One of the first obvious differences between Nashville and River Falls is the weather. The day we left Tennessee, it was 97 degrees; when we reached River Falls, the temperature was in the low 80s, although it was fairly humid. As we drove up Golf View Drive to Ben and Amber’s house, I couldn’t help but notice the lush, green lawns surrounding every home. My lawn in Nashville followed a predictable pattern each year. I re-seeded and fertilized in late September. The grass began to look good about the time winter arrived, and it went dormant for a few months. In March and April, my lawn was the envy of the block, thick, green, and beautiful. By June, though, the temperatures rose, rainfall became more sporadic, and the grass began to thin out. By July and August, it was in the mid-90s nearly every day, rain ceased to fall at all, and my once-beautiful lawn turned yellow despite daily watering. Soon, the grass disappeared completely, and my patch of lawn became a patch of dirt littered with dried leaves that had fallen from our burned-out tree. In late September every year, I began the cycle all over again, like Charlie Brown attempting to kick a football and hoping that this time, Lucy wouldn’t pull the ball away at the last second. When we left Nashville, I drove away hiding my face in shame, afraid to meet my neighbors and admit I was leaving a dusty, dirt rectangle where a green lawn had once existed.
In River Falls, every time we tell someone that we are new to town they ask how we like it. We rave about the small-town atmosphere, the mom-and-pop businesses, and of course, about the weather, explaining about Nashville summers. They say, “Yep, summers are pretty nice up hereabouts. But . . .” About that time, a dark cloud passes over their faces. They look around conspiratorially, as if trying to determine if anyone is eavesdropping. Then, in a quiet, ominous voice, straight out of Game of Thrones, they say, “. . . winter is coming!”