One of the topics “old timers” love to discuss is the weather.
Since I’m no spring chicken, it’s my turn to take a seat on the front porch rocking chair and discuss what’s happening outside.
It’s officially fall in Texas and, as the memes and jokes go, that means absolutely nothing. The days are still clocking in at over 90 degrees, and I’m sweating whenever I go outside.
Instead of four distinct seasons, we only have a few here in Texas – bluebonnet, brutally hot and football.
Because I grew up in the North, autumn always takes me back to my childhood. There was a definite shift between summer and winter in Olean, the small city where I grew up.
Olean is ringed by gentle mountains. When autumn arrived, the leaves changed colors, and the effect was profound. What was once a green backdrop became a palette of scarlet, marigold and tangerine surrounding the entire city.
For kids, the falling leaves created a new level of fun. Olean High School’s front yard was filled with stately trees, and leaves fell by the bushels in September and October.
We’d head to the school and rake the leaves into giant piles. There’s no greater fun than running and jumping into a pile of crisp leaves.
I can still hear the crunch of the leaves and smell that autumn aroma as we’d land in the middle of the pile, laughing underneath a quiet blanket of red and gold.
We’d jump until the pile was flat and then rake everything back into a big pile and repeat until we were exhausted.
Once the trees had given us all their leaves, it was time for winter. According to The Olean Times-Herald, the city receives about 60 inches of snow each year.
My memories of the snow are waking up to a back yard covered with snow. Bushes were transformed into snow globes, and icicles hung from the bare tree branches like ornaments on a Christmas tree.
We’d bundle up and run out the back door to make snowmen and snow angels until it was time to come inside.
Childhood memories, though, can be deceiving. What I remember as a winter wonderland caused havoc for my Southern father.
The chemicals the city spread on roads to melt the ice rusted out the bottoms of our cars.
My dad put chains on the tires, and I remember him complaining about doing all that work in the freezing cold. Then he had to defrost the handles on the car and use a snow scraper to clear the windshields.
Shoveling the snow from the sidewalks was a pain, especially because we didn’t have a snow blower.
In the mornings, we’d lay out our clothes on the furnace grate to warm. We didn’t leave for the five-block walk to school unless we were wearing snow pants, boots, a jacket, scarf, gloves and a hat.
The snow eventually melted, and I remember how dirty everything looked. The bottoms of the cars were covered with brown snow, sleet covered the streets, and it seemed mud covered everything.
Whenever I grow nostalgic for a “white Christmas,” I remind myself that even though the Texas winters are usually mild, we’re not putting chains on our tires.
We’re not shoveling our vehicles out of a snow pile, and we usually don’t worry about driving on roads that are so covered with snow we can’t see the middle line.
While others are eagerly awaiting the cold weather, chomping at the bit to pull out the pumpkin candles and cinnamon sticks, I’m grateful I live in a part of the country where I never have to worry about putting chains on my tires or wonder when the snowplows will come through.
Plus I can wear sandals and shorts until Thanksgiving.
It’s fall in Texas, y’all.
What’s not to like?
This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.