I spent most of my twenties in the Pacific Northwest, purposely ditching what I called Colorado's "oppressive" sun for the rain and all of the glorious green life it supports. My journey to Oregon was a kind of pilgrimage - a return to the most beautiful place I'd encountered with my mom and my brother on our summer road trips, where the stormy beaches, lively tide pools, dripping forests of ancient cedars, and abundant coffee shops and bookstores (and combinations thereof) enchanted me.
It was an inspiring, bountiful place to spend my young adulthood. The forests nurtured my imagination and the city fostered the supportive community I craved. There are few places in the United States like Portland, where the topography cradles a city dense enough to traverse on foot but wide enough to invite endless exploration, where quirky is common and the long view guides decision making. It's a city with natural boundaries around which nestle unique neighborhoods, each with its own personality. And living there cemented my identity as a true pluviophile.
I no longer find Colorado's 300 days of sunshine oppressive, but I do covet our rainy times (provided they don't totally inundate us, like last year's storms that fed a 1000-year flood). We've had an unusually wet, green summer, and I've been blissfully happy watching our afternoon thunderstorms roll in and out.
Today, the sun came out after a downpour and O and I went out to look for puddles. He discovered this one on our street, so we splashed until we were soaked. I was happy with this frame, in which O looks like he's being abducted by aliens!
The places that attract us are places we contribute to - places we invest in. Whatever leads us on our journey - whether work, family or climactic considerations - where we live becomes a part of who we are.