Recalling the browns
It’s hard to believe I’ve only been back from southern Illinois for five days. I thought I was going to have a fairly leisurely week to get some stuff done around this joint.
If butt-monkeys laugh, I know somewhere there’s one howling hysterically right now.
It was hard to leave the cold weather. Cold weather isn’t convenient. You have to have more clothing, and it takes time to bundle up to go out and to unbundle once you come back in. If you wear glasses, they fog up. The windshield on your vehicle gets icy. The ground under your feet gets slippery, and sometimes the road under your car does too. Snow can blow into uncomfortable places that make you sing in a much higher key than normal.
But somehow, life just doesn’t seem right without all that inconvenience.
As we drove away from the Far Away Sparkette, I watch the brown landscape zip by. One would think it would be boring, all that brown. But it wasn’t. It was beautiful. Warm browns and cool browns. Beiges and near blacks. Olive browns and rust browns. Smooth browns and shaggy browns and prickly browns and crinkly browns and mossy browns. In places the brown was blanketed with the white of the leftovers of a snow storm that passed through on Christmas. I could feel the quiet.
Florida has had a few cold snaps. Enough to finally knock the leaves off the Bradford pear tree in the front yard. I came home from Illinois and rescued the last of my jalapeños from the pots on my deck. The plants are goners, but even in January I get to enjoy a little of their fruit.
As much as I love fiery peppers, I’d trade them for hothouse runts from the grocery store in order to get four seasons. Any day.
And that’s saying a lot for this chile head.