Do I talk about the weather a lot on this blog? I should. I’m from Nebraska. Everybody jokes about weather being one of the most basic and most dull of topics, but in Nebraska, it provides neverending fodder for conversation. You don’t know what’s going to happen next, you can’t account for what just happened, and whatever is happening right now, in an hour, odds are something completely different will be happening. I don’t want to be critical of Nebraska, but the weather has to be one of the most exciting things going on there at any given time.
I have heard the saying “if you don’t like the weather in [location X], just wait 15 minutes” in more than one geographic location, but only in Nebraska is it true. In Maine, if you wake up any time in January, it will be cold. There will be some amount of white slop on the ground, and more will soon be coming. In 15 minutes this will still be the case; and this state of affairs will continue, moderating by degrees so infinitesimal as to be undetectable by unaided human senses, until July, when it will be slightly less cold; assuming you are dressed warmly enough and don’t allow any part of your body to come in contact with the ocean.
In Michigan there is a bit more variation. In January, it is cold and white slop is either there, has just disappeared, or is just about to appear; in July it’s either warm and pleasant or hot and sticky.
If you wake up in January in Nebraska, however, it could be cold, with a substantially negative-degree windchill. There could be white slop, swirling on the wind like the dead spirits of winters past, falling with vertical efficiency out of the sky, or slamming the earth with howling blizzard winds; or the ground could be sere and brown. On the other hand, it could be 70 above, with mild sunshine and bulbs peeking up out of the garden. Or, it could be anywhere in between. In July…it will in all likelihood be in the high 90s, but it could be 107, 80 degrees with 95% humidity, or in the 60s and raining. And no matter what it’s like right now, it could and probably will change at any moment. One miserably hot day in summer it was in the 90s with a corresponding humidity. Suddenly, a storm came up, dumped a bunch of hail on us, and 20 minutes later the storm was gone, leaving it 25 degrees cooler and 50 percentage points less humid than before.
Garrison Keillor says that Midwestern weather teaches Midwesterners that life is hard, and that this world is not our home. That might be, but it also gives us a sense of accomplishment: I have suffered through many summers with no air conditioning, and pulled Safety Patrol on many subzero mornings in my life. I am tough. And on those rare, unpredictable days when the weather turns out beautiful; you feel joyful, invincible, like you have been given a rare and precious gift—a prize, actually, for having made it through all that crumminess. It scarcely matters what happens that day; you sail through in an unbreakable good mood. Though I see the advantages that more temperate climes hold, I doubt you feel that way when you wake up to Consecutive Nice Day #763.
Like our wedding day: It was May 31. It was beautiful! It was in the 70s and sunny. The day before was 95 and meltingly hot. I warned everyone: it could be anything from a scorching 100 to a rainy 52 degrees on May 31 in eastern Nebraska. But the day was beautiful. If you score a day like that for your wedding day in Nebraska, it is difficult to imagine anything going wrong in your future marriage—you feel there is nothing you won’t be able to handle. So far, so good.
Here in Michigan, the winters are just too long for me. They tend to be dreary and damply cold, rather than crisp, white, and sparkling. In spring there are too many false promises followed by more damp dreariness. If winter lasted two months, I said to my husband today, they would be wonderful. And that’s about how long they last in Nebraska; of course the two months of winter are spread across 8 months of the year: I have known it to snow in both September and April. That’s what gets you by there: you know that it will probably be miserable again tomorrow, but there is always a hope, a hope which is often enough fulfilled, that tomorrow might be one of those rare, gorgeous days. And if not, at least you will have something to talk about.
Absolutely brilliant writing, and painfully on the mark.
Posted by: alan on November 1, 2005 8:16 PM