It seems that people generally fall into two camps regarding the unseasonably warm weather with which December of 2011 has begun. Some, like my friend Jenn, are saying “The holiday season just isn’t the same without frosty air and snowflakes. Where’s the weather to set the mood? When can we say it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas?” Others are just happy to be catching what feels like a little reprieve before true winter kicks in.
In past years, December has been a cold and snowy month, though last year’s epic snow accumulation didn’t begin in earnest until the day after Christmas. Nonetheless, this week’s temperatures in the sixties seem to mean something to everyone, whether positive or negative.
I’m a little reticent to admit it, but at the moment, I fall into the reprieve camp. I say “reticent” because relishing the unseasonably warm weather makes me feel, well, old. There was a time when I found snowstorms romantic; frigid mornings inspiring; icy ponds and frost-crusted branches magical. But that time was decades ago, when the driveway seemed to magically plow itself and the ultimate crowning touch to a snowy day was a school cancellation the next morning.
There are still plenty of things I like about winter weather. Snowshoeing, for one thing; and I’m looking forward to snowshoeing even more this winter because of all the trails near our new house. I like the surprise of getting to sleep a little bit late because school is closed and the kids don’t have to catch the bus. I like watching Tim and Holly go sledding together. I like the way the fields and woods throughout our town look when blanketed with snow.
And perhaps it’s only because I’m so sure all of that will still come within the next few months – or maybe weeks – that it’s easy for me to say I’m enjoying this unseasonably mild weather. But the fact is, temperatures in the 60’s or even 40’s, with the ground still dry, simply make life easier than deep snow and crusty ice. Last night was our annual town tree lighting. For the past several years, the weather has been uniformly freezing for that event: adults stamp their feet and dab at their runny noses while kids run in circles to stay warm while we sing carols and wait for Santa’s arrival by firetruck. True, it’s a little harder to be in the Santa mood when you can stand outside during the tree lighting in a sweater rather than a parka, but it still seemed like an easier evening overall this year than it has recently.
The weather is expected to change in the next day or two, and maybe then I’ll finally get some Christmas shopping and decorating done. Snow and cold are definitely a catalyst to getting into the holiday mood, as I learned when we had a foot of snow in late October and Holly started talking about her Christmas wish list even though it wasn’t yet Halloween. “It feels like Christmas!” she said on that October 30, and it did. Now it feels like September. But September is a beautiful month, and I’m going to breathe deeply of the mild damp air and enjoy it just a little more before I have to dig boots and gloves out of the basement for another long winter.
Showing posts with label climate. Show all posts
Showing posts with label climate. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Changes in the weather
When I stepped outside just before heading up to bed last night, I noticed a smell I hadn’t smelled in a long time. It wasn’t completely foreign to me, but it wasn’t anything that had been in the air recently, and I can’t exactly describe it, except that it comes sometimes with rain: sort of a metallic scent that reminds me a little bit of dirty hair. We’d had light rain on and off all day, but this isn’t the way rain always smells, or even often. Just occasionally. Like last night.
I don’t know where the smell came from – some particular combination of the air and the groundsoil and the precipitation, or maybe even something as specific as a mushroom that was blooming due to the moisture – but what struck me was how the environment immediately around us has changed so often in the past few weeks. Every day feels like a different biosystem, or micro-biosystem anyway. One day last week the air was as humid as it normally is during a tropical storm. Another day was one of the windiest I’ve known; my mother and I went for a walk in the afternoon and picked up debris from falling branches on the driveway the whole way out to the road and then picked up more debris on the way back that had fallen since we’d last passed by. Other nights in the past few weeks have smelled like quintessential New England fall, the air crisp and dry, with a scent of pine and maple.
Smelling the unusual metallic/dirty hair/rain smell last night reminded me of how many changes we witness outdoors at this time of year. In the winter, when the ground is frozen, changes in the atmosphere are almost imperceptible: one frozen night and day seem indistinguishable from the next. And in the summer, when the heat and humidity hover, the weather can seem to change very little for days on end as well. But this fall has been like a kaleidoscope of climate: the temperature, humidity, ground cover -- from dry leaves to wet leaves to acorns -- and yes, even the smell of the air, have changed daily.
I’m grateful I can be outside experiencing it for so much of the day. Yesterday I walked to school with Holly in the morning, then set off from there on a two-mile run; later in the day I walked next door to my parents’ house, and earlier in the day I had been out to the barnyard to let the sheep out to graze. When I was working in a corporate environment full-time, one of the hardest parts of it for me was how often I would be indoors from 8:30 a.m. until 5 p.m. or later. It just seemed like such a waste of the world not to get out into it at all. Sometimes during lunch I’d walk around a residential neighborhood near my office, an uninspiring neighborhood with busy streets and a jumble of houses that had little character but at least gave me a chance to be outside.
This is a time of year when our surroundings change fast: the grass begins to die off, the leaves change colors and fall from the trees, acorns encrust the ground, pine needles turn to mulch. There’s a lot to see, and I try to spend a lot of time outdoors witnessing it. It’s autumn in New England, and I don’t want to miss a thing.
I don’t know where the smell came from – some particular combination of the air and the groundsoil and the precipitation, or maybe even something as specific as a mushroom that was blooming due to the moisture – but what struck me was how the environment immediately around us has changed so often in the past few weeks. Every day feels like a different biosystem, or micro-biosystem anyway. One day last week the air was as humid as it normally is during a tropical storm. Another day was one of the windiest I’ve known; my mother and I went for a walk in the afternoon and picked up debris from falling branches on the driveway the whole way out to the road and then picked up more debris on the way back that had fallen since we’d last passed by. Other nights in the past few weeks have smelled like quintessential New England fall, the air crisp and dry, with a scent of pine and maple.
Smelling the unusual metallic/dirty hair/rain smell last night reminded me of how many changes we witness outdoors at this time of year. In the winter, when the ground is frozen, changes in the atmosphere are almost imperceptible: one frozen night and day seem indistinguishable from the next. And in the summer, when the heat and humidity hover, the weather can seem to change very little for days on end as well. But this fall has been like a kaleidoscope of climate: the temperature, humidity, ground cover -- from dry leaves to wet leaves to acorns -- and yes, even the smell of the air, have changed daily.
I’m grateful I can be outside experiencing it for so much of the day. Yesterday I walked to school with Holly in the morning, then set off from there on a two-mile run; later in the day I walked next door to my parents’ house, and earlier in the day I had been out to the barnyard to let the sheep out to graze. When I was working in a corporate environment full-time, one of the hardest parts of it for me was how often I would be indoors from 8:30 a.m. until 5 p.m. or later. It just seemed like such a waste of the world not to get out into it at all. Sometimes during lunch I’d walk around a residential neighborhood near my office, an uninspiring neighborhood with busy streets and a jumble of houses that had little character but at least gave me a chance to be outside.
This is a time of year when our surroundings change fast: the grass begins to die off, the leaves change colors and fall from the trees, acorns encrust the ground, pine needles turn to mulch. There’s a lot to see, and I try to spend a lot of time outdoors witnessing it. It’s autumn in New England, and I don’t want to miss a thing.
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