Always Keep a Skyward Eye

An obsession with weather began early in life. If I had to point fingers, it would probably be at a long-gone pharmacy. That local druggist gave away small cardboard thermometers with a cloth path that changed colors to forecast the weather. It amazed me how that little thing could be so accurate. When the patch was blue, good weather was ahead, but woe be unto you when it turned pink, because that meant the heavens would (if they had not already) open.
Next came another ingenious gadget to forecast the weather. It was a tiny plastic house with a witch on one side and Hansel and Gretel on the other. Like the drug store predictor, when the kids were out, the weather was going to be bright and dry, when the old witch came out, look out below.
As I ironed a shirt the other morning, I listened to The Weather Channel. Yes it’s a habit, but at least it’s not expensive or injurious to one’s health. On a daily basis, it’s the modern equivalent of those early prognosticators of weather. Trouble with that channel is it takes all the mystery out of weather predicting. I know on Monday what the weather will be next Saturday.
Still, I cling to those old-time indicators, even if they aren’t as accurate as the latest TV crew.
Red sky at night? That means it’s probably going to be a nice day tomorrow. Beautiful red sunrise means rain by day’s end. There’s a halo around the moon? Count the stars inside it, and that’s how many days away is bad weather.
Then there are other days when “it just feels like snow.” Lately, those days have been far too close together. Don’t ask me how it “feels” like snow, but it’s a close, dead cold.
Taking to heart some fitness guru’s advice, every so often I push away from the computer and gaze out my office window. It’s supposed to be good for your eyes, every 20 minutes or so, to let your eyes “go au natural” and stare into space. By so doing, I have seen some very odd-looking cloud formations. They raise my wonderment about the weather. What do those clouds mean? I wonder. At times there were wispy feathery clouds higher than where jets fly. I think that means wind. Heavy cottony ones, especially in summer, usually mean a thunder storm is on the way.
Technology is terrific, but it takes away some of the mystery from weather. That’s good, if it means getting a heads-up about a hurricane, so you can evacuate. Even if a Category 5 hurricane was barreling up the East Coast, and we had ample warning, there are unabashed naysayers who would refuse to budge. If those satellite images were not available, would we have enough knowledge of nature to realize “Hey, something really bad is going to happen. We better leave now?” No longer, I’d say.
A few years ago, I sent away for a wireless, automatic rain gauge. You could tell just how much rain you had without getting wet. It worked for a while, but wasn’t perfect. Every so often the little fulcrum-like device would go whacky, and wouldn’t register in the pouring rain. I scraped that gadget in favor of a $4 plastic rain gauge. That works well, as long as you don’t let rain freeze and crack it. No batteries, no fuss, just pull it out of the ground, read how much water it holds and dump it out. That’s far too simple for a tech geek.
Long ago I ditched the old window thermometer in favor of an indoor-outdoor remote reader. What a way to wake up in the morning, look at the thermometer, see it’s three degrees, and you know it’s cold. Of course, you would not even need a thermometer to tell how darn cold it was just set foot outside the door and you’d know it was bone-chilling cold.
I can’t verify the truth of this, but a chap who worked for the late Anglesea restaurateur Ed Zaberer told me the gent kept a track of the weather, too. Seems it was an indication of what folks would order when they sat down to eat. Maybe there was some real method to his action. Bone-chilling days, for me, mean some belly-warming chow, nothing fancy, maybe a bowl of chili and corn bread or maybe beef stew.
As I wrote this on a Monday, I received three text messages declaring that our corner of the world will be under a “winter storm watch” until Thursday at 1 p.m. That put me in a quandary. Should I leave work early and run for cover? Should I call home and ask Anna if we have enough vittles to get us through that watch? Absent that text notification, I would never have dreamed we were as close to the edge as we were. Being someone who is supposed to ask stupid questions, I have yet to hear an answer that satisfies me on a storm watch. Should we hold our breath? Ought we to scramble to the store and load up on rock salt and batteries, non-fattening snacks and bottle water just in case? Should we break out the candles and get a huge kettle of soup ready in case we are without power for days on end? Just what is expected of a soul when we find ourselves in a “winter storm watch?”
To be sure, by season’s end (March 21 I’m hoping) I will be able to put away the snow shovel that has become a fixture on the back deck. Bring on the balmy breezes and the sound of “peepers” at night in the deep woods out back, but don’t forget to keep an eye on the thermometer and the sky. Peas on Paddy’s Day, and don’t out those tomato plants out too early, they’ll freeze, and then you’ll have to pay for your Jersey tomatoes. Oh the joy of weather watching!