It’s hard to imagine a land – a life – where seasons fall as they should.
Here, Christmas Day smelled like pennies and the ground was mush.
We sloshed up to Granna’s house through gravel and clay. If the kids had been old enough, they’d have asked why Santa wasn’t stuck on the hillside.
Now, the new year has come, and suddenly everyone’s ready for summer. One day the cold is biting, the next you’re digging for flipflops and begging for a ceiling fan when the sun comes up. People breeze past smelling of tanning beds and fresh pedicures.
Every year about this time, I want to move away. Then, give me a couple of months, and I’ll never want to leave.