In other words: pack a rain jacket.

We began classes this year on an ambitious foot: in shorts. After last week (the formal start of school) we have since moved into a period of dreariness that is typically associated with horror movies where dead things are reanimated and attempt to eat/convert/get to know you (note: this metaphor does not extend to The Mummy as the weather in that movie is pretty much the opposite of what I am trying to get at). As proof: today, as I note the temperature on my computer, it is 51 degrees Fahrenheit. And that is almost 40.  And, according to middle age women, 40 is the new 30. And, according to the freezing point of water, 32 means snowing.

Thus, by the transitive property, today was cold.

Ohio has a tendency of surprising everyone with shocking and completely inopportune moments of unpredictable weather. Today is proof of that. Rather than casually stroll to class wearing snappy shorts, I threw a scarf about my neck and looked suspiciously out for any potential zombies (but not mummies) that this weather may bring out in search of brains. A light drizzle helped set the mood. And, to top it all off, a few casual leaves blew about menacingly and collected in gutters a-la Halloween (the original, which was a movie. Not the sequel, which wasn’t).

Fact 1: Ohio brings about weather that is entirely unpredictable.

Fact 2: I love this.

Weather in Ohio is odd…but:

A)   Weather is otherwise boring. Don’t get me wrong, I like Florida and the weather it has, but there’ something about everyday being beautiful and conducive to tanning that bores me. You never have an autumn that puts you into the mood for apple cider. You never have a snowy day that sees students sledding on dining-hall trays or singing carols. You never have a spring that really means anything. Yawn.

B)   This is collegiate weather. When I think about higher learning I think about students wearing scarves, and wool jackets, sitting beneath auburn leaves. I think about long walks through snowplowed pathways to the library where a fire is burning. I see spring as a time of circles of blankets on grass and study sessions outdoors. All of these things are part of the weather at OSU and thus the culture here.

C)   It creates “hardiness.” Tell people you are from the Midwest, or that you attended a university there, and you will instantly be associated with the “hardy” Midwest. Instant props.

D)   It allows for seasonal celebrations. Each autumn, my house and another house carves pumpkins together. In the winter we have a celebratory Hanukah/Christmas party that includes snowmen, hot cocoa and sledding. We host an annual party called “The Spring Thaw” on our porch/backyard (see: bonfire). Several of the people that I have met here have knit me scarves.  The autumn is filled with bike rides over crunchy leaves, down Walhalla Drive (giant hill, lined with trees) on the bike path that runs along the Olentangy River. The spring is pretending that we are doing homework while hanging out on the sunny Oval.

E)   The weather is not bad. As in, we have good weather for the most part. It’s just unpredictable.

I’m not really sure I’ve made any real progress in this blog entry. Listening to Simon and Garfunkel sing “Leaves That Are Green” to put me into a fall mood has distracted me. Also, the fact that I need to read 178 pages of Jane Eyre + several chapters of Plato’s Republic in addition to some Victorian Poetry for class tomorrow makes me a little bit dotty. So, I will conclude today on this note.

I am off to ride my bike to Buckeye Donuts (avoiding horror movie zombies), where I will sit in the window, watching the leaves color along High Street, drinking coffee and eating Pumpkin Spice donuts while preparing for class tomorrow.

You see: it’s fall. And, come winter, pumpkin spice donuts are replaced by gingerbread flavored ones. So I’m going to milk this season for all it’s worth.

-Andrew