God Blessed Texas

As the season begins to change from fall to winter, the days grow shorter. The mornings have gotten a little bit chilly by Texas standards. Never did I think I would have to wear pants or long sleeves down here!
My perspective is unique and might sound a little crazy. This is because the college I transferred from was in Standish, Maine. Saint Joseph’s College sits on Lake Sebago, a large body of fresh water that freezes over in the arctic chill of the Maine winter.
Growing up in Massachusetts, I had seen a few tough winters before I went up to school for my freshman year at Saint Joseph’s. I didn’t think much about the weather when I made the decision to go to college up in Maine. The drive up took a mere two and a half hours, so I figured it couldn’t be all that different; I was wrong.
The first snow of my freshman year fell sometime shortly after Halloween. About two weeks later, the stuff was falling out of the sky like you see in a snow globe. I literally felt like it snowed twenty-four hours a day. Now, in fairness, I enjoy snow in moderation as much as anybody. Snowball fights, sledding, and many other great things come out of a nice snowstorm. Let me tell you first hand, the novelty wears off QUICKLY.
It got to the point where it was so cold and there was so much snow on the ground that you had to bundle up in layers upon layers just to make the journey to the dining hall for dinner. Darkness falls earlier in Texas now than it did in the summer. But darkness FALLS in Maine. In the dead of winter, at around 3:45 every afternoon, whipping snow and freezing wind mask the last few drops of sun before darkness ensues. It is depressing! I’m a generally happy person, and the lack of sunlight in Maine during the winter definitely affected my mood.
The final straw for me was when baseball season came around. I had braved a tough winter and was looking forward to getting out on the field with my teammates and welcoming spring in the right way. Mother nature thought otherwise. We would be up at dawn three days a week shoveling the snow off of our field! This continued for six straight weeks leading up to the season so that when the ground had finally begun to thaw, we could play our version of baseball on a mucky, wet field.
It was then I knew I had to make a change. I visited Texas in early October of the next year. When I got onto the plane at Portland International, it was snowing and I could see my breath. Not six hours later, I touched down in San Antonio to the tune of sweat dripping off of my brow. My mind had been made up before I ever saw Trinity or met any of the baseball coaches here. I wasn’t sure what I was going to think of the people, but I was sure that they couldn’t be bad enough to affect the way I felt about this incredible climate.
So here’s to my first winter in Texas. If my friends back home could see me now, shivering to the tune of fifty degrees!

Pictures: http://www.guidetoliteraryagents.com/blog/content/binary/texas2.gif
http://activerain.com/image_store/uploads/3/7/7/9/7/ar119703978279773.jpg

Dog Attack

Last night I was on my way to the library at about 8:30, darkness had fallen. Typically I drive to the library since I live off campus, but I was feeling like taking a good walk. About 100 yards into my walk, I came across a stray dog that was barking at some other dogs. The stray was out in the front yard of a house, and the other dogs were in the backyard behind a tall fence. The stray was a good-sized black dog. I couldn’t make out the breed, but needless to say he was a force to be reckoned with. I saw the altercation going on between the dogs and figured I’d get over onto the other side of the rode-make it clear I was minding my own business. As I was doing so, the large stray turned his attention to me, apparently feeling threatened by my presence. He began to growl and approach slowly. I remained calm; decided I would head off in the direction opposite him in order to make it clear I wanted no trouble.

This technique didn’t work; the dog became even more infuriated! I peeked over my shoulder to see that he was only a few feet behind me, and not stopping for anything. He seemed to be in a frantic state and I no longer had a plan of attack. So what did I do? Probably the dumbest thing you could do; I ran. There was a pickup truck about 50 feet in the distance and I figured I could beat the beast to the bed of the pickup and recalculate from there, hoping he would eventually just turn back to the barking dogs. What I didn’t calculate was that a dog of this size could potentially jump itself into the same bed of the truck. I made it into the bed feeling like Benny “the Jet” Rodriquez in Sandlot.

This dog was foaming at the mouth trying to get up into the bed of the truck to do who knows what to me. At this point I was beyond freaked out and ready to call animal control. All of a sudden, a passing car with its lights on drove by the scene and noticed I was in a little bit of a jam. The motorist beeped his horn several times until the dog took off. I didn’t get a chance to thank her for what she did before she sped off but I was truly grateful. I jumped out of the bed and continued on to the library, laughing off what could have been a horrible situation.

This got me to thinking, what is the best technique when a dog or other animal approaches you like that? I didn’t think running away was the best, so I did some research, and here’s what I found:

Picture: http://www.los-angeles-injury-lawyer-blog.com/Dog_attack2.jpg

Roots

I haven’t been back home since early June when I came back down to Texas to play baseball for the summer. When I made the decision to transfer to Trinity, I did so knowing that there would be times when I would miss home, miss my friends, miss the comfort of everything I had known. I also left home for the same reasons. I knew that moving to a new place for my college years would offer me a chance to grow in ways I wouldn’t have if I had stayed in the Northeast.

The different culture and customs of the South came as a bit of a shock at first, but I find myself taking to them quite well. I’ve learned to tolerate and even embrace the use of the term “ya’ll”; though I still maintain I WILL NEVER use it myself for as long as I live. I’ve learned to two-step, another thing I swore I would never do when I first laid eyes on it.

I’ve met people down here with much different views on everything; politics, religion, to name a few. Now that I’m home for a brief stay, I realize that I do miss the things I had come to take for granted while I lived here all my life. There is something to be said for how different people are up here. They aren’t always as polite and hospitable, but they’ll always tell it to you straight. When you’re around your family and friends, it’s humbling and serves as a reminder that no matter how far away you choose to travel, your roots will always remain. I think sometimes we are so quick to want to get away from what we know for the idea of something new that we forget how fortunate we’ve been.

Picture: http://fotosa.ru/stock_photo/image100/p_2439917.jpg