Writing is my artistic expression. My keyboard is my brush. Words are my medium. My blog is my canvas. And committing to writing daily makes me feel like an artist.
Today on highway 5 my daughter and I saw a plane drop fire retardant (red coloured) water on the hill closest to the highway. There were multiple spots along the closest ridge and hill to our right where we could see smouldering trees. Then we headed into a section of highway where we couldn’t distinguish smoke from fog, and a light misty rain covered our windshield.
We are used to rain in BC, but it has been much too dry and the fires have been out of control. Seeing one of the fires so close to the highway followed by raindrops made me realize how little control we m have over nature. Many fires in BC are not contained, they are forcing evacuations, and endangering lives. It’s one thing to deal with the inconvenience of smoke from a distant fire and yet another to face the flames.
With so many fires burning in BC, it’s a joy to see some rain, and I find myself hoping for much more of it.
Yesterday we drove the almost 8 hours from the Vancouver Lower Mainland to Nelson BC. On the way we went through Princeton. Heading into the city, the smell of smoke and haziness was the worst part of the trip.
Heading into Osoyoos, we could see the smoking fires in the ridge above the city.
And after arriving in Nelson, I took this photo at 7:15pm on a short walk.
My wife’s parents were supposed to join us in this quaint city that they spent most of their lives, but they changed their mind due to air quality concerns. Instead, they are vacationing at our house while we are here. Smelling the air this morning, I think they made a good choice.
The reality is that we are a province on fire.
Our record heat wave in late June, followed by freaky rainless lightning storms, then an unusually dry July have made our province a forest full of kindling, ready to go up in smoke. According to the B.C. Wildfire Dashboard right now there are 259 wildfires in BC, and 11 are new in the last 2 days.
We are not doing our planned hike this morning, instead we’ll walk along the lake. We’ll visit old stomping grounds of my wife’s youth, and we’ll probably spend a bit more time indoors than planned.
Still, we are lucky. We are safe, and so is our house. We don’t have an evacuation warning, and we aren’t worried about what to pack and what to leave behind should we have to flee our home. This is the case for many across our province.
It’s usual to be hoping for rain in the summer, but our entire province could use a good soaking, complements of Mother Nature. Rain and low winds are on the minds of many in our province, as forest fires sit on the minds of many of us. It’s hard not to think of them as you peer across hazy horizons and smell the fires burning.
It’s supposed to get to 41°C (105.8°F) today. Yesterday was already a scorcher, but today will break records. I think our new above ground pool will get some use today after work, and I’m thankful that we have small window air conditioning units in our bedrooms, that we put in for just a few months a year.
Our district wisely cancelled school for students, because almost none of our schools have air conditioning and wearing a mask in a sweltering hot room with many others would be unbearable. I know my office will be uncomfortable, but I’ll probably move myself and my secretaries to a room that isn’t south facing with windows being in the sun all day.
I wonder how many more of these heat waves we’ll be getting in the coming years? Is this a blip or the start of a pattern? Global temperatures are rising, and we might have to get used to this… not that 41° is something anyone gets used to… it’s a temperature that you tolerate, moving from one artificially cool space to another.
Happy Summer Solstice! It’s hard to believe that today is the longest day of the year.
When the shortest day comes on December 21st, I’m ready for the days to get longer. It’s dark early and it feels like the right time to swing the pendulum back, and to start seeing more daylight. But June 21st seems too early in the summer to be at the maximum daylight length.
This #GOESEast loop was made from images collected each day at 1400 UTC from Dec. 21, 2020 – June 18, 2021. It shows the change from winter to summer due to the #Earth's tilt. pic.twitter.com/Gcleg2sqPw
School is still in session, and the entire summer holiday is ahead of us. In my head the long, bright days of summer are just approaching. But every day from now until next December will get a little shorter.
There are reasons why the dead of winter is delayed until after the shortest day of the year, and why summer is hottest after the longest day… but intuitively it doesn’t make a lot of sense. This day just seems to come too early in the year. This timing does explain why the summer solstice was such an important event to pre-industrial humans. This is the day that leads to a bountiful summer, when the sun provides the greatest rewards. It’s a time when all crops have been planted and many early crops will already be ready, and ripe for picking. And so there is enough food for a feast, and the hard work of caring for crops and harvesting are ahead.
