Southern Living: Not exactly

I love the south. I even love armadillos, (the Texas state animal) if for nothing else but their sheer ugliness.

I love drawls, eating watermelon then spittin' the seeds, front porch visits, graciousness, people who 'come to call', sweet tea, grits with butter, fluffy biscuits and cornbread, fried okra, riding on the open road in the back of a beat up pickup truck, tire swings and ropes over creeks, mosquito dope trucks, fruit pies with flaky crusts, catching fireflies in mason jars, crispy fried chicken with mashed potatoes with gravy, cold swimmin' holes, white clapboard houses with peeling paint and tin roofs, ferocious thunder storms, and even the blasted heat. Maybe especially the blasted heat.

I can't say I've ever felt it was too hot. Ever. Growing up in Texas, it just was. A little girl didn't know any different. Living here in the northeast, when it gets above 90 degrees people around here close their windows, turn on the AC, and meet in the aisles of the local grocery store to complain about The Heat.

Sometimes, on a summer day, I'll look down my driveway at the yard below. I'll eye my herb garden and the bird/squirrel feeder, the black-eyed susans, hostas and lilac bushes we planted, and think how much I love the season.

So to be greeted by this sight - this morning:



There's nothing in my southern blood that's going to make that okay. Today when I pull on boots, a down coat, scarf, ear muffs and gloves to go out and retrieve the mail, I'm going to look down that snow-covered driveway and try, try, try to remember days when the lilacs will once again hang heavy with their purple blossoms and the bluejays will fuss and fight with everyone else, trying to get a few seeds to feed their newly hatched babies.

Days like today the south feels too far away. Days like today, if I was blessed enough to be about 1000 miles south, and I happened to spy an armadillo, he might look a bit more attractive to me.