I got to a point, living there, where I sort of liked the rain. Our island was a complete, closed off planet, foggy and mysterious. I graduated from running in full-on rain gear to just shorts and a T-shirt. We camped, hiked, and kayaked in the rain. It was just our backdrop.
Apparently in other parts of the country it is now "spring." Friends are giddily recounting warm temperatures, flowers, and clear trails. Where I live now, there is no such creature. What we get instead is a sullen mix of snow and rain, in tandem with high winds. It's a daily chore to trudge outside and see what has blown into your yard from the neighbors' and what you have lost forever. A couple of years ago the spring winds reached one hundred miles an hour.
This is the hardest season for an outdoors gal, because the rain is still falling as snow in the mountains, but the skiing has gone downhill. The nearby trails have turned to ice. I hear rumors of spring in Hells Canyon, but the access roads have turned greasy from rain. Last week I woke up to three inches of new snow. It'll be like this through April, probably, and snow in May is not unheard of.
But this is the tradeoff for a brief and perfect alpine summer, so I guess I will take it. I ventured out yesterday in hopes of a trail run, but the ice drove me to the campground. Surprisingly, there were people camped gamely in the rain, albeit with RVs to shelter in.
|The only picture I took while running yesterday (I usually don't take pictures). Blurry, but shows the whole rain/fog thing.|
I attempted to set up my new tent in the living room, but the cat loves to attack tents, so it didn't happen.
|Set up this tent at your own risk.|
In the end, I care too much about being outside to let rain stop me. I'm that crazy lady on the moraine with a smile on her face. I think. Probably. Maybe?