The dry season has given way to days of rain. Almost 2 weeks ago, 36,000 were without power due to a severe storm which swept across Pennsylvania. Last weekend, I went hiking at Bear Meadows Natural Area in the rain, arriving home soaked to the bone. Each day I empty my rain gauge, recording my observations for CoCoRaHS. My coworkers lament the continuous rain in our group chat.
Yet, the rain refreshes me. All my worries from this past winter are being washed away. From my yard, I can trace them. Water flowing to Lick Run, to Bald Eagle, to the Susquehanna, to the Chesapeake Bay, finally to the Atlantic. By the time my worries come back to me, they’re transformed into nourishing rain.
Like me, the plants needed a good, soaking rain to flourish. The sunny azalea has erupted into full color, loaded with magenta flowers. The shaded azalea has buds but is not yet blooming. My neighbor’s lilacs burst forth in frothy bunches of blossoms. The roses are budding, and I’m waiting for the David Austen Poet’s Wife to reveal its first pale bloom.
Despite the rain, I’m still getting outside. Armed with my raincoat, umbrella, and knee-high boots, I look more like the Morton’s Salt Girl than woman. As the Finns say- no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothes. I’m on the hunt for a new coat, something lighter than the vintage PVC one I wear today. My initial eBay searches have been unsuccessful, but I know I’ll find one soon.
My lunch break walks have a different flavor in the rain. Unlike sunny days, the sidewalks are emptier and quieter, but I’m never alone. There are always others out, like me, dressed in gaudy jackets and umbrellas. Some are galloping along for their step counts, most are moseying along. We all enjoy the break from our desks to soak in the fresh, cleaned air.
I know that soon the rain will give way to another long, hot, Pennsylvania summer. In our post-industrial, climate-changed world, cool summers are a thing of the past. I remember summers so cool I wasn’t allowed swimming, lest I caught a cold. Now, I sweat on the back porch and plan to jump in the lake the moment I’m through with work.
Dwelling on climate change is difficult. On days like today, climate change feels like a distant enemy hovering on the horizon. The reality of our fluctuating jet stream and unpredictable conditions is harsh. While the climate in Pennsylvania is still moderate, it is only in comparison to other places. I worry about tornadoes, derecho, and wildfires- all have happened in the past month. The weather wreaks havoc among our native plants, ushering them into a new era of struggle.
While I write and gaze out the window into the inky darkness, adaptation is on my mind. There’s hundreds of articles and videos on what to do to stop climate change. Much of it is things to buy to stop buying things (ironic, right?) or where to spend your money to send a message… instead, I want to focus on things within my ability. I will continue to serve my community in public office, voters be willing. I buy less, and when I do buy, I search for secondhand first. I buy bulk groceries and cook from home, eating fresh veg from my grandfather’s garden. I reduce my driving, choosing not to drive at all on the days I work from home. I’ll wait to put in air conditioners until the last minute, and use LED lightbulbs. Turn off everything when I’m not using it, etc. etc.
Above all, I look for hope. I keep tabs on good climate news and review favorite reads. I note the blooming flowers and migrating birds in my phrenology notebook. I continue to track precipitation and report it daily. I will always walk in the rain. Above all, I will enjoy the outdoors and observe in my nature journal. I capture the world as it is today, and leave a record for those that come tomorrow. I hope, that then, they will know cool summers too.
autumn's country diary 