I’m still unsure of what I can share about the work I did in Napa Valley, so I’m taking a few minutes of your time this week to transport you to Los Angeles. I’ve called the city home since 2018.
When I moved here from New York, I knew the seasons would be different. Or even, non-existent in the sense in which I was used to growing up in New England and then the Midwest. There isn’t an autumn with cider, donuts, leaves crunching underfoot and layers of flannel. Unless you want there to be. You have to seek it out by driving a great distance from our home or visiting an entirely different part of California. There’s also not the same Spring I once knew, where crocus emerge as the last snow melts and you watch the ice disappear from the surface of ponds you were ice skating on just weeks before.
Intead, here in LA we have pink season. A foggy morning season. A season for searing heat that makes you want to hide. And one for shockingly cool temperatures just as elsewhere in the USA, friends are unpacking their summer clothes.
Right now, we are in Purple Season. AKA Jacaranda tree season.