Best of All, We Love the Fall

"Best of all he loved the fall."

Ernest Hemingway wrote those words in 1939, in a eulogy for his friend Gene Van Guilder, and read them at the funeral in Ketchum, Idaho. In just a few lines, he painted the whole season: yellow leaves on the cottonwoods, leaves drifting on the trout streams, high blue skies over the hills, and a man who loved to shoot, ride and fish.

Us Midwesterners bask in our short-lived summers, take pride in our harsh winters and are thankful for spring. But I think we all love the fall the most. Hemingway spent most of his life outside the Midwest, but he was raised here, in Oak Park, Illinois, so who better to capture the feeling in a few short words? I connect with everything he said.

Workweek fall is rough. The short days mean you start and end in the dark. Weekend fall, on the other hand, is amazing. Wake up in the dark. Fish (or hobby of your choosing) until the sun just starts to peek. Drive home in the foggy glow only fall can put on display.

I only caught one fish this morning, but I caught a nice view on my way back. A quiet two-lane road, the low sun just clearing the pines, fog lifting off the field and drifting through the trees. A few oaks still hanging on to their last orange leaves, and above it all, nothing but high blue windless sky. Hemingway would have approved.