The Almanac would record 18
degrees Fahrenheit as the sun rose this morning, and for some reason I
always find it comforting to follow the established wisdom which suggests
that in the last Ice Age the part of Kentucky where I live was free of permanent
But with all things
weather related there is politics. So I have to respect those
who wake up on a cold morning here in Kentucky comforted by the idea that
this part of Kentucky one hundred thousand years ago was bound by year
Within the framework of these
two attitudes toward the southern extent of the last Ice Age I might grasp
my own position as belonging to the environment through which life's
course has taken me. I can see that perhaps had I been raised on the
rocky shores of the Arctic Ocean, I could wake on a cold morning here in
Kentucky, recall the good old days, and I might well be comforted by the
idea that one hundred thousand years ago this place was more like home.
Then there is that oddity of home.
That peculiar relationship one develops with place. Because when on
those rare occasions I am touched by people who now live far away and with
whom I once shared time, I find myself well contented by the idea that where
I live now the weather is hotter and colder and more dramatic.
Celsius?" I'll say, "That's not cold!!" And I'll
go on to remark on colder and colder mornings until I reach points of
exaggeration that may well surprise the National Weather Service here in the
The reaction over there tends toward
those emotions summed by "Well! You guys are used to it." Or,
"You have all the right clothes." Or, "Well! I have
never even seen snow."
For reasons that probably reflect very
poorly on my character, this reaction from others frustrates me.