Two Sundays ago, on April 1, it was 80 degrees. Of course, the wind was blowing at about 80 miles an hour as well. On Monday, the temperature plummeted 40 degrees, but the wind persisted. On Tuesday, we had a snow day. Yep, I live in Colorado.
When I tell my mother these things, she waxes on about the joys of living in southern Florida, where the weather is constant and predictable. (Most of the time, anyway.) She says,
“Somebody’s got to populate this area. Might as well be me.”
I like her attitude. She chose Florida with the goal of never being cold again, and she has achieved that goal. My mind goes to people who chose Colorado, when it was the untamed wide open west, or to those who chose to conquer the Rockies to go even further west. When I drive through the mountains in my own state, or stand on the Continental Divide, I realize I would have been petrified to be a pioneer.
I admire the people who went before me by 100 years, or 200 years. I admire those who pioneered without roads, and I admire those who made the roads. They pressed on with goals and faced conditions that would have made wimpy me turn back.
At 86, my mom is still making a road through her own life. And I like that.