I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and it’ll be 85° outside, nearly 90°+ in the car, even though it’s November. I remember walking down the street 10 days before Christmas in Austin, wearing a sweater even though I didn’t really need it, just wishing it would get colder.

Here in Portland, it’s shifted so drastically from autumn to winter that it still feels silly putting on the big heavy coat - until I get outside and feel the sharp sting of the wind against my face. The leaves on the trees outside our third floor window have transformed from green to gone within 4 weeks, but it feels like 5 minutes.

The snow gods appear to be blessing the local mountains with a great season - after everything I’ve heard about last season (which was supposedly awful), I’m just hoping that we have enough fun so the girl will love snowboarding (and snow in general) as much as I do. She hasn’t seen more than an inch on the ground in her life, and yet here we are discussing where to buy snow chains from. It’s all a bit surreal, but I think we’ve found a city where we really feel at home.