The Rule of Threes

We humans are an interesting lot--we note things by number groupings. It is an arbitrary approach to observing things, but we can't help ourselves. The number three is one way we note things. We hear of the death of a famous person, then another--and we wait for the third death. If we try twice at something that doesn't work, we say "third time is a charm."

Well, not sure if nature counts by threes, but this summer has brought three unusual events our way.

The first unexpected event this summer was the earthquake. I grant you, by California standards--or almost anywhere in the world far less tectonic plate stable than the east coast, it wasn't much. Still, since I felt it--and saw the walls move--it was plenty enough for me.

Then, the second event--Hurricane Irene decided to waltz through central Pennsylvania, as well as other parts of the north east U.S. No matter how loudly and heartily I sang "Goodnight, Irene"--she just wouldn't leave. We watched as our lovely tall evergreens in the back yard began falling: one...two...three. Several days later, the tree guys (who were SUPER busy these days) arrived, whipped their noisy saws into action, slung rope and pulley over a neighbor's tree, hoisted, dragged and pushed the downed trees through a large grinder.

That was quite enough for me. But, nature had one more little treat in store--the third event.
Hurricane Irene gave way to Tropical Storm Lee. As rain fell day after day, we watched anxiously to see if our usually dry basement would stay dry. This past Wednesday, both my husband and I had plans to be out of the house for separate lunches. I went to the basement around 9:30 a.m., just in time to see a portion of the basement floor with a slight inch of water creeping in and bubbling up.

We both changed our lunch plans and went to work. While I began syphoning up water with our wet vac, my husband made a quick trip to our friendly Ace is the Place Hardware store to rent an industrial size wet vac.

We worked solidly for five hours--emptying the vacs by lugging buckets up the basement steps. Finally, with the rain continuing, we gave up. We managed to rig up a small pump which normally is used in the winter to keep water off the swimming pool winter cover. By attaching a long garden hose to the pump, and then running that hose up the stairs to the family room level, we were able to have the water run down a drain in the laundry room.

That system ran all night. By morning, small patches of dry floor began to appear. We turned on the dehumidifier, and set up a floor fan. With the rain slowing down, then stopping, we "won" the water battle.

What was ending for us was just beginning for the area. The Susquehanna is a lovely old river--almost a mile wide where Harrisburg, our state capitol, sits--this river can handle a lot of water. But it begins to flood at 17 feet. The original forecasts were for the river to rise to 29 feet.

Suddenly everyone was making the obvious comparison--to Hurricane Agnes. Hurricane Agnes wasn't much of a hurricane, back in 1972. But this low-level hurricane stalled over Virginia, Pennsylvania and New York. Between June 19 to 24, Agnes dumped upwards to 19 inches of rain in Pennsylvania. Rivers rose, creeks rose, and even long-forgotten canals filled.

In Harrisburg, water backed up the Paxton Creek, which had been channeled into a canal which few people knew even existed. The result was that Harrisburg had water all around it, almost cutting it off.

At the time, my husband and I were living in an apartment outside of Harrisburg. We had recently had our first child, our son--who was six months old. We were not greatly affected, except by the excitement of the news.

So, when the comparisons began this time to Agnes, it brought back memories as well as a frisson of dread--would Lee be as dramatic as Agnes? Well, yes and no. The river level did not break the Agnes record--it crested just over 25 feet. But still, for all the folks who were displaced, who lost homes to the flooding, the height of a flood matters little.

This photo--taken for the Patriot News by Sean Simmers--shows a neighborhood in Harrisburg called Shipoke. We have three friends from church who live in houses facing the Susquehanna. All of them had to evacuate.


Here are some other photos by the same photographer.

Some places that had not been affected by Agnes were flooded--for example HersheyPark, a favorite tourist destination. Both of our children had worked there-so we had a frame of reference as we looked at photos of some of the places we knew. The roller coaster was not designed as a water ride.

Lee has moved on--and, with 15 1/2 inches of rain, it now takes its place as the SECOND wettest tropical system to dump rain on Pennsylvania, right behind Agnes.

Let's just hope that the rule of threes holds--that there are no more unusual events at least for this year.

Only God Can Make a Tree

When my husband and I moved to the house we now live in, the neighborhood was brand new. In fact, my son and I had discovered the house for sale. Our son was eight, at the time, and the two of us had gone out for an afternoon bike ride. We rode from where we lived to a newly developing neighborhood very close by. In fact, our old house and our now house are less than a mile apart.

