We are in the midst of a spell of unseasonably clear springlike weather, so naturally I've been thinking a lot about rain. I think I've finally got the hang of it, this rain thing. The first winter I was here I found it dismally depressing. I'd see it beating against the windows day after day and I'd just want to crawl back into bed. The second year I faced it with more of a stiff upper lip, more steely determination. However, I learned that it's not actually possible to let a smile be your umbrella, that old song is a lie. The key, I learned, is not to tolerate the rain, not to merely accept it, but instead to love it.

And when you think about, being in the rain is a lot like being in love. You shiver and feel miserable; you want to find shelter from the churning tumult; you dart from place to place without knowing quite what you're doing; you commiserate with others about life's cruelty. And if you're in Portland, it's important to fit in by observing a few simple rules. These will not only mark you as a native but also help to get you into the mindset of one who is in love.

• Never hunch your shoulders or make that little grimacing smile. These are telltale signs of amateur status, as they commit the cardinal sin of acknowledging that it's raining. Big nono. It is not raining. Liquid love may be falling from the sky, but it's not raining.
• Umbrellas are for losers. Forget umbrellas. Wear proper raingear, something from REI or The North Face, with a hood maybe, made from modern space age materials that gleam and shimmer.
• Do things that no sane person would do in the rain. Here are some things I've seen taking place around the neighborhood in driving rainstorms. Not sprinkles, I'm talking serious lashing rain: A group of friends sitting on a front stoop, despite the presence of a dry covered porch, deep in conversation. A game of soccer between teams of little girls, all under the age of ten, none wearing anything beyond standard soccer wear, their parents all bundled up watching from the sidelines. Similarly, a group of parents playing with their little kids on a playground jungle gym and swings.
• Never hurry. Again, hurrying marks you as a visitor. You get wetter if you run anyway, and besides that, hurrying acknowledges that it's raining, which we can't have. In fact it would be a good idea to slow down and make it last. Stroll, cavort. Love is all you need!

Slowly but surely I'm picking up such native habits, and soon people will stop spitting at me from passing cars and yelling for me to go back where I came from. I'm even learning some of the local history. For instance, as many of you know, one of the nicknames for Portland is Stumptown. But do you know how it acquired this unusual moniker? Well, remember that Portland is the terminal point for the Oregon Trail. During the westward expansion, many wagon trains came over the mountains in terrible winter conditions. After the story of the Donner Party and its lurid account of cannibalism began to spread, it became popular for travelers from the east to follow this example of ingenious survivalism. Able-bodied male settlers often sacrificed a limb here and there to feed the members of their party so that all might survive. So it turned out that many wagon trains reaching Portland included several amputees. Hence, Stumptown.

Another bit of history you might find interesting is the story of how Portland got its name. Portland was settled initially by two shady characters from back east, and they each wanted to name the new city after their own hometown. Eventually they flipped a coin, and so Portland is named after Portland, Maine. Lucky for us it was heads, or we'd be living in New Fudgeville.