Here be dragons

It's certainly been an odd season, weatherwise.  Mrs Walles and I were spared the devastation of Sandy thanks to our distance from the coast (though we battenned down the hatches just in case - our barbecue cover and compost bin are still tied down with bungee cords).

Since Sandy we've had extremely mild temperatures for the time of year and only one fall of snow which lit up the landscape for two or three days but didn't require me to even lift my shovel.  After last year's mild winter people have been assuming that this year we'll be hit hard, but so far Jack Frost hasn't really flexed his muscles.

But over at the Weather Channel they've found a way to spice things up by naming winter storm systems, like tropical storms are here and around the world.

Of course they claim there are numerous worthy reasons why naming storms is a good idea, which may be true, but you can't tell me that dramatic flair wasn't on their minds when they cooked up scheme.  As evidence of this I would like to present exhibits A, B and C: Athena, Brutus and Caesar, the names given to the first three storms of the season.  These didn't really live up to their billing, and I'm uneasy with the plotting which had Brutus come before Caesar...surely Caesar should appear first and then Brutus should develop and quickly usurp its power.

Now we have Draco (yes, really) sweeping across the country which finally is bringing actual winter weather to many places including here - though given the time of year it's not exactly unexpected.  Certainly not as unexpected as either a dragon or an Ancient Athenian leader would be.

But it certainly makes it sound exciting.  If you think you're having a tough time in the lead up to Christmas, just think of me, bravely resisting Draco's cold grip...mostly by staying inside in my slippers with a hot drink.

A matter of degree

The weather is cooling rapidly now.  No more snow since the big storm last week, but the temperatures have been dipping down low overnight - we've had several good hard frosts.  Even the squirrels are getting up later in the morning when it is warmer.

The other night it got down to twenty five degrees, which I'm used to thinking of as comfortable room temperature, but which here is a chilly frost.  Though that's not as disconcerting as temperatures reaching one hundred degrees in the summer, which to me sounds like I should be actually on fire, rather than just feeling like I am.

Yes, this Fahrenheit business is all very confusing.  Like all the other measures here it takes a bit of getting used to. I have to try to remember that sixty something is room temperature and a hundred or thereabouts is blood temperature and so on.  But it's a little more complicated with temperature, too, because it is not just that a degree of Fahrenheit is smaller than a degree of Celsius, but the zeroes are in different places.  That really throws me.

I'm very used to talking about temperatures below zero as being freezing, because that's where water freezes in Celsius.  But water freezes at thirty two degrees Fahrenheit.  If you say the temperature is below zero here you mean not just cold but bits-of-you-turn-blue-and-fall-off cold.  I still catch myself in the winter about to say "below zero" and quickly substitute "below freezing".  Except when I forget.  Then I get the odd looks suggesting I have a poor grasp on reality.  You know, as if I ordered mayonnaise on my salad, or something.

And here comes another winter.  Another opportunity to hone my vocabulary into a more US-friendly form.  At least in public.  In private I'll think whatever I like because there's nobody around to give me a frosty look.

I'm dreaming of a white October the 29th

More unusual weather this morning.  As I look out the window while I type this is is snowing.  Now for a southern hemisphere lad like me snow in October is a very odd thing anyway, but even for the locals it's odd to get a snow storm this early in the Autumn (as I insist on calling it when nobody else is around).

It's supposed to be a doosie, too, with a foot or more of heavy, wet snow predicted all across the northeastern United States (and I presume into Canada, too, even though to watch the TV you'd think the weather stops at the border).  It hasn't started settling yet, but with that much falling it can only be a matter of time before the landscape turns white.

Talk about a cold snap, we only got our first frost yesterday morning and already the snow is piling on.  There are still flowers in bloom in our little garden!

It will likely all be melted by tomorrow afternoon, though, and it really is a cold snap so daytime temperatures will probably be up a little again once this sorts itself out.  For the moment, though, Mrs Walles and I will just have to wrap up warm when we venture out later, and add salt to our shopping list to spread on the driveway if the snow turns out to be more persistent than forecast.

Plus it is lovely to watch the snow falling.  Unlike some jaded souls here who, thanks to many hard winters, have come to treat snow as just an inconvenience, I still get excited by a big dump of snow.  Especially one that I don't have to shovel the next morning!

