girls contain multitudes, including, occasionally, a sensitive gut. This is not news.

    Steaming spiced coffee beside pumpkins, pie, candle, cinnamon, and books
    A steaming spiced coffee, pumpkins, and homemade pie create a warm autumn kitchen scene.

    Which is how I ended up deep in the non-dairy aisle, and then deeper into the internet, looking for something that tastes like October and behaves like it has never met a cow. The one I had my eye on was the Malk pumpkin spice version. It kept appearing in recommendations, looking exactly like the thing I wanted: simple ingredients, the right seasonal notes, no dairy. Every time he went to actually buy it, it was gone. Sold out. Restock date vague. The digital equivalent of a shrug.

    So I am still looking. Something creamy enough to cut coffee, spiced enough to feel intentional, and gentle enough that I do not spend the rest of the day bargaining with my own digestive system. If you have a non-dairy pumpkin spice milk or creamer that has actually earned a permanent spot in your fridge, I would genuinely like to know what it is. The nut butter jar is already a memory. The coffee, is every morning.

    Autumn landscape with pumpkins, winding path, sunset, and labeled spice jars
    A winding autumn path leads through pumpkin fields beneath a glowing sunset, with jars of seasonal spices in the foreground.

  • Hello Autumn 2026

    Hello Autumn 2026

    The first day of autumn arrives with a quiet, precise moment: the autumnal equinox. In 2026 that instant is 00:05 UTC on September 23 — the evening of September 22 across much of North America. The Sun crosses the celestial equator heading south, day and night are nearly equal, and the Northern Hemisphere officially tilts toward longer nights.

    Meteorological autumn already began on September 1. Astronomical autumn begins now. Both definitions are useful; one tracks weather records, the other tracks the sky.

    Earth’s axis is tilted 23.5 degrees. For half the year the Northern Hemisphere leans toward the Sun; for the other half it leans away (that is why places like Australia are in winter when we in North America are in the summer, etc.) At the equinox the tilt is sideways to the Sun, so sunlight falls evenly on both hemispheres. Spring and Autumn. After this moment, the North begins its slow turn toward winter. Days shorten, nights lengthen, and the quality of light changes — lower, golden, slanted.

    True equal day and night (the equilux) usually arrives a few days later because the atmosphere bends sunlight and we measure sunrise and sunset from the upper edge of the Sun’s disk. The equinox itself is a geometric event, not a perfect 12-hour split.

    Leaves begin their color change as chlorophyll breaks down and hidden yellows, oranges, and reds appear. Maples, oaks, and aspens put on the show first in higher latitudes and higher elevations. Cooler nights arrive even if daytime temperatures linger. The air smells different — woodsmoke, damp earth, ripening fruit.

    Harvest is the oldest reason to notice this turning. Grain, apples, squash, grapes, and late vegetables come in. Communities have marked the moment for thousands of years with feasting, thanksgiving, and preparation for the leaner months ahead. Modern versions include pumpkin patches, cider pressing, harvest festivals, and the simple act of bringing the last tomatoes inside before frost.

    In East Asia the same seasonal shift coincides with Mid-Autumn Festival traditions of moon viewing and reunion. In Europe, church harvest festivals still decorate pews with produce. Across North America, farm stands overflow and people start planning Thanksgiving. The calendar date is recent; the impulse is ancient.

    Mark the date by stepping outside at golden hour and noticing the light. Walk somewhere with trees (because I can’t yet) and look up. Cook seasonally—something that actually tastes like the season: roasted squash, apple crisp, a pot of soup. Cuddle up with your loved ones and enjoy some movies and shows! Note the time of sunset. Unfortunately it will keep moving earlier. And of course, if you garden, like I hope to one day, begin the gradual work of putting beds to rest. No one likes cold weather.

    Autumn is not a sudden drop in temperature. It is a gradual handover — summer’s abundance meeting winter’s restraint. The first day simply names the handover. The rest of the season will do the work of changing the landscape, the table, and the pace of daily life.

    Welcome to the quieter half of the year. The leaves are already starting to turn. The warmer clothes, fuzzy socks and football viewing are beckoning.

  • Embracing Autumn: Love, Football, and Fuzzy Socks

    Embracing Autumn: Love, Football, and Fuzzy Socks

    I love football. I love the first Patriots kickoff of the year, that stupid surge of hope. I even love pumpkin spice, the whole corporate autumn circus, the lattes that taste like a candle and a dessert had a baby. What I do not love is being cold. Being cold all the time is depressing as hell. It does not feel seasonal or charming. It feels like the air is quietly stealing from you.

    Everyone else is out here romanticizing the -ber months like September through December is a personality. Sweater weather. Cozy season. Holiday magic. I am not buying it. I am not looking forward to any of it. Maybe that is because I do not have a man here to warm my feet, so I sleep in my fuzzy socks like I am hiding from the temperature. Fuzzy socks in bed. Slippers and socks all day. I look like I am preparing for a blizzard that never quite arrives. Cold is not “crisp.” Cold is just uncomfortable. It makes the house feel like it is working against you.

    What I actually want is a body next to mine. Not the holiday version. The everyday version. Cuddle weather should not be a seasonal event. I want it when it is raining, when it is ugly out, when there is nothing special happening. This time of year just turns the volume up on the distance. I loathe that part. The earlier dark, the extra blankets, the empty side of the bed all start sounding the same sentence: he is not here.

    And still. I love the holidays. I love that he visits. I love the stretch of days when the house finally has another pulse in it and my parents and I briefly look like an actual family instead of three people orbiting the same rooms. He does that. He stitches it together. Those visits are the only reason I tolerate the rest of this stretch.

    December 2023 calendar, empty holiday place setting, Christmas lights, and text reading “Empty Seat • Waiting,” “Football & Snow,” and “Absent.”
    A festive place setting sits beneath Christmas lights beside a December calendar marked for an empty seat.

    So here is the whole messy thing: I love that football is back. I love the ridiculous coffee flavors. I love being with him when he is here. I just do not miss the cold, and I do not miss having to wear a second life of clothes just to exist indoors. I prefer not to wear clothes at all. Autumn can keep its aesthetic. I want heat, contact, and someone on the other side of the mattress who does not disappear.