I got back from Winfield, Kansas and the Walnut Valley Festival yesterday.
It was touch and go whether I would even be able to attend. My brother had to bail out, and with my eye all wonky, there was no guarantee I would be able to drive. Eventually, I talked Terry into going with me.
Terry has been there once before, and doesn't really like it - too loud and too crowded for his taste. I assured him that our current campsite was relatively quiet and off the beaten path. He spent most of his time hanging out at camp, and by Saturday afternoon confessed that he had achieved stresslessness.
My brother always says, "When I go to Winfield, it's summer, and when I come home, it's autumn." That was true this year, and I even know the exact moment the change happened.
It had been in the 90s all weekend, but on Saturday we heard rumors that a cold front was on the way. Sunday morning at 3:00 AM, a huge gust of wind roared in from the north. Within 10 minutes, I heard the first drops of rain. Once we had secured the windows, I went back to sleep to the sound of rain on the tent.
We awoke on Sunday to cool breezes and mud. Our mates are prepared for any situation, though, and we were able to get out of the muck with no trouble.
Back home, it is still cool, and in the last 23 hours, I have already seen signs of the leaves turning.