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My last evening in San Antonio, the temperature dropped to the fifties. Winter raindrops dotted my hair. I wrapped my mid-weight coat tighter as I huddled at the bus stop, impatient for the warm, dry hotel.
My fourth day home in Wisconsin, the temperature rose into the fifties. I waded through snowmelt along the paved trail by Pheasant Branch, exchanging smiles with men pushing strollers and women walking dogs, drawn outside by the promise of spring. Winter is peak writing season, free of the temptation to garden or roam forest paths. But winter is as much about expectations as about calendar or thermometer. Context is everything.
4 Comments
Lisa
3/2/2020 08:36:10 am
I was always amazed, and mildly annoyed, when I had an office job and some of the co-workers froze in the winter if it got down below 72 and roasted in the summer if it was above 67 in our office. And humidity was not a factor. 3/2/2020 02:28:38 pm
Lisa, I've had some of the same reaction. Both heating and air conditioning kept at stronger temperatures than need be, by people who think when it's hot out everyone wants to shiver, and when it's cold out everybody wants to sweat. 3/2/2020 09:15:41 pm
Rebecca, having grown up farther south (West Virginia), I'm still startled to see Wisconsinites in short-sleeved T-shirts and shorts whenever the temperature is above fifty. One of my favorite Wisconsin memories is of a March day a few years back when I drove out to Fish Lake in the northwestern part of the county and saw - just a few miles and minutes apart - a man walking on the ice in the middle of the lake and a woman driving her convertible with the top down. Leave a Reply. |
AuthorI'm a historian who writes novels and literary nonfiction. My home base is Madison, Wisconsin.
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