ON THE LIGHTER SIDE

"We'll Whether the Weather. . ."

I've been watching the world go by on this chilly verandah and been wondering why people get so excited about weather forecasts.

I must admit, it is entertaining to watch the spins that TV weather broadcasters put on their prognostications. "We're going to get a foot of snow before this is over and nobody will be able to move by this time tomorrow!" So before the first flake falls, the schools have already announced the busses won't be running so all 10,000 morns and dads load up their rug rats and drive them to school because they have jobs to go to and no babysitters to tend to them. That was just an aside to my yarn and a sore point I have on the outcome of weather forecasts.

Don't get me wrong, I believe farmers, sailors and baseball players all need accurate weather forecasts. Farmers need to figure out what window of opportunity they have for spraying or cutting hay. (You knew that if you are a corn farmer desperately needing rain in July, you better go find a hay field to cut). And sailors that I know really want to know what wind speed and direction they have to contend with before they weigh anchor. Ball players, if they are good want to make sure they can at least get their 7 innings in. If the team stinks, well, they still will stink even though they get rained out.

That kind of weather forecasting is for the pros and that is why we call them meteorologists. I think their title has to do with the fact they are like shooting stars; their forecasts are good for a fleeting moment and then they are gone, out like a light.

The kind of weather forecasting that is important to me is what I can smell and feel and see. And I don't need a single scientific instrument to tell me.

This in no way is a complete list of signals that are available to us all but let's just say, these are the highlights.

Sun dogs; snow the next day. These are bright spots in the sky where sunshine reflects off ice up there where it is darned cold.

Ring around the moon; same as above and this also applies to the off-season when you want it to rain.

No moon in September or May; means no frost tonight, so don't worry about the tomatoes, tobacco or flowers.

Bright full-moon in September; means you better cover the flowers in the garden and start spraying the tomatoes to keep them from freezing.

Leaves on silver maples and poplars showing their gray bottom sides; rain is imminent. As a note of explanation from a weather friend of mine, ever noticed how summer storms usually are preceded by puffy winds from the south? I was told that the leaves on these trees tend to turn over when these puffy winds blow.

And for my sailing friends who learned this long ago; Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning. I think it has a lot to do with foul weather hitting us from the east and wonder of wonders, the sun rises in the east.

No dew on the grass or on the corn at detassling time; To be honest, I forget. But it is darned dry out so forget about bringing a brolly.

Then there is your nose. From this verandah, we're pretty well south of the big ethanol plant and when I smell baking bread in the morning in the winter time, I know in an instant that is darned cold out from that north wind.

But now a word about the best weather prognosticator I ever knew. His name was Finnigan, an Australian Shepherd. He could tell us how serious a thunderstorm would be far better than the weatherman who was in an office in the outskirts of Hog Town. The dog's habit was to crawl part way under the bed when he sensed a storm. Usually his rear end and stub tail stuck out from under. This all took place long before any audible thunder was present so we had lots of warning. But then we started seeing that the dog had various degrees of storm warnings, half a dog sticking out from under the bed, just a short shower and a few claps of thunder, 1/4 a dog, you could have an hour long lightening show, lots of noise and maybe some strong winds, but if it was just that stub tail showing, it was time for us to head for the basement.

As I said earlier, I'm out here on this chilly verandah shoveling off 8 inches of heavy wet white stuff looking forward to one of those dog days of summer.