Where I live

Here's the thing about where I live. It's a 70 degree, sunny June day. We are contemplating whether we should move the winter coats from the mudroom to the closet, because it is warm today, but we may need them tomorrow. Just three days ago, our cars warned us that the roads might be icy.

Here's the thing about where I live. There's a mud season that lasts about 4-6 months. All we want to do is go outside because it's been snow season for the last 4-6 months. As you know, we have a room named after this season. We worry that the kitty litter pans in the basement will float away as the water seeps in from the ground. We listen to the sounds of the sump pump as it churns water out like a fast moving train heading for the station.

Here's the thing about where I live. A 30 minute commute home becomes a 75 minute, rough ride through outer space in a snow storm. We massage our hands, which are nearly locked from gripping the steering wheel, before cursing as we get out of the car to pull the ice off of the fancy, all- weather windshield wipers that we clearly bought for nothing. We envy the neighbor who purchased a car with a heated windshield. The luxuries of The North.

Here's the thing about where I live. Halloween costumes come in layers. The princess dress and the super hero costume must be able to accommodate a down jacket or minimally, a fleece pullover. We learn to carry our crying, tired children, their bags of candy, and an umbrella while traipsing up and down the streets. Our children learn how to fumble candy into their bags and mouths while wearing mittens. We hope the rain, or hail, or snow will hold off until after the parade where the town stands behind the marching band and shuffles down Main Street to the fire house where they are serving hot chocolate or mulled cider as the sun sets at 5 pm. Two weeks later we find the missing mittens in the bag with the candy wrappers.

Here's the thing about where I live. There are days that we are driving down a back road and the sky is cobalt blue and the brilliant yellows, reds, and oranges of the trees that flank the road make us feel like we are driving in a painting, or our dreams. We stop our cars. We get out and stand on one of the many stone walls that scatter our countryside and we pull out our phones and take as many photos as our phone's memory can handle. No filter is necessary.

Here's the thing about where I live. On the first snow fall of the season, when the world is quiet and still and the flakes create a pure blanket of white on the ground, and weigh down the tree boughs, we sip hot chocolate and count the inches piling up outside of our windows, within the comfort of our homes, we feel safe and at peace. We wake up and fall asleep to the sound of the plow, which becomes as common a sound to us as the waves of the ocean.

Here's the thing about where I live. On a hot July day, we are poised on the edge of a pontoon boat that's been towing our kids in a raft around our glimmerglass lake and the water sparkles like light reflecting off a mirror. As we jump away from the boat, and catch our breath, just before the cold water engulfs our body, and we feel like a kid all over again, we think, "Ah, the weather here isn't so bad, after all."