I’ve been living in Louisiana for over three years now. There are two seasons here, hot and hotter. There is water here; brackish, dark-colored saltwater mixed with limited fresh water. The lakes here are shallow and filled with the debris of hurricanes past. The temperatures in our winters never get below the 30s and I’ve only seen snow for two days. Here, I’m either surrounded by city, swamp or flat lands. Even the recreational areas are marshes.
For those of us that come from northern states, there’s a lot missing here. Gone are the deciduous trees that change their colors vividly. Here you’ll find an occasional yellow or brown, but there’s never a crimson to be found. And there’s no fall temperatures either except briefly in the winter weeks. Spring is non-existent too.
Growing up in the Great Lakes you get used to being an hour away from massive bodies of fresh water. Here we have the Gulf: which is largely polluted, filled with sharks and jellyfish. Home has water that I can dive in without giving it a second thought. Home has national forests filled with trails that meander through babbling brooks, pine forests and vermillion canopies. In the north there are foothills and mountains. There are waterfalls and trails. There are freshwater salmon, bass and trout. There are fast moving rivers to canoe through. There are four seasons that change every couple of months. There’s a varied topography. Not here.
I long for those places, those variations in nature, color and temperature. I miss it all immensely.
Likewise, Bilbo Baggins expressed a similar sentiment in the Fellowship of the Ring.
“I want to see mountains again, Gandalf, mountains, and then find somewhere where I can rest. In peace and quiet, without a lot of relatives prying around, and a string of confounded visitors hanging on the bell. I might find somewhere where I can finish my book. I have thought of a nice ending for it: and he lived happily ever after to the end of his days.”
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