No flakes, just drops

Snowdrops, rather than snowflakes--that's what we've been getting this January. While that's hardly something to complain about, it does give me pause. Why is it we haven't had snow this winter?

There are plenty of people who choose to deny climate change, but this season's mild temps certainly seem to assert that something is not quite right with the weather these days. Locally, we've barely hit freezing/frost levels all month. And that's not generally the case for the month of January. 

I still have a fuchsia 'wintering over' out front. My hellebore never stopped producing flowers. Even a feeble geranium is hanging in, without benefit of cover of any sort. 

Bravest of all, I suppose is a persistent lettuce out back, almost aching to make its way into a salad. 

For now, I can only hope, with so many bulbs up and branches budding, that there won't be a suprise cold snap in February that threatens this season's fruit crops. 

In the meantime, I'll just have to go for another walk today, and enjoy these days, so many of which already feel like spring. 

Oh yeah??

 

I'm not in the habit of arguing with 'answers' on Jeopardy! but hey, today this is just plain WRONG. 

Coldest I can remember it ever being. This morning, our little weather station read minus 15. Hardly what I'd call mild. 

Just peachy

Poking around for information about peaches, I found that there's a state in the US that claims it as their state symbol. But gosh, wouldn't you know that it would have to be Georgia, the state that's making more than its share of news these days. 

I'd rather not hear or see more about he-who-shall-not-be-mentioned. 

Instead, I'm looking forward to being able to pick and eat one of these glowing orbs from the brave little peach tree in our back yard as it's spent the summer surviving extended drought and now, smoky air. 

Nonetheless, I'm counting on it tasting as explosively delicious as its companions have in previous years--one of the highlight treats of summer! 

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. 

Dog days of June

In truth, it seems a bit unfair to dogs to designate some of the most miserable days of the year as 'dog' days. At least, looking into the history of the name, it turns out to relate to that time later in summer when Sirius, the dog star, passes overhead. And yes, this period of time generally comes must later, calendar-wise, toward the end of July and into August. (Oh, if you click on this last link, you may find yourself as enchanted as I was when you see the fanciful illustration.)

The temperatures we've been experiencing here in BC's Lower Mainland are unprecedented -- even for later in the season. Our little thermometer, which is never in direct sunlight, but on the inside of a post in our gazebo, has never before gone over 40 Celsius, and has certainly never before gone over 100 Fahrenheit. But that's exactly what it did, both yesterday and the day before. 

As might be expected, the news is full of items about climate change. The Vancouver Sun's front page headline story chronicled just that. But really, unless you've been living under some moss-covered rock, this is hardly surprising. 

I'm just hoping that the disquiet, discomfort -- and now, as we've learned, even deaths -- resulting from this latest distress call from the Earth, will help bring our politicians to action beyond their mumblings about reading reports and considering what to do. How convenient though for them (both provincial and federal) to have taken off for the summer recess and no doubt, to their lakeside cottages where soft breezes blow any such thoughts of responsibility and duty away to some other day. 

Rainy day weekend

And on what's supposed to be a long weekend.

The Victoria Day weekend is supposed to mark the beginning of summer. It's the time people put plants into the ground, or bring their indoor ones outside. It's often observed by having the first barbecue or picnic or trip out of town.

It's also always been the weekend for the Cloverdale Rodeo, though this year, along with just about everything else that might draw a crowd, it's been cancelled. It's not something we always go to, though last year, with out-of-town guests visiting, we took in one day of the fair.

Because yesterday was dark and gloomy and rainy all day, I figured it was a good time to start a jigsaw puzzle. I'm lucky enough to have a few on the shelf, as they're another of those everyday items whose price has skyrocketed owing to the demand from bored stay-at-homers.

The photo on top shows how far I managed to get on the first day of puzzling. Not even all of the edge pieces in place, as several of those were well disguised (at least to my eye).

Today after breakfast, I dove back in, trying to put the rest of those cheesy pieces in place.

Not too surprisingly, the Swiss cheese section was the hardest. Even looking at the picture on the box didn't seem to help.

Slowly, trial-by-error, taking a piece and trying, trying, trying it -- that was my method, hardly very scientific, I am sure.

