According to a couple of sources, we may, or may not, get an isolated thunderstorm this afternoon. As I thought about it, if the forecast says we may get a thunderstorm or storms, that also conveys the idea we may not get storms. But, if the forecast states that we may not get thunderstorms, does that convey the message that we might? Would it be more effective to just state that the weather will be unsettled for the next several hours?
June sky full of storm clouds
Photo by J. Harrington
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I started on this line of reasoning (questioning?) when I had an urge to go fly fishing this afternoon and thought I should check river levels due to all the rain we’ve got over the past several days. I found the site with the data for the USGS station on the Kinni, but can’t find a clear context into which to fit the data. That is, what does it mean that the river gauge height is/was slightly over 9 feet? Even if I compare it with last year, I learn that it’s higher this year but how do I know if it’s wadable and/or fishable? This strikes me as being a classic example of the distinction between data and information. The linked photos on the USGS site look like the river is at least bank full and running muddy, conditions less than optimum for fly fishing, but it would be nice to have a clearer baseline.
Closer to home, the wind is gusting enough that I know better than to even consider casting a fly. I’m sure of that because I’m watching the crowns of a stand of mature oaks toss and turn and twist and bend. The wind is reported to be at 15 mph with gusts to 25. It’s occasionally blowing birds off the feeder perches.
Reports continue to pile up that we’re failing to respond to climate disruption in anything like an adequate fashion. It might be a good idea for each of us to pay more attention, and take notes, to our local weather and what constitutes a baseline for various activities. I’ve noticed some farmers have been very late this year planting some fields. I’m still on a bubble about trying to get a three sisters garden started. Flax seeds we scattered a year or two ago, and had essentially written off, are just blooming this year. Time for each of us to start a weather journal? How about learning a bit about permaculture?
The “Change” in Climate Change
My cousin WhatsApps me from Costa Rica, fits the familyinto the rectangle of video as they wave from the balcony.He turns the phone, shows me a swirl of birds in the hurting sky.But they are not birds. They are neighbor Tinoco’s roof tilesflying in a storm’s rotary energy. My family is calling becauseI’m in Oklahoma, which, to them, is synonym for tornado.Te amo, I say as my cousin lowers the phone for our grandmotherto hear. She’s scared because she’s lived in the town for 80 yearsand can’t recognize all these new skies. Because a year before,a hurricane reaved its way across this country for the first timein recorded history. Tornado or torbellino or something else,I ask her about the valley’s strange wind. And she laughs, saysthat she was calling to ask me the same thing. I don’t know whyI keep forgetting the change in climate change. My grandmothersighs as the sky darkens to the color of rum. Why I still thinkthat we’ll have names for all the things that will come.
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Please be kind to each other while you can.
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