Wet feet

The rain that has beset us for some weeks now is set to depart.  According to the National Weather Service we can expect the sun to appear in a couple of days time.  To which I say: what is this "sun" they speak of?  It's not quite as bad as that but there have been a lot of grey days in the past few weeks, very little sun and an awful lot of rain.

Last Wednesday the rain was particularly awful as it started seeping into our basement.  Fortunately I just happened to go down there as it started so I was able to reduce its impact.  Nothing was really at risk, except an old bed which was quickly moved out of harm's way.  But there were a lot of cardboard boxes down there that I have been slowly cutting up and disposing of.

Of course I'm not used to having a basement, but they are ubiquitous here.  Not every American home has a basement (in some places the water table is too high to make them practical, for one thing) but they are extremely widespread.  I can tell you now that they are a double-edged sword.  On the one hand it's like having a whole extra level to the house, and somewhere to hide all those annoying utilitarian machines - which in the case of a typical American home means at least the washing machine and dryer, the hot water cylinder and the central heating and air conditioning.  We have all of these in our basement, plus enough space to have a little room down there, finished and carpeted which we use to hold the spillover when we have guests to stay.

The bad part is that you have a big empty underground chamber beneath the house that's only too happy to fill with water if the conditions are right.  To counteract this they have drainage built in and are sealed to prevent even damp getting in.  They are impervious to water, or at least they are supposed to be.  But if you have a little hole, and erosion of the soil around the foundation, all it takes is a good strong rainstorm for the water to start pouring in.  And that's what happened to us last week.

It's not normally a problem but the ground is already so wet (we could grow rice in the back yard at the moment) and there was such a cloudburst, that the water had nowhere to go.

So I spent the rest of last week cutting up boxes and bagging them ready for disposal.  Now I just have to mop the floor with bleach and we'll be just about back to normal.  Apart from that nagging feeling whenever the rain comes that the basement might be filling with water, spurring yet another visit downstairs to ease my mind.  I'm looking forward to some sunny weather.

Fair's fair

The flood waters have receded, leaving devastation in their wake.  Mrs Walles and I took a little walk around town at the peak on Friday and gawped at the water rising almost to the tops of the flood banks.  If it wasn't for the banks then a sizable portion of our town would have been underwater.  Other towns along the Susquehanna River which weren't similarly protected really were underwater, including Bloomsburg, the town that traditionally hosts the state fair at the end of September.

As a result there was concern that the fair may have to be cancelled this year.  Justified concern, given that the fairgrounds were under several metres of water last week.  Although this is the third summer I've spent here I have yet to experience the fair: the last two times I've been here on a visitor's permit and it has run out before the fair starts.  It would be a shame to miss it again as it is, by all accounts, a sight to behold.  It's a bit like a giant A&P show, an extravaganza of farming, entertainment and food.  For months friends and acquaintances have been reeling off lists of stands I have to visit to partake of apple cider, apple fritters, ice cream, pizza, funnel cake, toffee apples and more (I've just realised how dominant a theme apples are in the line up - not that I'm complaining).

It is galling that now I am here for keeps I may still miss the fair thanks to the weather.  Never mind all those people whose lives have been turned upside down by historic floods or even those who rely on the fair for their livelihoods.  I might not get to try fresh apple fritters with cinnamon ice cream. That's the real tragedy here.

Wet, wet, wet

It never rains but it pours, literally for us right now.  On Sunday afternoon it started raining and did that straight through until Thursday morning.  After missing the worst of Irene two other tropical depressions conspired to dump an almost unprecedented quantity of water on central and northeast Pennsylvania.  Pinched in between the remnants of tropical storm Lee to the west and Hurricane Katia far out in the Atlantic, moisture from the south had nowhere to go except over a narrow band over the state.  Fortunately we live on a hill, but parts of our town are already flooded a nail-biting few hours are coming up as the Susquehanna River, the main artery of this part of the world, approaches its crest.  Tens of thousands of people have been evacuated throughout the region.

It's a fifty or one hundred year flood, and is being compared to the terrible flooding caused by tropical storm Agnes in 1972.  Indeed when large parts of th city of Wilkes-Barre were evacuated today, rather than give a list of places that were affected, people were told instead that places flooded by Agnes were to evacuate.  Amazingly that was as specific as it got - if you weren't around thirty nine years ago the local TV station was recommending that you ask your neighbours.  It seems bizarre to me, but then Mrs Walles pointed out that people are like that around here.  If you ask for directions they will include landmarks that haven't existed for years.  "Oh, you want to go there?  Well, you know where so-and-so used to be?"  You're just supposed to know.

