A few years back I was talking to a friend about the places we loved to visit when she mentioned Asheville, North Carolina. Home to the renowned Biltmore estate, hundreds of artists and quintessential farm to table, before farm to table became a thing, Southern cuisine and more hiking trails than you could ever imagine exploring. She grew up in North Carolina about 4 hours from the artsy town nestled in the Smoky Mountains and raved about how beautiful it is especially in the fall. I grew up in Rhode Island and am familiar with fall. Yet while living there, I never quite understood people’s admiration of fall foliage. Yes, it’s pretty but it signals the impending approach of winter, the dreariest, coldest part of the year. I recall wondering in the midst of winter when exactly the last time I saw sun was and couldn’t remember. The endless dreary days got to me even more than the cold and snow. I just couldn’t get on board with the celebration of fall. Now that I’ve been living in South Florida for 12 years my heart is singing a different tune.