So the right shade of green is kind of halfway between emerald and chartreuse?
That's a beautiful way of describing it. (As well as being correct, I think.) California does get it, occasionally; I've seen it in new grass. But here it's tiny accents, whereas where I grew up it pervades the world; there's a stretch of road on the way out from my parents' house, where the trees are tall enough to arch completely together overhead, and when the sun is out after rainfall, it becomes a tunnel of glowing between-emerald-and-chartreuse green, right at the edge of the color wheel.
But, for those of us who grew up with it, that is the right shade of green.
Oh, certainly. The phrase is mostly a running joke of sorts -- when suzimoses first moved out here and was going through a bout of homesickness, she complained that there wasn't any green. I pointed out lots of green things, and she realized that it wasn't that she was missing green, so much as missing this particular shade of green, and so the complaint changed to "It's the wrong shade of green", and it sort of stuck as a synecdoche for feelings of missing home.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2005-01-07 08:08 am (UTC)That's a beautiful way of describing it. (As well as being correct, I think.) California does get it, occasionally; I've seen it in new grass. But here it's tiny accents, whereas where I grew up it pervades the world; there's a stretch of road on the way out from my parents' house, where the trees are tall enough to arch completely together overhead, and when the sun is out after rainfall, it becomes a tunnel of glowing between-emerald-and-chartreuse green, right at the edge of the color wheel.
But, for those of us who grew up with it, that is the right shade of green.
Oh, certainly. The phrase is mostly a running joke of sorts -- when