But as I fiddled, my mind wandered, and I thought there are probably quite a few things in life that we manage by exactly the same method. We try something, if it works out, great. When it doesn't, we try to get over it and move on, and try another way of addressing the problem.

And then, just as I was in the home stretch on the cheese, to my surprise and delight, the sun burst forth.

I don't really think that had a lot to do with my finishing the puzzle, though the coincidence felt fun.

And who knows, maybe next time there's a rainy long weekend, I'll have to see if making a puzzle works the same weather miracle.

Goin' nowhere

Those of us who live in BC's Lower Mainland are generally blessed with not having to shovel ourselves out during the winter. Many express pity on us, as most of our precipitation falls in the form of rain, which yes, means skies that are often grey.

While today's skies aren't blue -- or even grey for that matter -- more whitish than anything, what's on the ground is definitely white.

So, what am I doing? Staying inside as much as I can (though yes, I bundled up and shoveled the walk on the odd chance the letter carrier comes through ("...neither rain nor snow nor gloom of night...??") with something for the mailbox. The radio is full of warnings, saying that roads are icy (even transit is having big problems), and cautioning everyone to stay home if we can.

It feels like a day for carbs, so pasta it shall likely be, especially if I can come up with a recipe that will want some time in the oven. And of course, a few more chapters in the novel I'm currently reading. Who knows, maybe even curling up under the covers and taking a hibernatory nap.

Shifting gears

Yesterday was one of the most beautiful days ever. The sky was blue, the temp was warm enough for shorts and T-shirts, the breeze was gentle and sweet. Only the long shadows served to remind that the days are getting shorter.

Good thing I got out and into it, as today's skies have taken on a change.

Cloudy and grey, with occasional gusts of wind, it seems as if the weather is telling us it's time for a new month, one that's well and truly autumn.

The dry bits of keys from the cedar trees have even started to fall, the equivalent here, I suppose, of leaves to be raked. For now, they can stay a while, golden in the yard.

Icing on the cake?

Last night, past midnight but well before dawn, light crept into the bedroom, waking me. Outside I discovered the reason. No flash on the camera, just reflected light from the glow of the unexpected white stuff, thus the spooky glow.

I admit to not being a big fan of snow (okay, it can look pretty for a few minutes, especially if it's Christmastime). And even though today is a friend's birthday, the icing on the cake I'm talking about isn't exactly the bonus kind.

Last week broke temp records here.

On Tuesday I was still wearing sandals.

This morning I need to find the shovel and figure out something saucey for those little yellow dots still there shivering on the vine.

Or, I suppose I should just think of all this as icing on the tomatoes.

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?

Snow job

It was sunny here on Thursday, Groundhog Day, so I suppose the little critter saw his shadow and ran back inside. Even though snowdrops were blooming in the garden, I guess I should have expected 'six more weeks of winter' -- just as the local groundhog must have predicted,

Still, when the snow started falling on Friday morning, I was less than enthusiastic. Mostly I've taken comfort in the fact that I don't really have to go anyplace this weekend, so I can stay home and hunker down for a few days. Besides, I can blame it on the groundhog.

If only I could blame the other snow job on a character as innocuous as a groundhog.

I'm talking about the second of the big campaign promises that have been dashed by our prime minister, who once seemed like such a beacon of hope.

Many British Columbians must have voted for Liberal candidates on the basis of promises made on that party's behalf by its leader, Mr Trudeau.

Elements of their policy platform (still posted as least as of today's blog posting) include the promise of electoral reform -- in other words, as they put it: We will make every vote count, with Trudeau telling us many times that the 2015 election would the last we'd see of the first-past-the-post system.

People believed the Liberal promises in the last election, as evidenced by the fact that the party's dismal results in 2011 (when only 34 Liberal MPs were elected) were more than reversed by their resounding success in 2015 (with 184 elected, 17 of them from here in B.C.).

But electoral reform isn't the only promise that's already been put aside.

