That's some great pumpkin ravioli, Charlie Brown!

[I've been uploading photos like crazy. Photos of NoHo are here; photos of Amherst are here; and photos from around New England are here.]

By any objective criteria, autumn is the best time of year, October is the best part of autumn, and New England is the best place to be in October (specifically rural New England, specifically when the sun is shining and the air is crisp). This is so patently obvious that I don't feel like I need to explain the reasons this is so. Even people who have never been to New England in autumn - even people who have never been to New England period - even people who have never heard of New England and live in places like Burkina Faso or Sri Lanka - know this is so. But, because we live in a society in which we expect our cultural products, including blogs, to perform the vital and primary function of telling us things we already know, allow me this quick indulgence.

Autumn in New England is perfect for essentially three reasons. 1) The colors of the trees. Even someone with no interest in nature - indeed, even someone who is actively hostile to nature, who spends her time burning down forests, stomping on helpless woodland creatures, and lobbying for the oil industry - will concede that the brilliant reds, oranges, yellows, and (yes) greens of a New England hillside forest in autumn can be among the most stunning sights on this or any other planet. 2) The air. Together with the changing and then falling leaves, a crisp sunny day is simultaneously a stirring affirmation of the essential wonderfulness of life and a melancholy reminder of the onrush of winter. 3) The food. Sure, you can find apple cider and pumpkin pie all over the country (even, perhaps, in Burkina Faso and Sri Lanka), but it's the freshness, the variety, and - more than anything - what's done with autumnal foods in New England that makes this place unmatchable.

As an example of 3), I refer you to the humble pumpkin. Pumpkin patches are, as you will perhaps have inferred from my earlier post about the bike path, ubiquitous in the Happy Valley, and farm stands selling pumpkins are as common out here as bumper stickers denouncing the Bush Administration. Front stoops all over town are awash in pumpkins. Children ride giant pumpkins to school, clad in knitted sweaters and corduroys made entirely from pumpkin silk. I have to fight my way through several yards of pumpkins just to get from my living room to the bathroom. Sometimes it rains pumpkins.

We have, in short, a surfeit of pumpkins.

In the past month (and this is no lie), I have had the following: pumpkin pie, pumpkin bread, pumpkin muffins, pumpkin donuts, pumpkin ice cream, pumpkin cheesecake ice cream, pumpkin pancakes, pumpkin beer, fettuccine with pumpkin sauce, and pumpkin ravioli. And I'm not done yet - yesterday I saw a recipe for pumpkin pecan waffles, which I am determined to try shortly. Where else but in New England can one find such a variety of (universally tasty) foods made with a vegetable as otherwise obscure as the pumpkin? Burkina Faso? Nope. Sri Lanka? Try again.

And this is just one example. There's also the wonderful variety of squashes (and dishes made from squashes) available right now, from the ugly-duckling buttercup to the prima-donna butternut. There's actually a restaurant on Route 9 called Butternuts, which I'm dying to try, if only because I think "butternuts" sounds like some particularly naughty pet name that two lovers might share.

And then, of course, there are apples and apple-picking, mulled cider, apple pie, and all the rest of it. A truly democratic fruit, the apple, accessible to all without the need of any special knowledge or tools. Just pick it and bite into it - hell, share it with someone next to you. The apple is nature's friendship bracelet: available in dozens of colors and varieties, yet still managing to bring people together.

But as I say, everyone around the world knows all this already.