Back in the days when I used to live in Holland, I was sure that The Low Lands were champions at talking about the weather. Now that I live far away from civilisation somewhere in the mountains of Portugal, I am sure the Portuguese are champions at it. It won’t be much different.
Back in the Netherlands, I never understood the whining about the weather. Nothing was good, not the rain, not the sudden summer days, not the cold, nor the mostly grey skies. In those times, I mostly worked and only thought something of the weather when rain, frost or snow caused traffic jams. Or when I suddenly had to sit in the sun because it had instantly appeared. I never noticed anything about the weather. Sat inside working or in meetings all day anyway.
Here in the countryside, it’s a different kettle of fish. Our house is in the middle of an olive grove on a piece of flat land – which is quite unique – surrounded by mountains. So every time I look outside or take a step outside the kitchen door, I am in the “weather”. Is it winter, then firewood and closing the shutters against the cold in the evening are topics number one and two. Is it summer then making shade and closing the shutters against the heat in the morning are topics number one and two. I am exaggerating a bit and yet it is so.
What I find most interesting is this: In summer, I completely forget that it can be winter and vice versa and totally forget what that feels like. Yesterday (it’s freezing cold here at the moment) I looked in my wardrobe and thought: that’s why I bought those thick jumpers made of pure wool once and now I’m wearing one. Comfy!
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