wordsfromanneli

Thoughts, ideas, photos, and stories.

Tag Archives: weather


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Contrary Spring

Remember the poem:

Mary, Mary, quite contrary,

How does your garden grow,

With silver bells and cockle shells

And pretty maids all in a row.

We used to substitute a phrase for the last line and say, “And all those (blank-blank) weeds.”

But here is a little tidbit:

It is thought that the Mary in the poem referred to Queen Mary I , 1516 – 1558, (daughter of Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon) who tortured and killed about 280 Protestant religious dissenters who were trying to break away from the influence of the Pope and the Catholic Church.  According to one explanation on Wikipedia, the “garden” was the cemetery of those she had killed, silver bells and cockle shells represent the instruments of torture, and the pretty maids all in a row were the guillotines. This version is not certain. For example, she had many of the dissenters burned rather than guillotined.

 But here we are all panting for spring, lauding every hint of new growth and warmth, when, after a poor season for the local ski hill, in the middle of April we get a dump of snow in the hills.

It reminded me of all those cowboy shows where the old John Wayne type would sit on his horse and say to his sidekick, “Yup! Arrgh-h-h-h! Thar’s snow in them thar hills,” and then he probably spat a big gob of ‘baccy juice onto the ground.

 

Here is my very tame and very polite version of Contrary Mary’s poem:

Spring, Spring, you’re quite the thing,

Where is your warmness hiding?

With sunny heat, then snow so neat,

Our time we’re tired of biding.

 

And again, our contrary, waffling weatherman has given us hope by melting most of the snow and sending us a few rays of sunshine.

The maple tree, now “flowering,” soaks up the sun, looks at its choking bark, and says, “Take that, you clingy north-side moss.”


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Wild Weather

Before the big windstorm happened, the Captain was keeping a few cans of beer cool, in a plastic tote on top of the patio table that you can just see the corner of at the right side of the photo.

The second patio table, the round one on the left, used to sit in the middle of the deck where the fallen hanging basket is lying on its side now. The wind must have blown the table over as far as it could go.

The oranges were on the table beside the beer cans, to keep cool. I also had a small parsley plant in a pot. You might see it lying on its side without the pot near the far end of the deck. Just a matted clump of dirt with a few yellow green leaves in it.

The blue pieces are part of a small clay pot that I painted  about ten years ago. I always liked that little pot, but never imagined that the wind could send it flying off the table and smash it. The white saucer used to be under the parsley pot. Not sure where that pot ended up. I think it was plastic so it may have flown to the neighbours’ place or be in the next town by now.

The  bits of branches from the fir trees are relatively small compared to the branch that came down  just beyond the deck, as you will see in the next photo.

I’m glad no people, dogs, or squirrels were out for a walk when this branch decided to drop in, and I was so happy to see the squirrels and two hummingbirds alive in the morning.

And so, further to the previous post about Thanksgiving Day, and all we have to be thankful for, I feel very thankful to have been spared major trouble from this windstorm.  Even the few hours of a loss of power were not too bad. I can’t begin to imagine the terror people go through in hurricanes. Hearing this wind roar through like a freight train was bad enough.

 


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What’s Under There?

Photo courtesy of Pat Gerrie.

No, that is not a frozen lake beyond the tree line. It’s the northern end of the Okanagan Valley, seen from Silver Star Mountain Resort.

Imagine life going on under that massive fog in the valley. People are trying to drive to and from town, to buy groceries, fill the car with gas, visit with friends, pick up kids from school. They’re feeling their way through the fog, trying not to drive into the lake beside the highway. Doom and gloom, like being half blind when you’re right down there in it. Grope, grope.

And here is the fog over the Comox Valley. Below this fog is the salt water. Only boats are groping their way from A to B. Under this fog, the sea lions chase salmon while the salmon chase herring.

 

Eagles hover over unsuspecting loons, or scoters, or ducks, looking for a sickly one – perhaps one who had a hard time finding food during that last cold spell. They wait for a break in the fog to spy their lunch. Or, they might fly over unsuspecting birds who don’t expect an attacker from the mist.

The fog is scheduled to lift now that a new southeast system is moving in, but it seems that in a surprise about-face, the wind is forecast to bring us one more day of northern air and blow some snow flurries on us – just for a few minutes tomorrow.

 

Icy fog 

Droplets of drizzle,

Freeze my dog,

Muzzle of grizzle.

 

Blind and down,

My spirits are low,

Fog brings a frown,

Wish it would go.

 

Southeaster blows,

Fog drifts away,

Maybe it snows,

But just for a day.


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The White Stuff

“Eh? Orson? What’s that you said?” That Oregon junco knows everything that’s going on around here.

It's a chilly wind today,
My fur coat is on to stay,
I'm so happy to be warm,
With the temps below the norm.

“If you’d pay attention, Lincoln, you’d know there’s been a big change in the weather.” Him and his big fur coat. He probably hasn’t even noticed. But just look at Emma. She’s still trying to figure it out too.

Look now, Lincoln! See the ground,
See the flakes fall all around?
Food will be more precious though,
Covered as it is with snow.

“Sheesh! This is just like in the movies where Bambi says, ‘Mother, what’s all that white stuff?’ and she says, with her soft, stunned voice, like some naive housewife out of a 50s sitcom, ‘Why … it’s snow!'”

Emma snarfs in deep, long sniffs,
White stuff gives off special whiffs,
Did a raccoon pass by here?
Did a rabbit scratch his ear?

Licking, tasting flakes of snow. 
Tries to bite it, where'd it go?
Funny flakes of wetness fall,
On her head and over all.

Emma gives her coat a shake,
Leaving just one lonely flake,
Sitting on her pointy nose,
Then into the house she goes.