Dec 19, 2005 10:22
Home again.
Let it never be said that Pennsylvania is like New England; it isn't. The grey snow, the hills bristling with leafless trees. Our wood that my father cut from our trees in April and cured over the summer, stacked outside the door and along the side of the house. SE PA may be magnificent in springtime, but home is home.
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The months are all off in Philadelphia, as though the city hadn't checked its calendar. October didn't kick in until almost November, and November barely began before my calendar said December. It stabilizes for a little in winter (although some years November just lingers for months until suddenly it's March) and then spring arrives really a bit too early (although, as said before, beautifully).
I don't think I'd want to live farther south than Philadelphia.
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I think what always surprises me is that, when the year winds down and the "r's" return to the months, I always feel plunged into the season when I go home for the weekend. Three and a half hours on the train and suddenly it's Fall - or, in this case, Christmastime (certainly its own season; less bleak than January will be, more hopeful. ["Always winter - and never Christmas!" makes sense to me.]).
I think I would wilt south of Philly. My mother - who grew up in Boston - lived in Florida for a number of years, where she met and married my Nebraska-native father and where I was born. It has only ben recently that I have come to understand and appreciate the intense longing that led her to bring her husband and daughter back to New England at the earliest possible opportunity.
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