Cats, Definitely

Day 310: No dogs were in evidence, but it was definitely raining cats as Merry ricocheted off every available surface in the house with the possible exception of the ceiling, and I'm not quite sure he missed that. Our weather went from partly cloudy to pitch-black dark over the space of a quarter hour, followed by thunder, lightning and a cloudburst which dumped approximately three-quarters of an inch of rain in ten minutes' time. By the time it was done, over an inch had accumulated in the pluviometer. The rain fascinated Merry as it flowed in rivers down the windows, but the thunder and lightning terrified him. It was a new and altogether frightening experience for him, and he was sure it was something I was making happen. As he bounced off chairs, walls, forbidden surfaces, he would launch attacks on my leg in passing, biting if he could, or nearly taking me down with a flying tackle from behind. I managed to drop the Containment Blanket over him at one point, and held him in my arms with just his head sticking out as I spoke softly and comfortingly to him to calm him down. Even after the storm subsided, he was wound tight as a clock spring until bedtime arrived. Then, he dropped like a rock and slept straight through until 4 AM. We don't often get powerful storms here like this one, and I have to admit that had I not been intensely focused on trying to project a sense of security to my poor kitty, I might have been a little frightened myself.

The Weather Outside Is Frightful

Day 58: "Winter storm warning" does not always mean that we're going to have snow. Sometimes it means it's going to rain buckets and blow trees down. So far (knock on wood), my power has stayed on, perhaps due to some recent work on our substation. In any event, it seemed like a good day to put up the Christmas tree, and settle in with a cup of hot eggnog, a good book, wool socks on my tootsies and a warm cat curled up on my lap. In the aura cast by the lights on the tree, an era long gone sheds a glow and warmth to the home scene; a page turns, and I am in Dickens' world or my grandmother's, when Christmas was a time for the closeness of family and the spirit of good will. My friends, spread so far across the globe, process one by one through my thoughts with their greetings and well-wishes. I pick up my needlework to keep from dozing off mid-chapter, and think of the women before me who did their intricate work by candlelight. Bluster though it may, the storm has set a mood of nostalgia for a time I never knew, a gift borne on its gusts, and ringing Christmas bells on my wind chimes.

After The Storm

Day 12: Bombogenesis (or more correctly, "explosive cyclogenesis") is the term used when a mid-latitude cyclone intensifies rapidly and the barometer drops at least 24 millibars over a period of 24 hours. The phrase we heard bandied about was "bomb cyclone," and it set most of us to battening down the hatches and otherwise preparing for the blow. The incoming storm was supposed to be record-breaking, and indeed it was, but just not in my yard. My weather station recorded a peak gust of 23 and a mere .38" of rain. We had a couple of wall-ratting but distant thunderclaps yesterday and the power went out overnight, but "storm" is too strong a word for the breezy, moderately wet conditions which prevailed at my house. It was nothing compared to the Columbus Day Storm of 1962 when gusts to 100 MPH were recorded in the western Washington interior and to 160 MPH in the Willapa Hills. The radar station at Mt. Hebo (Oregon) logged a peak of 176 MPH. Storm? That was a real storm, not just a bit of bluster and blow like yesterday's activity. The "bomb cyclone" didn't even knock all the leaves off the dogwood or my Japanese maple. Let's not dignify it by calling it a "storm."

Siskins At The Feeder

Day 118 (catch-up post): Although we really didn't need 18" of the white stuff to do the job, snow tends to bring Pine Siskins (Carduelis pinus) to my feeders in droves. Keeping priorities straight, my first job was to shovel a path so I could fill the boxes with fresh seed. While the snow was fresh, I took a standard corn broom to it (my neighbour had thoughtfully plowed my driveway), in my opinion, an easier method than shovelling when the fall is light and fluffy. As soon as I'd laid out the seed, the Siskins began appearing. Towhees and juncoes quickly picked up what they scattered, the Towhees descending out of sight into the deep "well" around the base of the pole.

As of the evening of the 8th, I still had no landline, but at least my cell service had come back to life. On my way to work, I saw repair crews at two locations and several spots where branches were still laying across the wires. On the morning of the 9th, a recording from the company claimed that normal service had been restored, but I still had no landline. I put in a repair ticket and have settled in for another wait.

Snowed Under

Day 116 (catch-up post): As many of you know already, we got a wee bit of snow during the night of February 5-6. It continued coming down heavily throughout the day, and finally at approximately 3:30 PM, the predictable happened. The power went out. I threw the breakers as insurance against surges, and sat back to wait. I am always reluctant to start the fireplace because our crews usually manage to restore order within an hour or two, but around 7, cold toes convinced me it was time. I had not yet lit it this season, so what ensued was a 20-minute battle. The tank quite a ways away, and the line needed to be charged. At long last, the pilot stayed lit and I set the flame on low, just enough to take the edge off if I sat close by, "aborigine fire" since it appeared I might be in for a long siege. I closed off the rest of the house and curled up on the couch to sleep. About 3 AM, the lights came on, flickered, went off, came on, went off, came on and seemed to be going to stay on. Power lasted only long enough for me to flip the breakers and get back to sleep, and then it went out again.

