Stone of stumbling and rock of offense (wordweaverlynn) wrote,
Stone of stumbling and rock of offense
wordweaverlynn

Final Destination

It was 15 degrees below this morning in my hometown in upstate PA. Jackson is up in the mountains between Scranton, PA, and Binghamton, NY. When the Weather Channel shows the Big Picture of precipitation in the northeast USA, there's usually a swirl of green for rain or snow east of the Great Lakes. Then, like water dripping from a leaky gutter, three little round patches of green over route 81. The northern one is over Syracuse. The middle one is over Binghamton. The southernmost is over Jackson, PA.

These weather patterns are dictated by the lakes and the contours of the land, so they're predictable. It can be sunny in New Milford, but there's a semi-permanent cloud over Jackson. It's just a cold, snowy, rainy spot in a generally chilly bit of the US. Most leaves fall by the end of October (we have spectacular autumns, more than rivalling New England). In early May the hills are still grey, with a reddish haze over the budding maples. By the end of May we have leaves on the trees -- long after the town trees, warmed by sidewalks, have theirs.

This is why I mystify and annoy my California housemates when I wander around muttering, "We're going to hell. We are ALL going to hell, and it will be so worth it." They're southerners and don't understand my deep Puritanical conviction, fostered by more than 40 Pennsylvania winters, that for at least nine months of the year, any temperature over 45 degrees is sinfully, blissfully tropical.

Today was 66 degrees and sunny. Going. To. Hell.
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