Now, the solstice is just an interesting fact, rather than a big celebration. But I always look forward to the summer and winter solstice. The winter solstice because it’s nice to think of each day getting longer as the winter approaches. The summer solstice because the whole summer lies ahead. So, while many don’t think of this day as special, I do.
A couple days ago I wrote this about a heavy 3am rainfall that woke me up:
“The sound took me back to my childhood. In Barbados we would have these short, intense rain showers. They seldom lasted more than 20 minutes and they came and left without warning. We had a galvanized roof and the sound of heavy rain hitting it was thunderous. But it was never scary. As loud and fierce as the rain sounded hitting corrugated metal above us, it was also a sound that was soothing, comforting.”
In a video chat my dad said he read it and said that it brought back memories for him too. My youngest daughter joined me on the phone and he asked if she had read it, she hadn’t. So he went on to ask if she knew the sound of rain on a galvanized roof. She didn’t know what that was. Then, like me, he went on to describe a corrugated metal roof. I said, she probably doesn’t know what that is either… she didn’t.
We have an aluminum roof on our current house, so a metal roof isn’t an unknown thing, but a loud, uninsulated, galvanized, corrugated metal roof is not something common to Canada. It is something a tropical islander would know all too well.
Here is a video sharing the sound of ‘heavy rain’ falling on a galvanized, corrugated metal roof:
While the video description says ‘heavy rain’, this sounds quite gentle. It’s a sound of a constant flow. Often as a kid, when the sound of rain on a roof woke me up during the night, it would be an intense and truly heavy rain attacking the roof that would wake me. It would settle to the sound in the video, but imagine a louder, more violent version of this thundering above as a passing storm went by.
It was interesting to realize that the experience I was describing could connect my dad to a shared experience, but the same description meant nothing to my daughter. It made me realize that I was sharing a contextual experience that not everyone has had. Furthermore, here in Vancouver, while it rains a lot, the rain just isn’t the same as in Barbados.
The Bajan rains come fast and are intense, and leave as quickly as they come. Here in Vancouver it can drizzle for hours. In Barbados when it rains you stay under cover because you know it will stop soon, and a 15 second walk from your car to inside would leave you drenched like you went into the shower with your clothes on. Here in Vancouver, it rains far more often and I never carry an umbrella. For most rainfalls here, I don’t even think about covering my head when I walk in the rain for a minute. Rain here is not rain everywhere.
I’m reminded of the Inuit having several terms for snow, while we just call it snow. And that some cultures can’t distinguish between blue and green, because they don’t have a term for blue, but they also see shades of green that we can’t distinguish or tell apart. Our contexts growing up shape us. And our experiences don’t always create a shared understanding. To me a corrugated, galvanized roof is a musical instrument played by rain, to others it is an unfamiliar sound.
At about 3am this morning I was awoken by the sound of torrential rain. It was bouncing off of our roof with such force that it seemed to be attacking it. It’s all at once a threatening and comforting sound. It makes me feel happy to be under warm covers, rather than outside being pelted by heavy, biting bullets of water.
The sound took me back to my childhood. In Barbados we would have these short, intense rain showers. They seldom lasted more than 20 minutes and they came and left without warning. We had a galvanized roof and the sound of heavy rain hitting it was thunderous. But it was never scary. As loud and fierce as the rain sounded hitting corrugated metal above us, it was also a sound that was soothing, comforting.
If the rain came as I was falling asleep, I would fight sleep just to be up and hear the chorus of raindrops drumming the roof. If it came while I slept, it would wake me from sheer loudness, yet I wouldn’t be able to stay awake long enough to hear the rain stop.
Last night was a reminder of these childhood memories. It is fascinating to me that such a violent sound could be so satisfying to listen to. Lying in bed, protected by the ceiling above, a torrential rain is a musical interlude rather than a scary interruption of sleep.
It is a reminder of my childhood, a sound that evokes fond memories of growing up on a tropical island… Of rainstorms pounding our roof. Of running into the ocean since the rain would soak us anyway. Of driving under a cloud and instantly needing maximum speed windshield wipers to be able to see ahead, then suddenly hearing the squeaking noise of the full speed wipers streaking across a dry windshield seconds after driving out from under the rain cloud. Rain falling like a memory, and a melody, evoking a sense of comfort, a feeling of being home.
