"Going Native" Requires Mittens

My gypsy upbringing never truly afforded me an opportunity to become a "native" to any geographical location - at least, not that I was able to acknowledge in my youth. When I made the choice to leave the nest, I hustled west. I landed in the Seattle WA area and stayed for eight years. Eight years is still the longest time that I have spent in one place consecutively.

I still feel a deep connection with the Pacific Northwest, and regard it as one of the most beautiful places that I have ever had the fortune to live. Did I become a native? The answer, I believe, lies within my developed tolerance and acceptance of the weather.

Does it rain in Seattle? Yes, although I try sometimes to describe to others that it is not so much the rain as it is the oppressive gray that seems to bear down on the citizens of the Emerald City with unrelenting patience. "Love me or leave me", it seems to say, and lies in wait for the weak to pack their bags or commit suicide (see blog entry at old site from March of '04: http://www.livejournal.com/users/thizizjenn/2004/03/09/).

I adapted, and my connection to that corner of the country remains fully in tune.

I believe that at this point - after two years of having lived here - that I am on the verge of becoming a native of Minnesota. My departure from Seattle now six years behind me, I have been confronted again with a make or break weather issue.

It is important to describe the behaviorial modification that has led me to believe that I am approaching native status: I am overjoyed at the prospect that Saturday will bring a whole entire 31 degrees farenheit to our region. 31 degrees! Balmy! I already have plans to do things outside due to this tropical heat wave.

Let me take it one step further: I can now feel the difference between 2 degrees and 15 degrees, and actually (gulp) appreciate 15 degrees. Naturally both static temps are affected by Minnesota's prevailing wind issue. At 15, you could still be forced to bear a gust in your face that may range around 10 below. At 2, the same thing could happen - or it could be worse - OR - it could just be 2 degrees. It all depends on the breeze - nay - veritable SQUALL that may occur.

When the wind has calmed to minimal and it is simply a matter of the difference between 2 and 15, walking a few city blocks does not seem at all daunting when confronted with 15 degrees. Getting further down into the single digits edges me into the skyway* with the rest of the downtown masses.

(*skyway: structure of walkways that connect buildings in downtown Minneapolis; think "human habitrail")

My point is this: who actually thinks 15 degrees is bearable? What part of my genetic make-up has allowed me to adjust to this insanely cold climate? Next stop, Antarctica?? I mean, come ON!

And by the way, the word "cold" does not encompass the truth. "Cold" is too short. It is somehow lacking. Try "unbearably bitterly" cold. Try "frigid to the point of insanity". Try "insulting wind that bitch slaps you across the face" while waiting for a bus. And I DON'T MIND.

Well, I mind more when it is below fifteen, but I digress.

Only a native would find this little slice of subzero enchanting. There are reasons why. The sky, in its infinite blue refraction of water in this land of 10,000 frozen lakes, is special to Minnesota. The snow lends a hush to the outside world that cannot be duplicated by any other weather system. The promise of green in the spring keeps my heart warm, even when my head is forced down from the impact of the surly biting wind.

It is all here. And here, I am home.