pecan picking, and autumn in Dallas

"Conquering the world...one pecan at a time!" Dad exemplifies patient labor as he sits at our kitchen table meticulously cracking nuts, seeking the elusive "perfect halves." A long stretch of time into the work, he's gathered about 1/2 cup total. The goal is at least two cups of pecan pieces, enough to make one pecan pie.

We spent the late hours of afternoon at the pecan-tree-filled Crawford Park, walking slowly beneath yellow-leafed canopies overhead, searching for pecans camouflaged amongst the rocks on the playground and then on the dirt and in the grass beyond. A cursory glimpse of the ground would not have indicated how heavy my pecan-laden purse would be at the end of our hunt.

The church bells nearby rang out 5 p.m., reminding us that sunset was coming in less than half an hour. We were all wearing jackets to ward off the autumn chill that has recently settled over Dallas. Fall takes a while in getting this far south, but it does get here after all, bringing with it that mysterious nostalgia bound up in the odor of fallen leaves and the look of breath in cold air.

The best part about this change of seasons has been that all four of the grandparents have been able to step out of their busy schedules and to come down to Texas for a visit. We've had sweet times together.