I’m infatuated with Mt. Rainer. Everyday when I’m in Washington, I’m looking to see if the “mountain is out.” When it is out – it’s awe-inspiring. The magnificent grandeur, majesty, and splendor never cease to capture-my-breath with each day this towering monticle is visible. When I fly home, I twist in my seat until the mountain-view finally fades from sight. That’s how it was when I flew home this week. I’m always torn between staying in the PNW that I love, and my homeland of birth.

The plus side of going back to Iowa is, of course, that is where our home is. And it is my favorite time of year (at least until next spring when I claim that to be my favorite season). I love the colorful fall leaves clinging to the trees and making a crunchy carpet once they fall,

and the bright-orange, ripe pumpkins in the patch or lining our wooden fence,

the last of the fall harvest gathered from the garden,

the round bales of cornstalks, ready to load, in the fields,

running with my dog, Charlie on one of the last warm fall afternoons,

or hiking under the colorful canopy of leaves through the tree-tunnel on the trail in the park,

red apples desperately hanging on the trees before falling to the ground to be eaten by deer,

tractors running day and night to harvest the crops,

then covered in the morning frost after being abandoned due to an exhausted farmer,

watching the steam rise from the lake on a frosty morning,

the glimpse of a migrating Trumpeter swan resting in the rushes by the lakes edge,

making apple cider from an old-fashioned apple press,

mums bursting with an explosion of color at the end of the driveway,

and the last canoe ride as the sun sets on an Iowa autumn.

It’s good to be back home.