December roses

A walk in my neighbourhood often reveals something I haven't noticed before. This time, it was a yard with several rose bushes in bloom. I didn't want to barge onto a stranger's property, so I had to make do with a quick snap from just outside their fence. 

Temperatures here have been very pleasant, though unseasonably mild. Today's 13 (that's Celsius here in Canada, Fahrenheit conversion is 55) feels like a day when a hoodie should be fine for a stroll. 

That's not altogether good news, especially as it's a current trend in much of the continent--yet another sign that our overall climate is changing. 

But I've posted that little rose for yet another reason. Today should be the birthday of a very dear friend. Sadly, he was one of the many who died because he had a nasty surprise from the drugs he thought were safe to use. 

And just yesterday came the news that proposed changes to rules intended to protect the lives of those who are drug-dependent--along with people who may be near them--have been dispensed with (at least for now).  

It's a problem that's not going to go away by merely wishing it so. Nor will any change in legislation bring back any of those now gone. I can only hope for the safety of those who, like the little roses, manage to hang on, as if looking for better times ahead. 

Still parched

It's been too long since the last decent rainfall. One result, besides the brown lawns up and down our street, is the way the smoke-filled skies aren't clearing. 

This morning looked like heavy fog, only it wasn't fog. Everything was still shrouded in smoke, mostly from fires in Washington and Oregon states, our neighbours to the south. Air quality warnings remain in effect. 

Clearly the autumn crocuses are feeling the effects of no rain, and probably from the smoke as well. 

At least there's a bit of rain in the forecast. I can only hope the weather predictions are right, as everything could really use a drink of water. 

        quiet pink sigh

        the last breath of summer

        before the rains

 

Is there snow on Mars?

And no, I wasn't on Mars, though the light filtering through the smoky skies was eerie enough to feel like I was on the red planet. 

Even though we're far from the many forest fires currently burning in our province, the smoke made its way here, as if reminding us of our interconnectedness and vulnerability. 

The last time I remember this kind of dusting of ash was when Mount St Helens blew her top in 1980. Yes, that ash was thicker, but this had that same quality to it -- as if it were gritty snow. 

I'm washing the vegies and fruits as we pick them from the garden, not something I generally need to do. 

Nonetheless, considering the horrors going on across the world in Afghanistan, where people are not only losing their rights, but their lives as they try to escape, I can only be grateful for smallish annoyances as the ones I've been given.  

40 days (and 40 nights)

That's how long it's been since we've had rain. 

The rain barrels have both been empty for weeks. The lawns are parched, too many trees look droopy. Even the ever-fresh daisies are looking tired. 

Water restrictions are in place, though luckily still only at Phase One locally. 

Naturally, we're not supposed to waste water by washing cars (hardly an essential demand). Fortunately, we are still permitted to hand-water our vegie gardens.

Tomorrow will be Day 41, the day we'll tie the longest dry spell experienced here. As for the rest of the province, the forecast -- especially with raging wildfires -- is not looking good. 

Biblical? Nearly. 

Crossing fingers on behalf of the plants, especially the trees, that they'll soon be able to get un-parched. 

Practising for Life on Mars

That's pretty much what it's looked like. Smoke from all the wildfires, to the South and North and West have managed to fill the skies with a fog-like blanket. Only it's not the benign mist fog usually carries. This is smelly -- I guess, the smell of carbon.

The photo looks a lot like a harvest moon. Only it isn't the moon. It's the afternoon sun. The light it cast was eerie enough that even the birds went into hiding. The last time I saw that happen was almost exactly a year ago, during last August's solar eclipse.

Maybe the reason I'm thinking this orangey light seems like Mars is that it was only a couple of weeks ago I again saw the Matt Damon movie, The Martian.

Rain -- or at least the possibility of precipitation -- has been hinted at for this coming weekend. Considering we've barely had a drop since June, it would be a welcome relief.

And when there's enough of it, it will (we all hope) clear the air and douse the fires that are burning up our province and so much of the coast.

Rain. Even on Mars, they're thinking they've found water. It's time we get some here again.

Winter wonderin'?

No, it isn't snow edging up to the blackberries -- it's just the result of crazy weather -- hail from a thunder-and-lightning storm we had this morning.

When I first moved to the west coast we didn't seem to have thunderstorms. In fact, they were one thing I missed, and I always loved it when I went back east and got to experience one. While they haven't become exactly common here, they do occur now and then, though usually on a hot day in summer, not on a cool October morning.

Oddly (the way my world so often seems to go), I heard a piece this morning that mentioned the passenger pigeon, a bird whose numbers were so great, its flocks numbered possibly as many as five billion (yes, with a b, billion). Yet by 1914, they were extinct.

