The hottest day of summer was actually in the autumn—at the Burlington harvest festival/pumpkin pitch, actually. We were drenched in sweat, almost too hot to enjoy the spectacle of trebuchet-launched flying fruit. I think it was the last warm day we'll see 'til spring.
We're burning wood now (though barely—just a log at dinner time, to take the chill off, or perhaps two) and we've got goats and a mule who've grown in furry winter pajamas. I haven't begun to blanket Fenway, though it might be a convenience if I do. It's easier to tack up and ride a mount, after all, who hasn't the opportunity to go rolling naked in the mud.
I'm going to have an opportunity to visit Virginia on business next month, and I can't wait to see that part of the country. I've never been south of Philadelphia in the East, and I've always had a fascination with the area. I'll see the heart of horse country and some beautiful timber-framed buildings, I hope. I've been invited to go driving, while there, in a horse-drawn Meadowbrook cart. Driving—something I've been unsuccessfully working to arrange here in Whatcom County for a couple of years now. Funny, but it seems I need to cross the country to try it!
I haven't the foggiest idea what weather to expect.