Glimpses of autumn

I spent a few days at the farm earlier this month, before the trees had changed their clothes. But one tree, down by the Sawmill Creek, was a vivid exception.

On the drive back to Wichita, I decided to take a photo of an old grainery along U.S. 50 near Sylvia. Its timelessness, shrouded in autumn's leaves, has always tugged at me.

Dustin' off the ol' fedora

Mark it down.

October 27.

The first day of fall that I wore a fedora.

I think that's the latest I've ever gone in a calendar year before I donned the dapper dome decoration. I guess that speaks volumes about how warm it's been in Wichita and much of Kansas this fall.

I've become known for my hats...not because they're outlandish, but that I wear them at all. If I'm not wearing a hat, folks around Wichita ask me "Where's your hat?"

I never meant for it to become my signature (or, at least, one of them). I simply wanted to keep my head warm (and dry) with something that had a little style.

But now my head feels almost naked without some sort of haberdashery aboard. I've probably funded half of Hatman Jack Kellogg's retirement villa outside Vienna (if he has one).

No wonder he smiles whenever he sees me walk through the door of his shop in Delano. I've filled two hat racks at home, between fedoras, straw hats and lids I wear for hiking or doing chores.

I'm told I take after Grandpa Pechanec in that regard. No wonder Mom gets such a big smile on her face whenever she sees me decked out in a fedora.

Must be in the blood.