Something I hadn't realized was the effect these birds had on forests. The weight of their landing in trees would knock off leaves and even branches, in effect, opening the canopy so light could make its way to the forest floor. This meant the forest environment a century ago was much different than today's. I can't help thinking that maybe the passenger pigeons' disappearance could have something to do with the disastrous fire situations our woodlands -- and even neighbourhoods -- are experiencing.

And really, if flocks of them were so massive they could take hours -- sometimes even days -- to pass across the sky, maybe those clouds of birds were large enough to have an effect on the weather.

The white stuff has melted, but still I wonder, if we hadn't killed off all those passenger pigeons, might our weather be less crazy than it is today?

Exhale

Well, this time the weather people were right about the rain. It started yesterday morning and came down pretty much all through the night. Hurrah!

With this end to the drought, it feels like I can exhale. There's something about waiting (and waiting) for rain that makes me feel like I have to hold my breath. I guess I must be acclimatized to where I live.

Along with the wet came a whole lot of wind, but we were among the lucky ones. None of our trees came down (huge ones at a friend's place did, crushing her deck), just a lot of small branches, spruce cones and cedar bits.

Our power was out for nearly 24 hours, but we're pretty well set to deal with those sorts of emergencies. Still, it was a good wake-up call -- enough of one that the generator has been tuned up and is set for the next round of whatever.

The garden sure looks happy though and the trees appear to be smiling again. Me too.

Embarrassing

I'm no pro at PhotoShop, so my altered flag might not quite do the job of expressing my shame and embarrassment over Canada's non-performance at Copenhagen.

Aside from 'winning' awards for Fossil of the Day and then Fossil of the Year, Canada didn't show an ounce of leadership. A single three-and-a-half minute speech by our Environment Minister, Jim Prentice and that just after midnight on Friday.

Locally, things weren't any better. About a dozen people carried awareness signs and walked outside our local Member of Parliament's office. The group caused enough concern among Russ Hiebert's staff that the office workers locked the doors to the place. The sight of a dozen men and women and children must have been terrifying.

Followers of this blog might be surprised with the contention made as the closing line in the news article above: "Hiebert’s staff in Ottawa have told Peace Arch News in the past that every submission received by his office is sent a response." That's simply not been the case.

What I'd like to know is what does Russ do in Ottawa anyway?? And while I'm wondering that, what about the rest of his Conservative pals? If their feeble showing in Copenhagen is any indication, I suspect they don't do a whole heck of a lot.

White Rock cares about Climate Change

Despite freezing temps, a stalwart crew gathered for a candlelight vigil at the busy intersection marking the boundary of White Rock and Surrey. Our goal, to show solidarity with those working in Copenhagen to create meaningful policies that will bring positive results.

People here on the Semiahmoo Peninsula, an area which still boasts some of the best weather in Canada, care about how climate change is affecting our sisters and brothers around the world.

The message to Stephen Harper and the rest of our government is clear. Now is the time to get moving with real change – changes in action and changes in thinking that will address the climate changes occurring all over the face of our lovely planet.

12 Days to Make a Difference

This first day of talks in Copenhagen didn't bode well for Canada.

Even at home, Canada took it in the teeth. Greenpeace protesters apparently caused the RCMP some 'embarrassment' by being able to climb Parliament buildings and hang banners. So much for tightened security.

But more embarrassing is the fact that Canada received the distinction of a 'fossil' award for its environmental track record, brought down specifically by the Tar Sands.

It will be interesting to see how many more embarrassments we will have to endure before our leaders grow the backbone for us to once again take our place in the world as leaders for change, for making hope a reality.

350 events

The signs are everywhere. This one's from Granville Island, under one of Vancouver's bridges.

Vancouver had an event on another bridge.

And then there were the 350 poems.

Wake-up Call

Even though today isn't quite the first day of autumn, it felt like a day of moving forward. That feeling might have something to do with today's Global Wake-up Call to Climate Change.

I've been reading a pretty chillling book, Forty Signs of Rain. It's the first in a trilogy called Science in the Capital, a series that's been called 'hard science' fiction because it relies on (and utilizes) so much current research. The author, Kim Stanley Robinson, speaks knowledgably about the climate crisis. Here's an interview if you'd like to hear some of what he has to say.

I was part of a group who met in White Rock, British Columbia, Canada. It was a beautiful day, and while it was great to see friends (and strangers), the part that made me happiest was the fact that our local event had been organized by Caitlyn, a local young person -- not one of the usual middlin'-to-older sorts who generally take on such projects.

Yes, Virginia, there is hope for the world.