This is my kind of morning. After what seems like a long and unforgiving summer, this finally feels like the first day of fall. I know that the official date is not until Saturday, but I don’t care. I had 52° on my kitchen porch this morning and I wore a long-sleeved T. That makes it undeniably fall in my book.

If you want to be a nerd about it, the autumnal equinox this year will occur sometime in the wee hours of September 23rd, pretty close to 2:50am. That’s 1:50am for all my Alabamian peeps west of the Chattahoochee River who live on slow time. This is one of two times in the calendar year that daylight and dark are reasonably close to the same number of hours all around the globe. The cooler weather is just beginning for us. But for our fellow earthlings south of the equator, this is the beginning of spring.

There are untold reasons why fall is the best time of year. I know there are some of you who would disagree, but this is not really up for debate. The majority perspective on the matter, which I gathered from a series of scientific poles among close friends and dogs who agree with me, can’t be wrong. You people who prefer summer sun and sand to mountain streams and campfires are troubling to the rest of us.

A few folks prefer spring, and I can’t argue with that. Spring is a close second. I have given up hope for those who prefer winter most of all. They have alien blood running through their veins and they cheer for the Packers.

For starters, fall is the best season because summer is over. No more sweltering heat and humidity that ruins the benefits of a morning shower by 8:00am. No more gnats trying to share my peanut butter and banana sandwich. No more getting into a parked vehicle where the temperature inside is hot enough to bake biscuits.

It’s not that I don’t like summer. A good swim is invigorating. Fresh vegetables from the garden are abundant. I enjoy a nice evening walk when the lightning bugs fill the air. The boys of summer are throwing the ball around the diamond. All of this is good but by the time August gets through melting us to the pavement like a flat squirrel on a country asphalt road, I’m done with summer and ready for a change.

One of the first things that comes to mind for the fall season is the feel of a good campfire. The primitive senses in me are aroused by flame and smoke. As far back as I can remember, I have enjoyed sitting around a campfire.

I have cooked a lot of meals over a bed of hot coals. If you have a good cooking fire, a few good rocks and a makeshift metal grate and bacon sizzling in a cast iron skillet, that, my friends, is a taste of heaven. Add campfire coffee to that and the angels are singing.

Writing this makes me think about my Dutch oven. A throw-back to the years I spent in the Boy Scouts. I haven’t had mine out in years but there was a time when I would make stew for hungry teenagers. I’ve made peach cobbler in a Dutch oven. Bury it in the coals and place a shovel full of coals on top and wait. You can cook with fire anytime of year, but fall is when I think about it most.

Cooking fires are small, of course. The uninitiated will make the mistake of having too much fire. Even roasting marshmallows or hot dogs is best over a small fire. But I like big fires, too.

I was camping at Amicalola Falls with my buddies Scott and Mitch. We were teenagers. Our idea of a campfire was to see how big we could make one. We cleared out an area around the fire pit and stacked wood about waist high. Small dry kindling in the center. I’d like to tell you that we rubbed two sticks together to make fire, but I’d be lying. We used the old lighter fluid method and soaked every stick of wood until the bottle was empty. Astronauts orbiting the moon could have seen our campfire that night. Somewhere in a box I have the photos to prove it.

A good campfire is mesmerizing. There’s something about watching the flames rise and curl around the wood. The reds and blues and yellows and sometimes green colors can almost hypnotize the mind. It’s easy to get lost in thought just watching the flames dance.

On a cool night sitting around a campfire is where some of the best conversations take place. Next to the supper table, it’s my opinion that families who sit around a fire out in the backyard are more likely to talk and dream and share the stories that make memories.

I never knew my grandfather. He was known as D’daddy by my family who knew him. My dad called him Papa. Most of the stories I heard about him came when Dad and I sat around a campfire after a day of fishing at High Falls Lake. The glow and flicker of a fire against the woodland canopy overhead just seemed to evoke his memories and loosen his tongue.

When I was a kid of 10 or 12 years old, the men in our church would go to Woodland Christian Camp in Temple, Ga in the fall of the year for the annual men’s retreat. A Friday night and Saturday morning of gospel singing and preaching. The highlight for me was the campfire on Friday night. Groups of men scattered among tents and campers and cabins beneath the tall pines. Each group with a fire going.

Way into the night the men would sit in chairs circling the fire swapping stories. Most of them yarns about fishing and hunting. The men drank coffee, and the boys drank hot chocolate. Someone would throw another stick of wood on the fire. A good poke and the sparks would rise up into the darkness. One by one the men would wander off to their sleeping bags until only a diehard few were left tending the fire.

I was thinking that I was going to make a long list of reasons why fall is the best season of the year. I could have mentioned the fall colors in the mountains. I could have mentioned the sounds of a marching band on the high school field at halftime. I could have talked about clear blue skies in the daytime and the best views of the constellations at night. I could have talked about pecan pies and the beginning of holiday cookie season.

Fall is when the warmth of a good sweatshirt feels just right. Fall is when a frost covered pasture reminds me of my days feeding hay to the cows. Fall is when you can watch your breath float away on the cold morning air.

I could have said all that. But I’ll just settle for a campfire on a cool evening.

That’s reason enough.