Luckily our fate isn't bound up in one of these vague proclamations. I'm most worried about our water becoming contaminated, especially as there doesn't seem to be a very reliable way to find out if we have to boil it.  Maybe you're just supposed to know that, too, from the way the wind is blowing or something.  I'm keeping an eye on the TV just in case they mention it there instead.  That is one revelation in this situation, the round the clock coverage by the local TV of the flooding including warnings and notices specific to our county and town.  Much better than huddling around the radio, as I probably would be in the same situation in New Zealand.

At least this time there are flood banks and, as long as they hold, the devastation caused by Agnes won't be repeated.  It's bad enough, though, for those affected.  And though we sometimes complain about the steep roads leading up to it, we are very thankful for our little house on the hill right now.

After the storm

By the time Hurricane Irene reached us late Saturday night it had already weakened somewhat and, combined with the fact that we were on the periphery meant that we only got a good soaking rain and a little bit of wind.  Other parts of the region did not fare so well - North Carolina and Virginia, where she first came ashore, were battered quite badly and flooding caused problems right up the East Coast, even affecting places one or two counties away from us.

Mrs Walles and I followed along on the Weather Channel.  On Sunday morning, as the eye approached New York City, the presenters seemed to manifest a kind of macabre hope that Irene would retain her hurricane status all the way to Manhattan, which would make it the first direct hit from a hurricane there in over a hundred years.  In the end she was downgraded to a tropical storm just before she hit New York.  That didn't stop her leaving a path of flooding and blackouts all the way through New England into Canada.

Millions of people were without power (including some of the family of Mrs Walles on Long Island) and many still are.  At least ten people were killed.  And flooding is still creating havoc according to the news.

And so I have weathered my first hurricane, even if it was right at the edge and even if it was "only" category one.  I'm still chalking it up.  And, frankly, I'm not worried about getting closer to the centre or seeking out category fives, thanks very much.  Last week demonstrated that not even here, in Pennsylvania, are we completely immune to the more dramatic forces of nature.  There's no escape and, though I imagine the people of Virginia might disagree, I guess you just have to roll with the punches.

Just when I thought it was safe to go outside...

It turns out that the earthquake the other day was just a distraction from the impending hurricane which has already caused more devastation than that little shake.

Hurricane Irene is shaping up to be the worst in decades.  It's already come ashore in the Carolinas and is heading through Virginia on its way to Philadelphia, New York City and Long Island, Boston and points north.  Normally, hundreds of miles inland as I am, even if a hurricane got that close it wouldn't be much of a problem.  But Irene is huge, hundreds of miles across, big enough that even now the very edges of it are making themselves felt where we are.  The forecast is for likely tropical storm conditions tonight where we are - meaning strong winds and lots and lots of rain.

So Mrs Walles and I are hunkering down.  She grew up on Long Island which, because it sticks out into the Atlantic, catches more hurricanes than much of the mainland.  So she knows what to do.  We've secured everything outside, stocked up on food and water, and in the (extremely unlikely) event that we need to retreat to the basement we've got that in a habitable state.

Realistically we're most worried about flooding and power cuts.  So if you don't hear from me, it's less likely that I've been blown away and more likely that the internet has been cut off.  Which doesn't sound good either - but is definitely the lesser of two evils!

Lights in the sky

Last night we had an impressive thunderstorm pass quite close, though it didn't actually douse us (we had to wait until this morning for that).  Much more impressive than the lightning were the lightning bugs, though.

Fireflies are a (now) familiar sight to me here in the summer.  For about two or three weeks now we've been watched them lazily fire their little yellow lights off as they buzz over the grass around twilight.  But last night was something altogether more spectacular, with hundreds, maybe thousands of fireflies sparkling in the trees outside our house and around the neighbourhood.

It's hard to explain exactly what it looked like.  My best attempt was that it was like a Christmas tree covered in flashing lights.  But I think Mrs Walles hit it on the head, saying that it was like watching camera flashes going off at a concert.

The lights looked much whiter than the usual fireflies we see, and they flashed much faster, and they were in the trees, not the grass, so I wonder if these were a different species.  Or perhaps it was larvae, hatched from eggs laid in the trees and putting on a light show for want of anything better to do.  I'm not sure what the explanation is, and I'm definitely not an expert on the matter, but it was something quite different and extraordinary.  Very flash!

