I’m making Sunday sauce on the stove and while it simmers, I’m puttering in the basement trying to find ten more things to donate to clear ourselves of clutter. It’s actually chilly today, on this holiday morning in September, and my nesting instinct has kicked in, just as it has every fall since I’ve been a mother.

I’ve come to see our primordial instincts as wonderful, beautiful things. They push us toward good action—canning peaches, knitting sweaters, preparing a baby’s room, or as in fight or flight, running from danger. It’s the closest things we humans have to an instruction manual.

Most people I know love the beginning of fall, when suddenly we’re looking for cozy and warm, and quiet. We put summer to bed, and often without too much wistfulness. I wonder if summer is too much of a good thing for northern humans. There’s such a mad rush to soak it all in, to ride every boat, skip every stone, catch every ray. Fall is like a good night’s sleep after a busy day.

It’s always been amazing to me when September rolls around in Western New York how quickly Mother Nature yells, “Party is over!” Then there’s the mad dash to hide the evidence, as if we’re cleaning up after a wild, forbidden party. I folded and stored the beach towels in the closet on September 1st, and made a list of things that need to be transported to storage–the porch furniture, cushions, my Fourth Of July box, filled with red, white, and blue things. I’m ready for crisp autumn nights. Tonight it’s supposed to dip down to 45 degrees. I’ll fight with myself before I go to bed about turning the heat on.

Thankfully, the older I get, the less melancholy I am about fall arriving. The empty nest drama in my head has eased greatly these past few years. My kids are fully entrenched in their adult lives and I’m fully entrenched in my Ugg blanket. I listen to their dizzying tales of family life—of 5:30 am hockey practices and shopping for school clothes and I’m just watching the paint dry and I’m okay.

In fact, fall feels a little like aging. You reach a quieter, more subdued season in your life and finally, a time of year arrives that feels more like you: It’s the “Would ya’ll just slow down?” season.

One of our kids accused us of hanging around the house too much. What should we be doing, I wondered? Should we be surf boarding? Traipsing around Italy? Camping at Yosemite? Building a guest house in the backyard?

I see the fall season in my life boiled down to one action: nourish. It’s not too different of an action verb than it was when I was a young mother, but now I do it differently. I cook the meals for two now and am careful to fill us with good food so we might live longer. I nourish our children by sending cards, calling and visiting and reminding them of the values our family holds dear. I nourish our old dog with love and boiled chicken to thank him for living so long. I nourish our home by caring for our flowers and all its old corners and nooks and crannies. I’m taking care of my soul, polishing my leather boots for the months ahead, and going through old cards and letters. Fall meditations and instructions for people over 55: declutter, put away, nourish, eat spaghetti.

Did you know in the fall, we tend to crave heartier, comfort foods that are higher in calories and fat? This is all part of nature’s plan to help you build your immune system and get you ready for winter. And, just as animals prepare for winter by storing fat reserves, humans have seasonal changes in appetite as well. One theory is that this increased appetite is nature’s way of preparing us for periods of fasting that might occur during winter when food is scarce.

My grandmother had an actual fruit cellar in her basement on Winsor Street that kept things cold. I love how her house seemed to naturally embrace life from “the old days.” Human instincts for preparation and survival aren’t spoken about much in our modern world and our houses are no longer outfitted with reminders of who we are on a biological level. When was the last time you saw a fruit cellar? But if you’re in from the cold today and you’re baking a pan of brownies, well, there you go. Welcome to the human race.