Indian Summer?

Yesterday, my wife pointed out that it was a lovely Indian Summer day (or, in Czech, babí léto, which would literally translate as Grandmother’s summer, but it’s the same concept.
We were at the cottage, in the lovely foothills of the Krkonoše mountains, for the potato harvest. For some reason, perhaps my perverse nature, I decided to be pedantic and disagreed with her. “No,” I said, “It’s just still summer. For it to be Indian Summer, there would have had to have been an intermittent bit of Autumn in between. We had three or four rainy days.”
I’d been both looking forward to and dreading potato day. On the one hand, I remember last year and the year before, and it can be seriously hard work. As I have become such a serious couch potato recently, I was a bit worried that I would flag quicker than the rest, maybe not pull my weight, and that would be awkward. On the other hand, due to having been such a couch potato recently, this was a golden opportunity to be outdoors, get a bit of healthy exercise, stretch out a bit.
Well, they had it very efficiently organized this year and lots of the neighbors were by to help and it took very little time at all, we weren’t working for more than an hour or two. Then we noticed a patch of squash growing at the edge of the potato field, by the fence, I’m not even sure if that was deliberate, of just the kind of spilled seed thing that grows up by fences, but a couple were nice and big so we took one home. That’s more an Indian Summer thing.
Back at the cottage, and I’d noticed one apple tree that hadn’t been picked although it was at peak, so I picked a couple of baskets of apples – one for us to take home, the other for her sister to take home – and that’s maybe more a late summer thing.
Semantics. We’re in late September. The skies are blue, the temperature moderate, and this is the best of all possible universes.