Fall Town is a place where the temperature never climbs above 70. The old couple who owns the cheese shop on the corner beckon you to come inside for a tasting as you stroll by, and the dreamy light of the wine shop makes it impossible not to venture in for a bottle of Petit Chapeau. Everyone in Fall Town is content, but not exuberant, and the leaves are dancing and the twinkle lights brighten the trees that line the sidewalk.

See, New York in the fall - particularly Brooklyn in the fall - is fantastical and enchanting. Park Slope, Brooklyn on a crisp autumn day rejuvenates the soul quicker than just about anything - especially while wandering down Berkeley Pl. with a steaming cup o' joe. Out of any other place on our planet Earth, it most resembles this place called Fall Town.

Fall Town has always been a figment of my imagination, but a place that I finally found when I moved to New York. Hats and I got to experience the closest thing to this fantastical utopia simply by trompin' around the streets of Brooklyn on October afternoons. There was a fear that we would lose this magic when we moved from New York to Texas.

So we both got to Texas right when New York cooled down and Texas was at its hottest.

"The only thing that could make me happier is if it were fall right now." Hats said right after she quit her job in favor of a better one. The next morning, we awoke to temperatures below 55 and rain bouncing off our tin roof. After weeks of heat and sweat and turning down the AC as low as possible, we had our coveted "fall."

But fall didn't last long, and temperatures spiked back up again much to our dismay. The trees remained green and the leaves stayed stubbornly attached to their branches. Our taste of fall was fleeting and we started to miss New York, spending our spare time scouring plane tickets.

But instead of flying 1600 miles, we drove 160 and headed to Lost Maples State Park (the name making us think that someone must have had the same sentiments at some point).

It did not disappoint.

The day began with a familiar Saturday visit to Summermoon to pick up a latte for the road.

Along the way we made an unplanned stop at Hye Market whose mantra: "The more things change, the more they stay the same" was found to be true and refreshing and reflective of the small town we dream of.

The Hye Market (which is a diner + post office + tasting room + soon to be brewery) offered us a place to slow down and enjoy what might have been left in the past. We tasted wine and bought a bottle. We tasted hard cider and bought a cup mulled. We saw a checker board and sat down to play--only after taking in the day a little on the rocking chars that sat on the porch overlooking Highway 290.

We arrived at the park after a foggy drive through hills and cattle ranches and were overwhelmed with the colors that painted our Fall Town. The orange leaves and crisp air brought back that sense of enchantment and wonder and all of the goodness that floats around when the world's turned gold and the sky's been muted.

Golden fields.

Quiet creeks.

And lost maples.

We went in search of fall and we found it - and when we got back to Austin, it seemed that all the leaves were a little more red and a little more orange. It's true that much like hygge, little pieces of Fall Town can be found everywhere if you look hard enough.

We went went to Easy Tiger on 6th street the next morning for 2 lattes, 1 danish & 1 baguette and a slow and reflective Sunday.

It did not disappoint.

And just one more thing-- many moons ago, while walking in Park Slope, we popped into the Community Bookstore and found a coffee table book entitled, Schottenfreude: German Words for the Human Condition. We flipped through and found our favorite: herbstlaubtrittvergnugen--which means:

the enjoyable sensation of kicking the autumn leaves.

We clearly love words that can encapsulate a human condition and an entire country's psyche. But more than that we love that these words can be found everywhere and in every place.

“No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face."

About three months ago we moved from an apartment on Wall Street to a 125 square foot “tiny house” made of old fence posts and pieces of 1930s Sears Catalogue model homes built in someone’s backyard in South Austin--along with a Doberman named Demitri, and two cats named Little Cat and Pawnee.

And though it was hard to leave, one thing we learned from New York City and more aptly, from Ernest Hemingway, is that feasts are moveable and what we loved and learned from New York City can be moved as far as we do.

Fortunately, there is a word for this moveable feast and it doesn’t originate from New York City or Paris--but Denmark.

hyggelig or hygge

It has no true English equivalent but is too often inadequately translated as "coziness."

Ah, but this is far too simplistic of a word that describes the psyche of an entire country.

Coziness often relates to physical surroundings. A blanket can be cozy; a warm bed can be cozy—whereas hygge has more to do with people's behavior towards each other. It is the art of creating intimacy. This could mean hot cocoa next to a fireplace to one person. Or it could mean watching a Twilight Zone marathon while drinking hard cider with good friends to another. So, many describe hygge as “cozyful." As if hygge is the very embodiment of the warm fuzzies one gets from things--simple things like candles and friends and beer and fire and sugar coated pastries. But that’s not quite it either.

There's more to it than that.

There are three great things about hygge:

1) Hygge can be found everywhere.

Whether it's pedaling Schwinns in Brooklyn.

Or electric bikes in East Austin.

Whether it's a latte at Cafe du Nord in Park Slope.

Or a hard cider at Radio on Manchaca.

It could be brunch in Greenwich.

Or brunch on South Congress.

Maybe it's a trip to the MoMA.

Or to The Dallas Museum of Art.

It could be eating Adrienne's in downtown Manhattan.

Or Homeslice in ATX.

It could be Hats talking to swans in Prospect Park.

Or just Little Cat in the backyard.

2) Hygge is relative.

Our hygge may not be your hygge. Hygge is whatever makes your heart swell. What you'll see here is our hygge--coffee, books, bike rides, wine, candles, Twilight Zone, 20s/30s jazz on the record player, roadtrippin', twinkly white Christmas lights, brunch, and the like. For you it may be something completely different.

3) Hygge is enough.

Hygge is kind of like minimalism. But it's more than that in that it's not an "ism". It is having just enough to make you feel good. Certainly, hygge can be found in the little things, but hygge is more than the things that surround you. It's the people that surround you. The places that surround you. The sentiments that surround you.

And so this is two friends' hygge journey--livin' in a tiny house, drinking coffee out of a gun mug and an Airport Diner mug, listening to Gershwin on vinyl and having one heck of a time doing it. We meant to start this whole thing while living in ole New York Town, but as you can see--we did not.

We have a lot of catching up to do and a lot to share.

Herbstlaubtrittvergnugen: The Enjoyable Sensation of Kicking Through Piles of Autumn Leaves.

A Short Introduction to the Intricacies of Hygge and Tiny House Livin'

hyggelig or hygge

1) Hygge can be found everywhere.

2) Hygge is relative.

3) Hygge is enough.