Musings on the Weather.....

Ahhhh, the weather. There’s a subject for you. Everyone, everywhere talks about the weather. We will talk about the weather with complete strangers who ask really idiotic things, such as, “Is it hot enough for you?” To which we all think silently in reply, “No way, I am hoping it gets hotter so I can experience heat stroke first hand.”

Because I grew up on a farm, I find the weather to be vastly interesting. It was more than just a topic to fill up the empty awkward silence in a conversation, it was a topic into itself. When I moved to college, my roommate was baffled with my daily curiosity regarding weather conditions. My thought was that SHE was an odd-duck….who doesn’t like to consider the climate and all the predictions that can be made about it? All of creation depends on it!

The weather man we watched growing up looked like a turtle wearing a suit. He still reports the weather, but now he just looks like an ancient turtle….his neck is all stretched out and long, and his chin has the makings of a lovely turtle specimen. He even blinks his eye in turtle fashion.

I always imagined him sitting out in the rain, as a weatherman, his head barely peeking out from his wet shell as he peered upward formulating his weather predictions very slowly and precisely.

A quintessential weather resource we used religiously on our Texas farm was the all-knowing barometer. Taking prominence on our wall, it was if it were a fine piece of art that we stopped to gaze at and discuss. My daddy taught me how to read it, and I became quite the crackerjack at consulting it.

Weather.com did not exist. And for my grandpa, who lived next door, all weathermen were just suits making wild-haired guesses. He made his own forecast pretty much dead-on every time. He observed all the signs…the weathercock, the skies, the moon, the cloud formations, the humidity, the barometer, the birds and chickens, the cattle, and even his own bones. I trusted his forecasting more than the turtleman’s.

I miss my Grandpa immeasurably. He would talk of the weather with me in true earnestness. I can hear his voice, slow and intentional with a slight drawl, speaking wisely….his big hands moving to punctuate his words, pointing to the clouds in the far distance. Me, listening intently, suspended by the lore of reading creation to foretell a thunderstorm or a drought. Such discussions always took place on the porch with a glass bottle of Dr. Pepper in one hand and a bag of salted peanuts in the other. Sweet memories. Ahhh, how I miss those times… and not a soul I know can discuss the readings of a barometer with me.