I left Michigan due to her six month seasons. Six months sun. Six months snow. I have awakened the past three weeks to the smell of Michigan snow. The one odd scent missing? There is no odor of salt. Unlike Northern Michigan were salt need be laid thick like a protective blanket, the Valley uses crushed stones sparingly. The whispers of salted snow are nowhere to be found. How unique that I notice it gone.
Layered in clothes, I cannot feel the depth and breadth of warmth from my core to fingertips. My hands are perpetually cold. I find my self drawn to handwash the dishes more. I believe it is the allure of warm water and temporarily warm hands that is my reasoning.
One thing I've noted in my daily, mandatory barista chat, is that the people here rarely complain. They may say words such as "I wouldn't mind if it was warmer" or "the daily rain is good for the trees" or the drought. They phrase things positively with rarely a negative spoken. I kid you not.
Pacific Northwest is a kind and caring way of life.
But me, the recent transplant? Well, I wouldn't mind if the snow decided to stop and the Sun thought about showing herself again.
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