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Truly Calhoun

by Harry Calhoun and Trina Allen

For three years back in the '90s, I lived in Key West. And thinking of Florida and writing this on a beautiful North Carolina spring day - I have never seen more stunning blue skies, not even in Key West - I think fondly of my father, who passed away in cold Pennsylvania in February. When I moved from Pittsburgh to Key West, dad and I had many discussions about the relative merit of having four seasons. Dad was convinced that he would never want to live in a place like Key West.

And I tried to explain to him that the Keys had their own seasons, just more subtle. Different flowers blooming at different times of year. Cooler or warmer temperatures, even if more subtly so than in Pennsylvania. And more tourists crowding the streets and waking you with their motor scooters at 4 a.m. in late fall and winter. Ah, the seasons of Key West!

Dad would have none of it. He loved his seasons and he could never understand how I could live in a place like that. How could you track a deer if there was no snow? How could you not want to see the leaves turning bright colors in the fall? (Yes, even I had to admit to loving the fall color.) But I couldn't understand why he would want to freeze his behind off for several months a year. I exercise regularly and really don't need the added exertion of scraping snow off my car, or the race-car driving skills honed by dodging potholes.

Anyway, I moved two-thirds of the way to my hometown when I came to Raleigh. (Almost exactly so; according to the Geobytes City Distance Tool, Key West is exactly 1000 miles away from Raleigh and Pittsburgh is 493 miles.) Finally, seasons my father could relate to! It doesn't get as cold here in the winter, and most years there's hardly any snow, and it really does stay warm until the autumnal equinox in late September. But still, there are four distinct seasons. My father, who gave up on asking "how cold is it there?" when I was in Key West - the answer was almost always a number between 70 and 95 - he could now ask and get an answer he could relate to.

And he did, and we talked about the weather again. And you know what? I miss him asking. And I miss our friendly arguments about the need in our lives for four seasons. Wherever I am, and whatever season it is, I will miss those things … and him … for a long time. I think it's called forever.


Even if it mostly seems like this is all about climate, it's about the little things I miss.

© Harry Calhoun 2008


Harry Calhoun has been published all over the place but you'd probably only recognize a few of them - Writer's Digest and the National Enquirer, for instance. He has found frequent editorial favor as a poet in small-press magazines since the 80s, edited a poetry magazine, and has been a widely published freelance article and literary essay writer. Recently, he has been pleasantly surprised that people recognize him for having published a now-rare booklet of Charles Bukowski poems in 1985. He's happily married to fellow writer Trina Allen.

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