We spent a quiet morning in the fields.  The aroma of wood-smoke and warm cider hung heavy in the air.  The soil was damp from the nighttime frost, so we wore our boots and walked carefully over the tangled vines that hugged tight to the earth. Pumpkins, sweet gourds, and butternut squash dotted the field in varying shades of sienna and burnt-umber.  One squash was so plump I had to carefully scoop it up and carry it on my hip like a baby; others were quite heavier and so we carted them about in rickety barrows. My heart belongs to this season.  The aromas, the colors, the change.  We pluck…