Field Note: At the Turn

There is always a point when you know.

Not because the calendar says autumn has arrived. And not because the whole landscape has suddenly changed color.

It's smaller than that.

A colder morning. The grasses beginning to gold. A different slant to the afternoon light. The first few leaves changing along a creek or against a fence line.

And a little red where there wasn't red before.

September in Wyoming can still feel very much like summer in the afternoon. But around the edges, something else has begun.

I think that's why I've been drawn to Crabapple.

It isn't a bright autumn red. It's quieter than that—a muted red with the faintest dusty-pink cast beneath it. Beside weathered wood, old leather, wool, sagebrush and grasses beginning to turn, it feels less like a declaration of autumn and more like one of its first signs.

Crabapple belongs to Laramie, our 2-ply worsted weight merino wool made in Wyoming. It has a gentle loft and enough structure to let the stitches hold their shape—the sort of wool that makes me think about sweaters and sturdy hats and mittens tucked into coat pockets.

Maybe not today.

But soon.

There is always a point when you know.

The season has turned.

Crow Note

Some changes arrive all at once.

The good ones usually don't.