Trudeau campaigned on protecting BCs coastal waters. There was even a proposed moratorium on crude oil tanker traffic. Apparently that sort of ban doesn't apply to the waters of Burrard Inlet or the Strait of Georgia, as another broken promise came when Trudeau approval the Kinder Morgan pipeline plan.

The third big promise was the plan to legalize and regulate marijuana. At the rate he's been going with breaking his commitments to the citizens of Canada, I fully expect this one too will turn out to be too difficult for him to follow through on.

A snow job from the skies above? I can pretend to blame it on a rodent. A snow job from the government? I object.

The calm before the storm

Or, maybe that should be 'the calm before the storms' as more than one sounds to be heading our way.

The rains began last night -- pounding hard against the roof -- and made me glad to be cozy in my bed.

But now, they're saying we need to be ready for high winds. Towards that end, the deck chairs have all been put away for the winter. The hanging baskets are no longer hanging.

This afternoon seemed like a great time for a quietly contemplative walk along nearby Crescent Beach. I'll admit I enjoyed being pretty much the only one there. If the weather had been better, that wouldn't have been the case.

But now, I'm crossing my fingers that those wind warnings we keep getting are at least somewhat 'overblown'.

Clouded vision...

As part of our local gallery's 40th anniversary celebrations, a two-day celebration of the written word was held.

Saturday night's reading featured 15 writers and a spoken word sound-artist -- all of whom had plenty to say about living and working and writing in Surrey. Held in the charged atmosphere of a North Surrey pizza place, the event went well past the magic witching hour of midnight.

Sunday's event was more sedate, with M.G. Vassanji as the distinguished keynote speaker. Two panels followed, with various presenters speaking, including this blogger.

In my role as a panelist, I'd been asked to speak about the history of creative writing in Surrey, so that's exactly what I did -- at least to the best of my ability in 12 minutes.

During the brief Q&A that followed, questions seemed to indicate that there were two very different groups in the room -- or at least that's how it felt.

I'm still feeling somewhat unsettled by the experience, but have already begun writing an essay about it, though it's pretty slow-going, as I feel that I am groping my way along, not really able to see what's ahead. Kind of like the way the world looks through that icy windscreen in the image above.

At least the weather bureau is promising that tomorrow will see a change in temperatures, that we won't be stuck with all that scrape, scrape, scraping. Some warming up, even if it means rain, sounds fine with me. And maybe -- just maybe -- tomorrow will also bring a bit of clarity on some tricky issues that are lingering in my mind.

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.

Canada Dry

And I don't mean the ginger ale.

When people learn where I live (not far from Vancouver), they often remark on the weather, and ask how I can bear all the rainfall.

But this year has been different. It seems as though it's hardly rained since April.

We've been visiting a friend on nearby Salt Spring Island where water supply in the summertime is often precarious.

As with the Lower Mainland, it's dry, dry, dry here. I can only hope this poor parched azalea (or is it a rhododendron?) will recover once the drought comes to end.

They keep predicting rain, but it hasn't been panning out. The skies will darken, and then the clouds will pass.

Hmm. Can you say 'climate change'?

Brrrr...

Freezing. The temperature on our little weather station is one that we don't see very often, especially not exactly zero-point-zero.

Only now it's even colder than it was. No one can pretend it isn't winter around here. It's been cold for about a week now, colder than I remember it being. Mind you, that may not mean anything, as I'm pretty good at blocking bad memories, cold being one of those conditions I like to avoid (and thus, forget).

When I put gas in my car the other day, I thought it might be a good idea to wash my windscreen. Only thing is, the squeegee wouldn't come out of the bucket where it's kept. The water had frozen around it, making a

veritable Popsicle of it.

Since then, the temp dropped further over the weekend, but has 'warmed up' today to a whopping -2 C (29 F). In fact, it's warmed sufficiently that we're getting a little bit of snow.

Pretty though that may be, I am hoping it doesn't decide to accumulate.

Looking to some facts from The Canadian Weather Trivia Calendar, I find that things certainly aren't as cold as they might be -- that on this day in 1906, it was so cold in Lethbridge, Alberta that the sheep "started eating the wool off each other's backs" and that the situation became so bad that ranchers had to make "them coats from sacks to help them survive." And yet, despite this, "About 25 sheep died a day." Temp that day was recorded as -32.2 C. According to my trusty conversion website, that's -32.96 in Fahrenheit. Yikes.