Unexpected snow has delayed my Daily-Ink today… Shovelling the driveway is taking priority and I’ll get this out tonight. But this is connected to the idea of the post, because I really bundle up just to do something like clearing that white, fluffy, frigid stuff off of my driveway.
Cold showers:
I hate the cold. Can’t stand feeling a chill. I blame it on being born in the Caribbean. In Barbados as a kid, when I was at the beach and it started to rain, tourists would get into the water, since they are getting wet anyway. I’d get out of the water because without the sun shining, the water was too cold for me.
Recently I’ve been turning the hot water off at the end of my showers. I let the water hit the top of my head and wait for it to go cold. Then I move so the water hits my chest and I turn in a circle, getting the water first to hit my core, then down my arms and legs.
By my first turn, my breath is taken away. I actually feel like it’s hard to breathe. I only do this for about 15 seconds but it feels longer. Even after I turn the water off my breathing is shallow and takes a moment to recover.
Then two things happen, first, I feel a tingling sensation and I feel wide awake. This feeling is better than my first coffee! Next, I open my shower curtain and grab my towel. Usually when I do this I feel an uncomfortable chill, but instead the air feels comfortable. So rather than getting a chill from the contrast of hot water to cold air, I feel comfortable.
Fifteen seconds of chilly agony, followed by a huge payoff. I’m going to keep doing this, but I might end up taking slightly longer showers as I convince myself to turn the hot water off.
I’ve got a friend who asks me to join him for a polar bear swim each new year. I’m a step closer, but it might still be a few years before I am willing to take the plunge… if I ever do!
I grew up on a tropical island and I have to say that winters here can be tough. No, we don’t get the snow and cold of Toronto, the city I went to from Barbados, but the rain… the winter wind storms, the clouds…
We have had a couple breaks where we saw the sun, but so many days this winter have been sunless. And when I say sunless, I mean that at any time of the day the cloud cover is so thick that when you are outside you can’t determine where in the sky the sun is? The sky is a sea of dull gray. This gets to me. As much as I hate the cold, I’d trade a week of frigid weather and snow, just to see the sun in the sky for more than a single day.
This morning looks like we could have a break. I’ll have to take a small walk at lunch, and enjoy seeing and knowing where in the sky the sun is. I’ll charge my solar batteries and prepare for more clouds and rain in the week ahead.
Cue the Annie Lennox song: Here comes the rain: “Falling on my head like a new emotion.” – Or at least a melancholy emotion. There is no doubt that this rain plays with my mood like a sad violin solo… one that I really don’t want to listen to right now. I can hear the tune but don’t know the name of the song or the composer. It doesn’t uplift me, it sustains my mood, waiting for the sun, an external source of light, to lift me from the dole-drums of winter.
I woke up before my alarm this morning to the sound of heavy rain. It’s actually a nice sound to wake up to, but it also is a reminder that we are heading into the dark and cold of winter. For those of you that don’t know, I spent almost 10 years growing up in Barbados.
When you live on a tropical island, not too far from the equator, every day gets close to 12 hours sunlight. The rainy season means an hour of heavy rain daily before its sunny again, and sometimes the sun is still shining during those rains. Also, it doesn’t get cold. Ever.
Now I’m living on the edge of a Canadian rain forest on the wet/west coast. I like it better than the chill of Toronto, where we first moved when we came to this country, but sometimes the rain gets to me. Sometimes the damp feels really cold. Sometimes I really miss the sun.
In Barbados the rain was a welcome reprieve from the heat, although sometimes it brought uncomfortable humidity. Here, it can bring a chill. It can come with dull skies that hide the location of the sun in the sky… for days on end. When the rain comes, it can sometimes feel like it’s not going to leave.
For this reason, I load up on vitamin D, I have a natural light lamp on my desk, and I start dressing in layers that includes pairs of long underwear (that I’ll start using soon). People think it’s funny that I wear long underwear from late October through April, but I get chilled easily and am more comfortable hot than cold.
The rains are here. The cold is coming. I have to psych myself up. I have to prepare myself for the short, wet, dark days. I know what lies ahead, and I have to keep my chin up, and keep the clouds outside from creeping in.
