Last year, around this time, I was in Vermont. I still remember it so clearly — the air smelled like pine and wood smoke, and every hill looked like a painting.
The trees were dressed in red, orange, and gold, and when the wind blew, the leaves would swirl around like confetti. It was the kind of fall you see in movies — cozy sweaters, steaming mugs, and long drives with the windows down.
Now I’m in Texas. Dallas to be exact. And let me tell you, fall here feels… different. The calendar says it’s autumn, but the sun still says summer. The trees are green, the air is dry, and people are still wearing shorts. It’s not bad, just different. Vermont whispers “slow down,” while Texas says “keep going.”
In Vermont, every morning started cool and quiet. I used to wake up early, wrap myself in a blanket, and sit by the window with my coffee. Outside, there’d be a layer of fog sitting low over the hills. By 9 a.m., the mist would lift, and everything turned golden. The light hit the trees just right, and for a few minutes, it looked like the whole world was glowing.
The small towns there were straight out of postcards — white steeple churches, covered bridges, and old barns. I’d spend hours walking through the farmer’s markets, picking apples, and chatting with the locals. Everyone had that easy New England calmness. Even strangers waved at you from their porches.
The food was another story. Vermont fall tastes like maple syrup, apple cider, and pumpkin everything. I went apple picking one weekend and came back with way too many apples. I tried baking a pie, but it turned into more of an apple crumble. Still delicious though. I also discovered hot cider with a little cinnamon stick — my new favorite drink when the air turns chilly.
Here in Dallas, I don’t need hot cider. Iced coffee still makes more sense. The mornings are warm, and sometimes it hits 90°F even in October. When I first moved here, I waited for the trees to turn, but most of them didn’t. A few just dried up and dropped their leaves overnight like they were over it.
But there’s something beautiful about Texas fall too. The sunsets here are unreal — big skies that stretch forever, painted in pink and orange. And there’s this soft breeze that starts to show up in late October, the kind that makes evenings on the porch perfect. You can’t bundle up in sweaters yet, but you can sit outside for hours without feeling hot.
Vermont was quiet. Dallas is alive. In Vermont, I listened to the crunch of leaves under my boots. In Dallas, I hear country music and the buzz of cars. In Vermont, I wore boots and scarves. Here, it’s cowboy boots and denim jackets. Same spirit, different style.
The other day, I tried to bring a bit of that Vermont feeling into my Texas home. I lit a maple candle, baked pumpkin bread, and played acoustic folk music. It wasn’t the same, but it helped. The smell of maple syrup instantly took me back to that cabin I rented near Stowe, where the fireplace crackled all night and I could see my breath in the morning air.
Sometimes I think about driving north again, just to chase those colors. But there’s something grounding about staying here too. Texas has its own rhythm. The people are warm, the food is bold, and the energy feels alive. Fall isn’t about the color of the trees — it’s about slowing down enough to notice the changes, wherever you are.
One thing both places share is that little sense of nostalgia that comes with fall. That quiet feeling that the year’s almost ending, and it’s time to take a breath before winter. Even if I’m sweating instead of shivering, I still feel it. I still find moments — when the sun dips low or the wind carries a hint of coolness — that make me pause and think, “Yep, it’s fall.”
If Vermont was a poem, Texas is a song. Vermont hums softly; Texas sings loud. And maybe that’s what I love about experiencing both — the reminder that beauty doesn’t look the same everywhere. Sometimes it’s a forest of red leaves; sometimes it’s a golden sunset over a dusty road.
So this year, as I sip my iced coffee instead of cider, I’ll still celebrate fall — Texas style. Maybe I’ll find a local pumpkin patch, wear my favorite denim jacket, and play some country music on the drive home.
Because no matter where I am, fall is still my favorite time of year — a season that reminds me to slow down, look around, and be thankful for the simple things.
