So you move to New England. It’s a region renowned for terrible weather. Hot, sticky and wet all summer. Muddy, slushy and gray through spring. Chest deep in snow all winter, sometimes starting in autumn and not ending until nearly summer.
If we get lucky, we might just have a gorgeous autumn. About half the time, we get hit with the tail end (or worse) of hurricanes and instead of golden autumn, we get torrential rains accompanied by a mass of sodden, brown leaves to clean up after the winter snows melt.
But there a bonus, the good part.
Living in New England comes with full permission to complain endlessly about the weather. More than baseball. More than hockey. Beyond football and basketball or even politics, our regional sport is complaining. About the weather.
The weather is what bonds every person in New England regardless of race, politics, religion, team affiliation, ethnicity or economic status. Walk into any public place in New England. Say out loud to no one in particular “So, how about this weather!”
Instant group participation. Everyone chimes in with an opinion. If the weather is fantastic, people will nonetheless complain we’ll all be up to our asses in snow and ice. If we are already up to our asses in snow and ice, everyone will complain about it and tell anecdotes about how bad it is this winter and debate whether or not this is the same, better or worse than previous winters. Whether or not winters are worse than they used to be. How bad the roads are. How dreadful the footing is. How much they hope spring comes early.
When spring comes we complain about the mud, the slush, the flooding. Never mind that it floods more or less every year. Whatever is going on, universally everyone adds “weather permitting” because all plans are contingent on the weather.
Most of us moved here on purpose. We knew about the weather. How can you not know?
But it’s all good because if you don’t like the weather, wait a minute.