Green
On Monday, my parents, pups, and I set out on a new adventure. After the closing on my house, we hit the road for a series of days driving from Texas to upstate New York. Our nights' stays would be at places I found on Airbnb in Little Rock, near Louisville, and near Erie.
When I told people I was moving to New York, most were immediately concerned that winter would be unbearable. Keeping in mind that millions of people live further north than Texas, I was sure I'd survive somehow. One individual, however, responded with, "New York is so beautiful. The green there is the greenest green." I've been pondering green ever since.
As we drove through East Texas, I noticed how muted the greens were. Some mostly yellow from the summer heat... some sage from the dust... some a muted evergreen when there were stands of trees. In Arkansas, the green got cleaner. There was less dust, less yellow. Moving through Tennessee and into Kentucky, the green was a little bit navy blue. The blue-grass was especially prevalent in the countryside as we left our home-for-one-night and drove through horse country to get back to the Interstate. The green in Ohio was blotted out by a strong afternoon rain-shower, making it largely mint to gray. Our brief bit of green in Pennsylvania was mostly seaweed, with a bit of pickle thrown in here and there. Coming across New York, I began to understand what my friend meant by a greener green. Our first night in New York (last night on the road) had a backyard full of deep shamrock. The sparkling emerald on the hills was outlined by olive and pine. A swath of chartreuse and kelly made a backdrop for the spreads of purple flowers along the highway. It had us googling the latitude of Ireland to see how it compares.
I wish I had pictures for it all, but alas, I was driving.
These last days have been long and draining for sure... and they are behind us now. Today we begin finding our new normal. The pups have to figure out how to navigate outside, and find their way to the water bowl. I have to figure out where I fit in here in this new world.
Outside my window, it's a true, new green.
When I told people I was moving to New York, most were immediately concerned that winter would be unbearable. Keeping in mind that millions of people live further north than Texas, I was sure I'd survive somehow. One individual, however, responded with, "New York is so beautiful. The green there is the greenest green." I've been pondering green ever since.
As we drove through East Texas, I noticed how muted the greens were. Some mostly yellow from the summer heat... some sage from the dust... some a muted evergreen when there were stands of trees. In Arkansas, the green got cleaner. There was less dust, less yellow. Moving through Tennessee and into Kentucky, the green was a little bit navy blue. The blue-grass was especially prevalent in the countryside as we left our home-for-one-night and drove through horse country to get back to the Interstate. The green in Ohio was blotted out by a strong afternoon rain-shower, making it largely mint to gray. Our brief bit of green in Pennsylvania was mostly seaweed, with a bit of pickle thrown in here and there. Coming across New York, I began to understand what my friend meant by a greener green. Our first night in New York (last night on the road) had a backyard full of deep shamrock. The sparkling emerald on the hills was outlined by olive and pine. A swath of chartreuse and kelly made a backdrop for the spreads of purple flowers along the highway. It had us googling the latitude of Ireland to see how it compares.
I wish I had pictures for it all, but alas, I was driving.
These last days have been long and draining for sure... and they are behind us now. Today we begin finding our new normal. The pups have to figure out how to navigate outside, and find their way to the water bowl. I have to figure out where I fit in here in this new world.
Outside my window, it's a true, new green.
Comments
Post a Comment