So yes, I will stay inside today, not too far from the cozy fire and write some more of those Christmas cards to friends around the world -- in places both colder and warmer than my thermometer tells me it is here.

Thankful

Over the past few months, while driving to New Westminster, I've seen a large (too large for safety, I suspect) video signboard by the road. Often the message there says simply, 'Gratitude'.

Since the sign is beside a bridge where it's impossible to pull over and stop, I've never managed to take a photo of the sign. So, you just have to imagine it.

But probably more than any video sign, this Thanksgiving weekend has seen me grateful for where I live -- for the weather and for the beautiful spots where we got to hike in the past few days. Thus, today's photo represents just one of those many elements for which I express gratitude.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Junuary at the Market

As much as I’d like to claim that term as one of my own invention, the word isn’t original. I spotted it in an article in the Vancouver Sun, part of their story about how this is turning into the coldest June on record.

I believe it. When I read the story, my sweater and I felt affirmed – maybe even a bit warmer – knowing that our chilliness wasn’t one of those ‘just-me’ things.
The White Rock Farmers’ Market is nearly always drafty, as it’s situated in a man-made wind tunnel, tucked in between some less-than-beloved high-rise buildings. The wind isn’t usually enough to deter shoppers, but it seemed that today’s combination of wet and cold did exactly that. I heard several vendors talking about how it was hardly worth opening their stall today. This was lucky for me, I suppose, as the baker was more much more willing than usual to let me quibble over the price of the bread and goodlets I wanted.

I’m hoping that this isn’t the kind of weather we need to get accustomed to. Still, I can’t help but think of that poem by bill bissett, the one that cautions: “summr starts in july ths yeer.” With Solstice arriving later in the week, I’ve got my fingers crossed for some sun and warmth – and soon.

On hols

We're away for a week or so, in the beloved RV, The Rattler.

Although March in western Washington state can be relied upon for rain (hey, they don't call it the rain forest for nothin'), we're pretty good at recognizing and taking advantage of the sunny breaks.

While the Dear Man went off for a round of golf, I nestled in with the most recent title in the ongoing saga of Adrian Mole, who (as always) makes me laugh and cry, usually in combination.

From Calm to Crazy

We started the day by going to Itasca State Park, home of the lake in Minnesota where the Mississippi River begins its journey south to the Gulf of Mexico.

The photo isn't quite at the river's source, (though it's certainly still considered part of the headwaters), just a little ways downstream, where it takes its first bend. Aside from the occasional buzzing mosquito, the place was about as peaceful as you could imagine.

We walked around, took lots of pictures, chatted a bit with the other few visitors there (such a treat to be a tourist during off-season -- no crowds), and lolled away a few hours.

By late afternoon, we were looking for a campsite -- this time one with Cable as necessary component (usually not even on our agenda), as the Canucks were about to play their opening game in the Stanley Cup Finals.

One by one, we ticked various campgrounds off our list, either by phone call or paying a visit in person. When we came upon our last-chance site, we discovered that the park where the campsite was located had suffered from the recent spate of terrible weather. The river running beside it had overflowed its banks by many feet. Many trees appeared to be growing out of the water, they were so immersed.

Huge tree branches were scattered everywhere -- hard to see in this snapshot out my window, but there's a giganto branch torn out of its tree, lying on the ground. And wouldn't you know, the wind damage to the trees happened during a storm on Monday night, the same night we were wondering whether we should run from the Rattler to the safety of our campground's washrooms.

Anyway, when that campsite proved to also not have Cable, well, we wussed out and found ourselves a motel room and even treated ourselves to the luxury of an ordered-in pizza. But the team's opening game made the added expense well worth it.

The experiences of the day also reminded me of how very glad I am that we decided to buy the Rattler, rather than having this be a 'tenting' tour (as we'd originally planned). By this time, we would have had to spend many nights tucked into the dry warmth of hotels. Instead, we've been comfy and warm, and continue our route steadily west.