In the interest of being completely honest, up until last weekend I had never hiked before, nor did I really understand what “hiking” actually meant. When my boyfriend and I planned a weekend trip to Maine, we included a hike as a central part of the itinerary – the highlight, if you will. Naively, I figured that would mean we’d be walking in the woods a little, maybe it would get a little steep at some points, maybe it would take two hours? Newsflash, CMQ – apparently that’s not hiking.
I feel like this year especially, everyone I know has plans to go (or already went) to a farm/orchard to do cutesy fall things like apple picking, pumpkin picking, or corn-mazing. Perhaps it’s cliché then that last Sunday the boyfriend and I stopped at a small (tiny!) farm in Canton to do all those things? If so, then I have to confess I really am a fan of the occasional cliché. After all, there’s a reason things catch on.
Honestly if you’re ever driving on I-93 near the Canton exit at this time of year, this little place is right off the highway and so cute. Totally worth a quick (or long!) stop.
There’s a very specific feeling I associate with the first few weekends of the year when it’s gorgeous and sunny yet none of the visible warmth translates because it’s becoming that kind of cold where the wind just cuts through your tights (or pants) and you wish that maybe you’d brought a scarf or worn some mittens but you didn’t want to admit to yourself that it’s the time of year when such accessories are required and the air is crisp and cold and clear but you smile because for a moment in the warmth of your car you can just look up and see the sun and the ocean and vaguely try to remember what it was like to not need a jacket.