When there's no juice, I am not only without heat. I am without water because I'm on a well. That adds another level of inconvenience to what should be only a minor aggravation. Recently when we've lost power, phone service has also been disrupted. It wasn't always that way. As recently as two years ago, I could call in on my land line to report a power outage. Not now. A quick check showed that phone service, both land and cell, were also dead.

During the morning of the 6th, there were several more "on/off" incidents. The longest the power remained on was about half an hour, not enough to bring the house up to a comfortable temperature. During those intervals, phone service remained down. I cooked dinner on my camp stove and settled into what I call "Mowich Mode," hearking back to my days of winter duty at 5000' on Mount Rainier's northwest corner. I put on all my climbing woolies and stayed close to my little "aborigine fire." I had put by several gallons of water for tea, and pulled out my backpacker's espresso maker to have handy when my stash of brewed coffee ran dry. Toward evening, I built a nest in front of the fireplace, stacking fleece blankets on the floor to pad my old bones, my expedition sleeping bag on top, promptly claimed by Skunk. I didn't get to use it. About 7:30, the power came on and stayed on, but even as I write this (4 PM on the 7th), there is no phone service. Other than being colder than I like, this has been a rather pleasant escape from the political situation.

Ian's Car

Day 57: Imagine finding this as you were leaving for work. This is the sight which greeted our SCA Centennial Ambassador Ian this morning. Yes, it's his car, the most damaged of three which were attacked by a Douglas fir overnight. Whether snapped by a freak gust of wind or by the weight of torrential rain caught in its needles, the tree left behind a four-foot tall shattered snag and blocked one leg of the loop through housing at Tahoma Woods. When I arrived on the scene several hours after it was discovered, crews were preparing to section the tree for removal, and Ian was waiting patiently for a call from his insurance adjuster. His tour of duty at Mount Rainier National Park is certainly proving to be unforgettable!

Longmire Campground After The Storm

 Day 36: Yesterday's storm resulted in a temporary closure of the Park, and while most of us were home watching the gauges on the Nisqually, Cowlitz and Carbon Rivers, havoc was being wreaked by high winds in the forests. Longmire Stewardship Campground was hit hard, dozens of trees snapped off or toppled across the loop road. Campsites are filled with the debris of broken branches, but as far as I could tell, none of the new picnic tables was damaged.

After the annual Turkey Feed, Park personnel were out assessing the damage this afternoon. If you look closely, you will be able to spot Superintendent Randy King (in hat) and two other Park employees in this photo.

Campground cleanup is an issue we deal with every spring, but seldom is it of this magnitude. This year, the call for volunteers will be "all hands on deck!"

The Great Equalizer

Day 101: A windstorm blew my power away yesterday and brought the residents of the house as close together as they ever get. I see photos of other peoples' cats snuggled up together and often wonder why mine can't come to terms. There will be the occasional whisker contact, but it nearly always ends with a hiss from Skunk, as if she feels a need to reinforce that she is mistress of the household. Tip would cuddle if she would allow it, but Skunk came up the hard way, fighting off a pair of savage dogs when she was only six weeks old. It has only been in her later years that she will even accept physical contact with me. That said, the fire brings these two to an accord. They agree that warmth is a Good Thing. As truces go, it's a good beginning.

Wet Or Dry

Day 361: These two patches should be the same color, but after absorbing eight hours of steady rain, the one on the hat I was wearing today is looking a little waterlogged. Waterproof outerwear did a pretty good job of keeping me from getting totally soaked to the bone, but rain eventually penetrates anything which isn't absolutely water-tight. Still, I stayed warm as long as I was active.

So why was I out there during Washington's first major storm of the season? Today was National Public Lands Day, one of the biggest volunteer events at Mount Rainier National Park. We had an astonishingly good turnout in spite of the weather and accomplished all of our major goals with respect to the restoration of the historic Longmire Campground.

It's not the first time I've been this soggy, and it probably won't be the last. When you live in Washington, you just have to accept that you're going to get wet if you work in an outdoors profession.

Today, This Is A Rainflower

Day 355: The first storm of the season has not come in with quite the flourish the forecast warned us to expect, and although it's blown the tomato screens flat a couple of times, this sunflower...rainflower...remains undaunted. It's a "volunteer," a seed thrown into the garden by a Jay or a Towhee, the careless eaters of my avian dinner guests, and possibly close enough to the house to escape Bambi's predations. Sunflowers never survive to maturity here, not with deer and elk bold enough to walk right up to my doorstep. I gave up trying to grow them years ago, but the birds have been discouraged from their horticulture not a whit. They plant with no expectations of a harvest, in contrast to my agrarian motives, leaving me to wonder if there isn't more wisdom in those little brains than in my own.