Following the American Civil War Sesquicentennial with day by day writings of the time, currently 1863.

January 4th, 1864.

It has been very cold the past four days. The day before New Year’s was warm and rainy. Toward night the wind changed into the north, “with a snap to it,” as it does in Michigan sometimes. New Year’s morning was very cold—not so many degrees, I presume, by a score or two, as we frequently experience in Michigan—but quite as piercing to me as the coldest weather at home.

Today is warm as summer again. This is a delightful climate “overhead,” the coldest weather being about like October with us. But the mud is really fearful. The roads are next to impassable four months of the twelve. I could not be induced to live here. I have been in fourteen different states; in most of them have traveled quite extensively, and have seen nothing yet that excels Michigan. True, some states possess advantages that Michigan does not, but they lack in others. Whenever I have thought of a change of residence, my feelings rebel, and I can but exclaim, “Give me my own, my native land,” for such I regard Michigan.

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