I vaguely remember this story on PBS about Plymouth settlers getting off the boat after a few months of sitting out there with scurvy, only to all get the flu and be jammed in a small cabin a couple guys had finally gotten built. Then March rolled around and more than half of them were dead. What struck me about the story was how awful it would be to make it all the way to Spring and then kick it.
But here I am, hanging around in my cushy life, and I totally get it. It feels hard for me to get through winter and live. If I had been a settler I would have thrown in the towel by mid Feb. And making it to March is no accomplishment because you still have another month and a half of SUCK. 40 degrees at best and snow and bone chilling rain and if you didn't have Venezuelan strawberries from ACME to perk you up, but were instead gnawing on rotten September apples. Well, forget it.
But here I am, hanging around in my cushy life, and I totally get it. It feels hard for me to get through winter and live. If I had been a settler I would have thrown in the towel by mid Feb. And making it to March is no accomplishment because you still have another month and a half of SUCK. 40 degrees at best and snow and bone chilling rain and if you didn't have Venezuelan strawberries from ACME to perk you up, but were instead gnawing on rotten September apples. Well, forget it.
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