This Means Home

As the sun lingers lower in the sky and the evenings stretch into a softer hush, something quietly shifts in the rhythm of our days. The garden is still buzzing with life, the air still warm—but there’s a new note in the breeze. A crispness. A whisper of fall.

We picked apples this week. Not quite the firm tartness of October’s harvest, but early ones—smaller, sun-warmed, slightly sweet. My little ones gathered them in their shirts, giggling as they balanced more than their arms could hold.

At home, I sliced them thin and folded them into a rustic crisp: nothing fancy, just apples, cinnamon, a touch of brown sugar, and an oatmeal brown sugar topping. We also made our first batch of applesauce. The kitchen filled with the scent of comfort. That soft, spiced warmth that feels like a welcome back to baking after a summer of cold salads and grilled suppers.

These late summer days are my favorite. The sun still high enough to warm your shoulders, but with hints of what’s to come—a slower pace, a cozier kitchen, a return to rhythms that feel familiar and grounding.

Most evenings, I find myself sitting on the front porch with a glass of wine listening to a record, simply watching. The little girls run barefoot through the grass, chasing one another in a swirl of giggles and golden light. It’s ordinary and perfect—one of those quiet moments that feels like it’ll last forever and not long enough all at once.

I always find this in-between season to be the most tender. Not yet fall, no longer high summer. Just a golden pause before we turn the page.

Maybe it’s in the apples. Maybe it’s in the act of baking something simple, just for the joy of it. Or maybe it’s the way my children run barefoot through the grass one more time, knowing soon we’ll be trading swimsuits and sprinklers for sweaters.

So here’s to the first bakes of the season. To peeling apples with tiny hands beside you. To recipes passed down and made new again. And to the way one warm bite can anchor you right here—in the beautiful, fleeting now.

Tell me—what’s the first thing you bake when summer begins to fade?