As we rode into the developing neighborhood, it showed all the signs of being brand new. About a dozen houses had been built, all on speculation. Since it was during a housing slow-down, very few had sold. And there were NO trees anywhere.

Once we had bought the house, and moved in, one of the first things on the list of things to do was to plant trees. The wind came whistling out of the north-west, and smacked our new house, especially in the winter. So, trees to help break that whistling wind were a MUST.

We got about a dozen small evergreens--all bare root stock and each eighteen inches high. And I walked along the back of our lot, with my husband digging holes, as I planted the small trees. Each tree seemed to be pitifully small. The result was that we planted them entirely too close together. As it happened, about every other tree was a Japanese pine. When they got too big, we took them out, leaving the Douglas firs, the Scotch pine, and the Colorado blue spruce, and one lone Austrian pine. Eventually, we added two Engelmann spruce (that had been live trees in front of our church).

This year, we had the Austrian pine taken down. It still had some green at the top, but most of the rest of it was dead. A neighbor thought it might come down in his yard, so we had it removed.

When Hurricane Irene began to blow up the East Coast, it did not even cross my mind that we might have storm damage. This week began with an earthquake in the east--a rare occurrence. So, a hurricane seemed like a fitting second act. But we have had hurricanes blow through central Pennsylvania before. Some do significant damage--mostly from high water. Hurricane Agnes in 1972 was just such a storm.

But the forecasts showed our town to be just enough to the west of Hurricane Irene that it seemed we might get a dose of rain, some wind, but not much else.

I awakened around 4:30 a.m. to hear the rain and the wind. Things sounded restless enough outside that I did not go back to sleep--more from curiosity than concern. As it began to get more light outside, I could see the trees being whipped around by the wind.

When I looked outside again--I got the first shock. TREE DOWN. This Douglas fir was one that our son had brought home from grade school, which we planted near our pool. And now it was down--just heaved over from the too much rain softened soil, and finished off by the wind.

Then, a bit later--there seemed to be far more light to the north side of our house than usual. Tree 2 down.

And, it continued then when Tree 3 leaned, on its way down, only to be stopped by a neighbor's black cherry tree.

So, now we wait for a tree service to come, clear away, clean up and haul off our lovely 30 plus year old trees.

And, then, we will have to decide--what to plant there next.

Joyce Kilmer's oft-cited poem came to mind:

I THINK that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree. . .

It's Been a Wild Week

Sitting at my computer this evening, I glanced out the window to see a golden glow. This has happened from time to time, and it always draws me outside. I love to look at the warm glow of a late summer sky. This evening's sky did not disappoint. The only resentment I feel at all is that neighbors had the temerity to build to the west of our house, thus obstructing my view of the sunset. But I did my best--I climbed a small hill and took several photos.

This marvelous sky is the very least that Mother Nature can do after the weather that has been thrown at us the last week. I would have been perfectly happy to go the whole summer without a week of high humidity and scorching temperatures. But, by the third week of August, I guess I should not be surprised that the heat and humidity finally arrived.

Since Monday, the weather here has been unsettled. Temperatures inched over 90 degrees--in a summer that has not seen 90 degree levels. And then on Thursday, tornado warnings sprouted all over the central PA area. Understand, mostly we do not have tornadoes in this part of the country. I turned on the television around 3 p.m. to catch the weather forecast, only to find the various local stations had pre-empted their usual fare ( no loss) to broadcast tornado warnings non-stop. Then the skies lowered, and the rain came down. In buckets. And buckets. The weird thing is that the official record keeping location--at the airport--experienced no rain fall.

Today was almost a repeat of yesterday, minus the tornado warnings. However, the downpour of rain flooded Front St., along the river in our capital city. Quite a sight.

I always enjoy the opening that Garrison Keillor gives when he says "It's been a quiet week here in Lake Wobegon, my home town."

Well, it's not been a quiet week here in Harrisburg, my home town.

But the lovely golden sky this evening portends fairer weather in the days to come. . .I hope.

What's Essential

In the last post, I asked what you can't live without. Thanks for all the fascinating answers.