Thunder and lightning

Sorry posts have been scarce this week, Mrs Walles and I have been away. More on that in upcoming posts.  Right now, though, I'm distracted by the dirty great thunderstorm headed my way.  It shouldn't be a surprise, thunderstorms have been forecast for our neck of the woods today just like they have most days for the last two weeks.  But it's been a lovely sunny day until now and I thought I would be able to get away with nipping out to the shops for ingredients for tomorrow's dinner.

And of course as I closed the door I heard a crack of thunder and looked up to see half the sky consumed by dark and brooding clouds.  I retreated uncertainly and now, having checked the weather, find that the storm is predicted to be severe with possible hail and gales.  So I think I'll give the shops a miss for the moment, at least until it has passed.  To be honest I'm not too worried about postponing my jaunt - it is very hot and muggy out right now.


A storm passed over us on Monday accompanied by something I had never heard before, a constant loud and low rumble.  At first I took it to be thunder and but it was so unfamiliar that I actually began to wonder if it really was thunder, or if it was some weather phenomenon hitherto unknown to me.  In a moment of panic it occurred to me that a tornado might make a sound like that (we aren't at much risk of tornadoes here - but it can happen).  Fortunately I was mistaken: it was rolling thunder after all, and a few minutes later the torrents of rain and wind arrived.  It wasn't a twister but it was dramatic all the same.

And now that I've finished this I'll stick my head out the door and see if it's all clear.  Well, I'll look out the window first - otherwise, if I'm not careful, I'll end up with a spiky hairdo and a shocked expression.

Flat out

This is a squirrel we've dubbed Fertile Myrtle (the squirtle), sprawled outside our back door.  More on why she is sprawled below.

She's the most friendly of the squirrels that visit, the one that actually comes right up to the window and looks in at me to ask for more nuts.

She's also the one that we thought was a fella until her pregnancy became very obvious.  We think she's delivered, now, and judging by the nuts she's squireling away it was quite a litter.  We'll probably have six little squirrels asking for nuts in a couple of months.

If Myrtle sees that I'm near the window she will usually run down the hill and ask for nuts.  Sometimes I don't see her, but she is persistent, as you can see.

Usually she'll stand patiently on her hind legs until she catches my eye, but on the day the top photo was taken things were a lot hotter and muggier than usual as a storm front approached.  She's actually cooling down in the traditional squirrel fashion, spread-eagled on the ground.

I hope her kids realise how much effort she goes to so they can eat, slaving over a hot deck all afternoon...

A winter wonderland - in spring

We woke up yesterday morning to a few inches of snow, even though spring officially started here three days ago (I'm never sure who the officials are that declare the "official" start of spring, but here it is the equinox on or about the 21st of March, rather than the 1st  as in New Zealand).

My wife warned that this might happen, and it's not that surprising considering we had the heaviest snowfall of the year just a couple of weeks back.  But come on, it's spring!  Enough with the snow.

For those who hail from climes where snow is a novelty, let me assure you that the novelty soon wears off when you live somewhere that measures its snowfall by the foot.  You see they're prepared for it here.  It's not like New Zealand where a skiff of snow is enough to close the schools, shut down the roads and spend the day making snow men or admiring the transformed scenery with a cup of hot chocolate.  Here life goes on.  If it didn't nothing would happen all winter, when the snow doesn't melt for weeks.  If you don't clear it it quickly becomes overwhelming.  We didn't clear our deck off last winter and it looked something like this for ages.

Snow ploughs (or rather plows) take care of the roads, you can hear them grating along the street in the middle of the night, but each is expected to do their bit with their own yard.  For us that means the walk from the door to the drive, and the drive itself, have to be shoveled as clean as possible and then scattered with salt to melt what's left.

I shouldn't really complain.  Thanks to warmer weather there wasn't that much left to clear this time, though there was still plenty of the white stuff clinging to the lawn even this morning.  It only took a few minutes to clear off the car and shovel the debris onto the grass.  In the past I've spent over an hour out there making it safe. And Pennsylvania got off relatively lightly this winter, unlike New York which had several falls over a foot.

Anyway, things are looking up though.  As I wrote this yesterday afternoon a thunderstorm passed overhead.  That's encouraging - spring really is on the way after all.