An English In Kentucky



















September 22nd 2009

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    Sometimes we wonder what it might be like to live in Arizona.  But the wettest parts of Arizona boast 'more than 16 inches' of rain a year, and the driest parts of Arizona think in terms of 8 inches of rain a year.  Here, were we live in Kentucky, we think in terms of 50 inches of rain a year.  And it is this lack of rain in Arizona that discourages a voyage of imagination, even when our hills are blooming mushrooms and the air is yellow with dust from Golden Rod, and there is a green slime growing up the driveway.

    Nor are we the only souls confused by the state of flux September appears to have brought with it this year.  The community of Woolly Bear has discovered no rhyme and no reason to their collective.  I have seen all black Woolly Bear and I have seen all brown Woolly Bear.  I have sensed that ancient antipathy to changing season with its associated search for a sign of certainty.  Woolly Bears probably have too, and perhaps at this juncture ancestors of ours began to consider those sort of sacrifices that are listed now as incomprehensible.




     Better we follow the accustomed patterns, rather than venture into the realm of blood offerings to Arctic gods or other such follies.  Better to eat the odd dozen chocolate chip cookies than to plot the mileage from here to the deserts of Arizona where the January mean is 48 degrees, under a sun that is hot enough to heat water.  And far better to enter the race a cucumber bloom is now having here with the frost date, than to wander into the possibilities of future places where cucumbers might grow all through the year.

    Yes indeed, much, much better to think about socks and overcoats and vests than to do something truly foolish like wake up on February the 4th and drive to Grasshopper, Arizona.

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tim candler

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