I spent the weekend in Massachusetts and it was one of those perfect late summer/early fall weekends where the leaves are just starting to turn and there’s a breeze in the air, but it’s still warm and sunny.

I got to have a long lunch with an old friend who was my roommate when I lived in Boston about a billion years ago. Walking down Newbury Street and into the Common with her felt oddly like time traveling. She’s the best kind of friend—one for whom the years just fall away as soon as you sit down across from them.

The rest of the weekend was spent getting in as many chubby thigh squeezes as possible with my sweet nephew, Patton. I know I’m biased, but I seriously think he’s just wonderful. He’s all giggles and wonder and play—with just a tad middle-of-the-night screaming charm tossed in.

We went to a dairy farm and its cheese shop, bought still-warm apple cider donuts at an orchard, and went for a late afternoon hike in the woods. Which all seems like exactly what you’re supposed to do on a New England fall weekend.