I moved to the Northeast from the Pacific Northwest, hailing first from rainy Eugene, and later the desert of Yakima. I remember when I first arrived nearly everyone I met, upon hearing where I came from, said, “Oh dear, do you think you’ll be able to handle the winters?” First, who says no to that. “Why no, I actually think it will be more than I can handle and I’ll have to turn tail and head for warmer parts.” No, no, no, not my style. So I’d shrug and say, “Should be fun to find out.”
As luck would have it my first few winters were nothing to write home about and I was able to set my chin in its stubborn jut and think silent, smug thoughts. The fiercest weather hit ironically while I was on a trip out west. Friends shoveled the roof of our soft top Wrangler and plowed the driveway and sidewalk of the house we rented. Since then we have had our share of winter storms and sub zero temperatures, but I’ve never felt it was too much. It doesn’t hurt that we fortuitously landed ourselves in a house surrounded by men desperate to use their snowblowers as often as they can. Unfortunately my weathering the Adirondack winters does not mean I am without complaints and “Oh my god how will I ever make it through this?” moments.
I am ready to say here and now, the thing that sends me to the very edge of living here, to a near breaking point is…
The g*d d*mn May to September humidity.
I had no idea that such insufferable steaminess existed outside of Grisham novels. If I felt that I looked at all like Ashley Judd in A Time to Kill I’d keep my trap shut, but I don’t, I look more like an ear of corn that’s been pried open at the store and discarded- frizzy, slightly dirty and completely undesirable. 2 feet of snow in the space of an afternoon has nothing on sweat dripping down my skin and my hair drying in a kinky helmet before I’ve even shucked the towel from my body.
It is at these times that I am grateful for three things, first, that I have tiny connected ear lobes, for I know if they were larger and detached, they would stick to my neck and make an awful sound as they slowly pulled from my gummy neck, second and third, my girls and the distraction the responsibility for their care and comfort provides.
Recently we discovered the power of the popsicle pop. It is our salvation, that and AC at bedtime. The best part? They’re willing to eat the banana popsicles that are about as unappetizing to me as the skin-like film that gathers on genuine hot cocoa that’s been sitting for too long.