Last evening, I stepped outside to do something, and I noticed the lovely cloud formations. They were breathtakingly dramatic--seeming to portend change. We have had a series of stormy days, but these clouds brought no rain.

As I whirled around, camera in hand, trying to photograph them, I suddenly thought--here's something I can't live without.

I do not enjoy clear cloudless skies all that much. In fact, I avoid too much sun exposure. But I love clouds.

So, I'll share.

Scaredy Dog. . .

No great insights in this post, my friends. I have just spent the second night in a week with a dog scared out of her wits due to middle-of-the-night thunderstorms.

Last Thursday, we picked up our daughter at the airport, drove home, had a nice evening, then headed off to bed. Transatlantic flight requires some adjusting to a new time zone! In the middle of the night, thunderstorms rolled through central Pennsylvania, and the dog--who HATES thunder--began her frantic whining.

So, I took her downstairs to our family room, barricaded her way back upstairs--so other family members could sleep. The dog was so upset, pacing, panting and whining, that I got her leash and put it on, so I could hold on to her.

After two hours of brilliant flashes of lightning followed by claps of thunder, the storm suddenly moved away. Just like that. The dog calmed down, and I finally fell asleep.

Well, the scene was virtually repeated last night. (This time, our daughter had safely returned to London.) But in the middle of the night, again--thunder and a frantic dog.

So, I gathered her up, went into the study, and finally fell asleep on the couch there. The dog managed to wedge herself into an impossibly small niche that seemed to help calm her.

I do wonder why some dogs are so afraid of thunder storms. I suspect her hearing is far more acute than mine, so maybe the sound of thunder not only terrifies her but may also hurt her ears. Whatever the cause, thunderstorms seriously disrupt her normal calm demeanor. Here she is in her "normal" thunderstorm hiding place--under my desk.

I can't recall a series of thunderstorms so close together in the middle of the night.

Well, by morning, all has returned to normal.

And I am back in the world of blogging.

R-A-I-N-I-N-G

No, no--you're quite right. The fact that it is raining here in central PA is NOT news-worthy. And, please understand, I don't claim that it is. It is ONLY note-worthy. You see, a bit more than a week ago, I washed ALL the windows in the house, inside and out. See how clearly you can look through the front window?


Since then, we have had rain almost every day. Not all day, mind. But showers on most days. Today's rain is actually heavier than some days. Heavy enough for this stream to emerge from my neighbor's downspout.

My flowers along our front sidewalk look bedraggled, barely able to lift their heads.

This is NOT a stream--but the walkway to our pool area.

This poor bird--one of the ubiquitous house finches that we have all around here--hangs on to the shutter under the eave of my neighbor's house.

A few more sit on the down-spout.
And yet one more bird sits on our copper feeder, with its small roof overhang.
The picnic table and plants are drenched.
And the bird bath gets a free refill.

I should have known that we would have several days of rain--after all, I washed all the house windows. The other surefire way, it seems, to attract rain is to wax the family cars. With my powers, I had best head out to California and help the folks there.

Shattered Shells

I could also title this blog--Ice storm Redux.

Here is the visual evidence of all the clatter last night. Even as we went to sleep, we could hear the ice crashing into the house. Nothing more broken, but most unnerving to hear!

This is a brick walkway between our sunporch and our pool, now covered with fallen ice.

Close-up of same brick walkway.

And finally, our blue-tarp covered picnic table now littered with ice shards. Looks as though someone had a mad party smashing champagne glasses all night--and sounded the same way!

While driving around this morning, running errands, we saw many trees that had lost limbs. I cannot remember such a bad ice storm in central PA.

ANNOUNCING TWO WEEK HIATUS

We are off to London--to see the Queen? Probably not, but to see our daughter. No blogs written or read until we return.

Cheers to all--Merry Christmas

Happy New Year!

Crystal Shells

We have had two ice storms within the past week. The ambient air temperature is cold enough that when the predicted snow did not fall, but in its place rain fell, it instantly froze on tree branches. (Of course, we just filled our bird feeder before the ice storm hit!)

Last night the second such storm hit, and this time the trees gave way to the ponderous weight. In our yard, we lost about four branches, all from evergreen trees. Thus far, we have not had any entire tree go down.

And, thankfully, we have also not lost power. While central Pennsylvania has been hit, our circumstance is far less difficult than Oklahoma and those central parts of the U.S. that were hard hit last week by ice storms.

