It’s fall. And, while the markets spill over with squash, the weather is clearly calling for tomatoes. I love 87 degrees as much as anyone. In July. But come October, I’m ready to bake and build a fire and dust off my treasured collection of black turtlenecks. When you live in a northern clime, however, it is taboo to complain about unseasonable warmth. So, until the north wind doth blow, I’m cheerfully wiping the sweat from my brow, frolicking in the balmy leaf-strewn breeze. And eyeing the squash from a distance.