September means many things. Cooler weather for one. That's a relief. The return of autumn and the expectation of all that brings: brilliant hues, apple cider, pumpkin pie, hayrides, etc.

For me, and to my wife's dismay, September means stubble. Every year at this time a miracle occurs as my face ages five years in less than two weeks. The previously boyish face sprouts a permanent shadow that deepens daily.

"My heroes have always been cowboys." True enough. Although I was born eighty years too late to have experienced them firsthand, and twenty years too late to experience them on the silver screen with cap guns at my side, I've always felt they were a part of me somehow. I did manage to get my picture taken with Fred Kirby at Tweetsie Railroad when I was just a lad and spent a summer as a horse wrangler in Colorado, but never caught up with Gene or Roy before they rode off into their final sunsets.

All that to say that I suppose even my "facial" heroes have been cowboys. Whether Tom Selleck or Sam Elliott, these guys know how to grow whiskers. But, alas, my chaparral of the chin will have to vamoose come Spring. That's when the greater miracle occurs and I lose five years in less than two minutes.