Browsed by
Category: weather

The Storm that Wasn’t

The Storm that Wasn’t

Comments 0 Comment


What to call the storms that don’t happen, the sky darkening, distant rumbles, the first few fat drops — and then no more. “Strom” perhaps? Akin to “strum” as in “strum and drang,” the German phrase loosely translated as “storm and stress.” I think also of the late senator Strom Thurmond, who caused some “strum” in his day.

Stroms are disappointing occurrences, or perhaps I should say non-occurrences. The swim is postponed. The plants, parched, still need watering. For nothing I drag the new green rocker off the deck and into the living room. (I’ve given up on the old green rocker with its creaks and peeling paint.) We wait for that which never comes.

The summer strom. Not for the faint-hearted.

Water World

Water World

Comments 0 Comment


Yesterday, I drove through torrents of rain, along slick roads, past swollen streams and sodden fields. I came to appreciate as never before the merits of the windshield wiper, its various speeds barometers of my mood: intermittent meant a light mist and hope of dry pavement to come; medium speed was a persistent drizzle that I could handle, stupefying in its metronomic regularity; fast meant a heart-pounding deluge, truck spray all but obscuring the road ahead.

For hours I drove with wipers on and then, almost home, a benediction, a clearing, wisps of fog on a mountaintop, a brief show of sun and a shy, hesitant rainbow. I wish I could have photographed the hills as they emerged from cloud cover; they looked as fresh as new creation.

Low Clouds

Low Clouds

Comments 0 Comment


A chill air has arrived; a few minutes ago it was sleeting. I try to look at the bright side. The warmth, when it gets here, will be that much more welcome. And cool temperatures make the blossoms last longer.

Still, it’s hard to be patient. The winter has been long. The clouds have been low. The carefree days of summer seem far, far away.

Drizzly Day

Drizzly Day

Comments 0 Comment


One of my daughters likes the rain; she sends me messages with happy faces on drizzly days. I grew up in what I now realize was a cloudier-than-average part of the country, so I love the sun. But I have come to terms with rain and have come to appreciate its power to inspire. Rainy days give me permission to stay inside, to think and write.

And if the drops should stop for a few minutes, a misty stroll is just the thing to set my mind to spinning. On rainy days I can pretend I’m in the British Isles, just back from a tramp on the moors, shaking my oilskin jacket, stomping my Wellies and pouring myself a cup of strong black tea. And speaking of tea, it’s time for another cup.

Unkindest Cut

Unkindest Cut

Comments 3 comments


Walks in the suburbs this weekend revealed the full damage from our recent snowstorm. Trees without tops, our own witch hazel decapitated. Large limbs littering yards and driveways. And in the woods, downed trees block paths.

The pears and fir trees took it hardest. They are bent and broken. But there is scarcely a yard that’s untouched. The light brown of sheared wood stands in stark contrast to the silvery gray of weathered trunks.

This is nature’s way of pruning dead wood. But unlike the gardener who trims kindly and judiciously, wicked weather takes what it wants. Its methods are ruthless not artful. The unkindest cut.

Thundersnow!

Thundersnow!

Comments 0 Comment


It came in with a whoosh and a bang and a crackle of light. At 2 p.m. it was raining, at 3 it was glopping (gobs of slush falling from the sky) and at 4 the snow was falling sideways at two inches an hour.

Through the quick-darkening afternoon and evening we heard claps of thunder, saw lightning flash. By midnight it was over. The west-facing flanks of trees were smeared with white, as if from a wayward paintbrush. Our bamboo was bent with the weight of the heavy snow. Today it is quiet, no plows, no cars. Just the whiteness of a spent world. Until yesterday we’d had a cold, dry winter. The thundersnow made up for it.

Writing About Snow

Writing About Snow

Comments 0 Comment


Most mornings I sit down to write a post with very little idea of what I will say. But last night I decided to write about the snow cover, how this week only one state out of our 50, Florida, did not have it.

But when I started to write this morning I thought about the sad events of last Saturday, what our country has been through this week, the questions we have been asking ourselves. I make it a point not to cover political and social topics in this blog, but still, with all this on my mind, did I really want to write about the weather?

So I sat and I thought, and I moved to a quiet corner of the house where I could think better, and I decided … to write about the snow cover. About the planet that looks so serene and blue from space, and how it would look if a large chunk of it was gleaming white.

I know the snow is sparse in some of the southern states (including our own). I know it would barely make a difference if viewed from on high. I also know that our lovely blue planet is anything but placid.

Snow Hype

Snow Hype

Comments 0 Comment


You’d think we were preparing for Snowmageddon: The Sequel. The sidewalks are crunchy with “pretreatment,” plows are at the ready and cheerful meteorologists discuss the latest models with barely restrained glee.

I first heard about this storm last week when I bought a cup of tea from Betty in the cafeteria. “Keep your eye on Tuesday. There’s a storm brewing for Tuesday.” At that point no one else I knew had heard about this potential nor’easter. I’m not sure where Betty got her information, but she was spot on.

Since then I’ve heard much talk about winter weather advisories and storm warnings, states of emergency declared in southern states and dire predictions for the northeast. Once again, it looks like D.C. will miss the brunt of it. But until it does, we can look and listen and pretend.

The snow hype is better than the snow.

Weathered

Weathered

Comments 0 Comment


We rushed home from Maryland to beat the snow, six to eight inches predicted and the flurries already flying as we raced around the Beltway. But by western Fairfax they had died down, and though it snowed off and on the rest of the day nothing much stuck. Instead the wind raged in from the west, blowing the few flakes sideways. I felt strangely disappointed; I was looking forward to the excitement of a big snow. But this morning comes the payback: no shoveling, a full house, a full pantry.

Ghostly White

Ghostly White

Comments 0 Comment


The ghostly white on suburban streets is the residue of salt from a snow storm that wasn’t, a phantom blizzard. Rock salt crunches underfoot as I walk. The wind blows into my face, makes my eyes tear and my nose run. Other than that, all is frozen hard.

It’s a bleak landscape, unadorned by snow, wind-gouged and silent. Just being outside is an accomplishment, and walking through the cold reminds me that we have to keep going or freeze. Extreme temperatures are a great motivator. Besides, in my ears is a most unusual version of “The Four Seasons” by Vivaldi, full of strumming and thumping and trills. I could hear the birds singing, the streams gurgling. I listened, I lowered my head, I walked as fast as I could till I got home.