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We spent four years in Southern California in the early 2000s.

We loved it down there. The energy, the enthusiasm, mountains and ocean and desert all within a few hours’ drive.

At first, the weather felt like a gift. Never too hot, never too cold.

It asked nothing of me. It gave nothing back. A rangeless, faceless monolith of lukewarm air.

I grew up in Idaho, where the temperature swings from zero to a hundred and five.

When I was a kid, Halloween meant frost on the pumpkins. Not a day at the beach.

This October morning, I stood in my waders in the river, my fingers going numb.