For a Hoosier prone to homesickness, September is the hardest month to live in Texas. You crave yellowing leaves and orchard apples and nights smelling of bonfires. Instead you get singed grass and sweaty clothes and swimming pools that feel like stagnant bathwater. Mums wilt in grocery store entrances. People sip pumpkin spiced lattes while sweat beads on their brows. Families go to football games in tank tops. Your Midwestern mind is troubled.
Which is why this weekend felt (oddly enough) like Christmas. Continue reading