The Weather
For the last two weeks, the fog has descended on and off, seemingly unexpectedly, lying down near the ground, thick as snow. Stepping out into it, I always half believe the snow is deeper than it actually is--as it should be this time of year--almost expect to hear a crunch when stepping even into well-worn paths. After awhile it will begin to rise like a veil between things, as if it were trying to remind us of how little we pay attention to our own neighborhoods, how easily we would walk into a tree or a hole in the ground if we didn't have our sight. I'm looking out the window, watching it rise slowly from thick blanket to veil right now, as I type.
T sends me regular texts about the weather; maybe because she lives in a place where people aren't nearly as obsessed with it as they are here, and, being a Minnesotan at heart, she needs to have this conversation, even with someone who isn't just a gas station attendant or server at a restaurant. And it has been unseasonably warm here, and although we now have a covering of snow, there are patches of brown grass visible that look like small, murky lakes on foggy mornings.
"It is important to stay grounded in the place you are in if you want to be a writer," I told my class the other day. "It's why I want you to learn about this place, to meet its elders. It's also why I want you to pay attention to the weather, and to the way people talk about the weather here."
Later, I ran into an elderly man--in his late 80s now--who mows our lawn and refuses to quit, even though I sometimes politely try to fire him. He just showed up one day, mowed, and asked me to pay him, and for some reason I just let him keep doing it instead of getting the mower fixed. This has gone on for three years. The truth is, I kind of like to talk to him on my back porch when he knocks on the door to collect his money. But I digress.
So I ran into him, which is rare in the winter, and he said to me, "Feels like March, don't it? Looks like we'll pay for this come April, and you won't see me around 'til at least June"--meaning, of course, that my yard was unlikely to need a good mowing until at least June.
I hope he's wrong. April snowstorms are common around here, but not particularly welcomed. But Minnesotans are practical people--they know not to get too comfortable with the weather, no matter what it is. They know that nothing ever stays the same.
Last week we drove to my daughter's weekly appointment two hours away, and it was sunny, the roads completely clear. The way home was a different story altogether: thick fog and snow coming down in sheets so that I drove the last hour at 25 miles per hour, likely annoying the long line of cars behind me that couldn't see well enough to pass me but would have been going a tad bit faster if they'd been at the front of the line.
I got home and texted T: "Thick fog, snow coming down in sheets. Finally winter. But we made it home safely, thank God."
T sends me regular texts about the weather; maybe because she lives in a place where people aren't nearly as obsessed with it as they are here, and, being a Minnesotan at heart, she needs to have this conversation, even with someone who isn't just a gas station attendant or server at a restaurant. And it has been unseasonably warm here, and although we now have a covering of snow, there are patches of brown grass visible that look like small, murky lakes on foggy mornings.
"It is important to stay grounded in the place you are in if you want to be a writer," I told my class the other day. "It's why I want you to learn about this place, to meet its elders. It's also why I want you to pay attention to the weather, and to the way people talk about the weather here."
Later, I ran into an elderly man--in his late 80s now--who mows our lawn and refuses to quit, even though I sometimes politely try to fire him. He just showed up one day, mowed, and asked me to pay him, and for some reason I just let him keep doing it instead of getting the mower fixed. This has gone on for three years. The truth is, I kind of like to talk to him on my back porch when he knocks on the door to collect his money. But I digress.
So I ran into him, which is rare in the winter, and he said to me, "Feels like March, don't it? Looks like we'll pay for this come April, and you won't see me around 'til at least June"--meaning, of course, that my yard was unlikely to need a good mowing until at least June.
I hope he's wrong. April snowstorms are common around here, but not particularly welcomed. But Minnesotans are practical people--they know not to get too comfortable with the weather, no matter what it is. They know that nothing ever stays the same.
Last week we drove to my daughter's weekly appointment two hours away, and it was sunny, the roads completely clear. The way home was a different story altogether: thick fog and snow coming down in sheets so that I drove the last hour at 25 miles per hour, likely annoying the long line of cars behind me that couldn't see well enough to pass me but would have been going a tad bit faster if they'd been at the front of the line.
I got home and texted T: "Thick fog, snow coming down in sheets. Finally winter. But we made it home safely, thank God."
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