The Adventures of Melvin

One month and counting. We've been out here in Boulder for a month now, and here's a brief recap - starting with the weather of course, because that's something we Mainers love to discuss . According to the Daily Camera, our local newspaper, we are three inches behind our annual, cumulative-to-date rainfall. The first, third and fourth weeks of the month were 3.5, 5 and 3 degrees above normal, respectively. The metro area "easily violated" EPA clean air standards, and we had record power usage on July 25th. Did I mention that there were also flash flood warnings? One bright spot was week two, the week we arrived (and I foolishly proclaimed aloud that the weather out here was just lovely). Apparently the second week of July is usually the hottest of the year, but temps were two degrees below normal. For the record, it really was perfect weather.

I am not a big fan of extreme temperatures - spring and fall do it for me. That said, the farm job seems to be improving my tolerance, or rendering me a bit less tolerant, depending on whether you focus on the hots or the colds. I showed up at work at 6am yesterday, and it was about 65 F. Most everyone was sporting fleece and jeans and there was even a wool hat in the mix. Now a month ago, 65 degrees wouldn't have bothered me so much, so I had a very light layer on over my tank top. Well darn it all if I didn't find myself cold (it was well into the 90s by mid-morning, so the goosebumps were short lived). On the flip side, I seem to be able to withstand working under the blazing 90 some-odd degree sun in long pants for hours on end. Yes Mom, I am wearing my sunscreen - I love you.

I think that overall, I have been struggling a bit with the fact that I will change and adapt to my new environment. Very odd, though perhaps not. I have always, foolishly and narrow-mindedly, stated that I could never be landlocked, that I could never live more than a short drive from the ocean, the beautiful, haunting, far as the eye can see ocean. Nothing like a bit of drastic change to bring the immature aspects of the human psyche to the surface.

When we arrived here in Boulder, I found myself feeling defensive of my New England roots, and I realized that I was focusing on what I viewed as the negatives - most swimming seems to take place in pools, the "historic" district is younger than most of the buildings I have called home in the recent past, that every block seemed to have its own mall, that most locals say the city just ain't what it used to be, that I can't buy fresh seafood straight from the dock. Ick. What an ignorant snob.

Now I am generally a glass half full type of gal, and feeling this way was a huge drag and something that preoccupied me on a daily basis. Thankfully, I hit a turning point this past weekend. As Kevin and I were heading out of town, off on our mountain adventure, I began to feel this enormous sense of relief and openness. As I stood at almost 12,000 feet of elevation, surrounded by traces of the elusive longhorn sheep and alpine tundra plants that grow a mere 1/4" each year thanks to a harsh and brief 40 day growing season, looking out at mountains that would dwarf most everything, life just seemed right. I don't have to become this place, I can call myself a New Englander for as long as I like, I can always love the ocean more than the mountains if that's how I feel, but for goodness sake, if or when I leave Boulder, I will have no regrets about my experience.