Climate Metaphors

It was a lovely spring day in April, with temps in the chilly 40s dipping to the freezing 20s overnight.  Gale force winds were blowing sheets of snow horizontally across the green landscape.  I had been planning to direct-sow more seeds out in the raised beds, but screw that.  The power kept flickering off and on all evening.  Maybe Mother Nature woke up and realized she had missed her April Fools’ cue, and got busy fixing that.  We awoke to snow-covered roofs and white-tipped grass.

My Ohio friend assures me that their weather is unique for its schizophrenic behavior, but I’ve lived in many states that share that claim to fame, especially in these days of climate change.  The thing that’s special about Ohio is that you often get sudden tornadoes featured in the mix, a uniqueness I could do without.  I’ll never get used to staring nervously at dark, ominous skies, waiting to be exported to Kansas or Oz, or some even more hellish place.

Well, that’s your weather report.  It doesn’t take a Weatherman etc…  I find it somehow significant that our “way station” coincidentally turns out to be in the same weather and climate band that seems to affect our future homeland of E. Tennessee.  The planting zones are slightly different, although our frost-free date is one month earlier than in the northeast and mid-Atlantic, so oddly a lot more like the south.

(They have the same rednecks and religious bigots here, too; I call it “the South of the North”,  but that’s a whole ‘nuther story, y’all.)  It’s a completely different world than the one I’m used to, in every way.  Yet it turns out to be like a transitional hardening-off place, to better acclimate to our eventual destination, both literally and metaphorically.  Who knew.  Couldn’t have planned it better if I tried.

Speaking of weather is a good indication I have nothing more scintillating to talk about.  But rest assured I will remedy that.  Most of the time I have a bad case of writer’s block, but invariably something jumps out at me, and I’m off again!  I’m finding, like any new habit, once you’re over the initial hurdles and laziness, resistance is futile [RIF]. You will be Assimilated.  It’s almost like a new drug, only more productive, or at least harmless.  You may find it boring as hell, but it keeps me occupied and less obnoxious, trust me.




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