I did think of lines from Robert Frost's poem "Birches" as you might guess from the blog title of "Crystal Shells." What an apt description for the way ice encases tree branches.

As I write this blog tonight, our house is being peppered with these "shells." They clatter against the house, raising such a noise the two cats have fled in fright to parts unknown. No doubt, they have crawled under beds or into safe hiding places to ride out the aftermath of the storm.

From Robert Frost's poem "Birches"

When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay.
Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.

My War on Weather Forecasters

It was Mark Twain who said that old bromide: everybody always talks about the weather but nobody does anything about it. Reading the news lately has made me all the more determined that each of us must do something about the weather.

Among the stories that have really caught my attention are three recent ones: the snowless Alps, polar bears and a Canadian ice-shelf breaking away. Each of these stories connects to the overall issue of global climate change, and therein lies my war.

There are many things that any one person can do about global climate change. The first, of course, is to acknowledge that the planet is warming up much faster over the last several decades than at any other point in human history. Of course, over the millions of years the earth has existed, it has gone through periods of extreme heat and extreme cold. Many causes connect to the heating and cooling of the planet. But the emerging scientific consensus is that humans are contributing greatly to the current warming trends which in turn are causing the climate changes we see.

The second thing that one person can do is change her (or his) personal habits. There is a temptation to think that since the little things are so minimal, why bother. But, do bother. For example, we have switched over to almost all fluorescent bulbs in our house. We both drive cars that are reasonably fuel efficient. We don’t yet own a hybrid, which would be even more fuel efficient.

I am trying to raise my awareness of how I consume resources so that I am less consuming and more restoring of the earth’s resources. As my family knows, I am a rabid freecycler—doing everything I can to keep things out of landfills. I have recycled cans, bottles, newspapers, and plastics since before my son was born (and he turns 35 next year!).

So what is left? Changing public attitudes. One of my current bugaboos is that local weather forecasters insist on saying how lovely and wonderful the weather is when it is warm, and how awful it is when it is cool. First of all, I love cold weather. I long for, no—yearn for, snow. This winter has been an absolute bust here in central Pennsylvania. When the temperature these days has been in the mid-50s, weather forecasters say—oh, aren’t we fortunate to have such lovely weather. I shout at the TV—NO! I hate it.

So, I have finally decided I need to take these folks on. I have a theory: when the weather is abnormally warm in the winter, and people hear the weather forecaster say how great that is, they agree and are reinforced in their habits that contribute to global warming. Maybe that’s a stretch—but doesn’t it make a bit of sense. Why change the way you live, freely consuming earth’s resources, when the result is warm weather in the winter?

And just how does one take on weather forecasters? My perhaps feeble way is to fire off emails. Every time I hear a local forecaster say how lovely and warm it is, I send an email. The gist of what I say to them is—no, it is not lovely. It is downright freakish. And long term it is really scary.

I actually had one weather forecaster write back to me. Here’s what he said:
“Because we are meteorologists and not climatologists, climate change is beyond our field of expertise. We have to therefore become journalists when talking about it and must adopt journalistic ethics. We cannot take sides in passionate issues. We are supposed to be apolitical just like news reporters and we are not here to try to sway public opinion on anything. In the realm of climate change, that is an especially good policy because regardless of what you may have read, there is still quite the heated argument in "PhD Land" going on about humanity's artificial effect on global warming (natural global warming has been going on since the last ice age). What about the climatologists who don't publish their experiments which predict global cooling because of fears they'll lose their funding? What about the fact that fuel cells on the scale of every car in the world would be much, much worse for us because water vapor eats carbon dioxide's lunch when it comes to absorbing UV radiation? Americans are not getting all angles to this story. How could we go on-air all the time without differing opinion? Meantime, general consensus is that the current weather is nice. We can sort of reflect that mood, but we cannot flat out root for or against types of weather, either.”

Mostly, the responses I get back are “thank you for contacting us.” But the above comment really struck me. On the one hand, he was saying he can’t take sides, and then on the other hand he takes sides!

So, I have declared war on the weather forecasters. I will keep writing to them, urging them to recognize the role they play in influencing people’s perceptions of the weather.

And I have decided to begin to use a new response when people say to me: isn’t this weather wonderful? I am going to say—no, it’s freakish. And do you really want to live in a world without polar bears?