Marching Along to Spring

The "bush" in the creek is the roots of a large ash
toppled by flooding rains and high winds.

March came in like the proverbial lion at Bean Hill, although polar bear might have been the more appropriate animal simile. An arctic blast dropped temperatures during the first week dramatically: March 5's daytime temperature was 29 degrees below the historic average; the night was 20 degrees below average. It seems as if we had a lot of snow this month, but in reality we only had a couple of inches, half of the expected amount.

Although temperatures moderated somewhat after the polar bear bit us, the month's overall highs and lows were below normal by 3.5-4 degrees, respectively. The real story (or the continuing story) is the rain. For a year now, most months have seen more---much more---rain than "normal". Rainfall in March was 1.88" above normal. Couple all the rain we've had for months with the wind storms we've had, and the result is more and more trees are toppling over in the Jersey Woods.

The last snow of March fell the day before the Spring Equinox. It didn't last long, but a combination of temperature, humidity, a weak rising sun, and a cloudy western sky made for some odd lighting effects. My camera captured some of sky colors (below), but wasn't able to capture the feel of the scene. The daytime high reached 52 degrees, so the snow vanished pretty quickly---as did the interesting but kind of eerie light display.

Light snow on mowed meadows and weird light over the Carr Farm

The Spring Equinox is always a welcome point in the Earth Year. We move into the most magical and hopeful of seasons in which every day there is some new and exciting sign of life. There are more birds and more variety of bird songs, and more animals making an appearance. The pond gets cleaned, and, of course, the crocuses bloom.

 

February 2019

Winter Storm Quiana damage to Jersey Woods

February was a stormy month throughout much of the United States. Eight storms big and bad enough to be named occurred during the shortest month of the year. The storms followed in such rapid succession in some parts of the country that it was impossible to know when one left off and the next began. In Central Ohio, we experienced seven of the storms, a couple with only a glancing blow. However, we could separate one storm from the other because in between storms, our daytime temperatures soared 11-29 degrees above the historical averages. Of the month's 28 days, eleven recorded these huge departures from "normal". The storm days brought us day-time temperatures that were normal for those dates, or just slightly below. Without those storms, we might have been picking tulips and daffodils for bouquets by month's end. Twenty-four nights' temperatures were above normal, nine of those by 7-27 degrees. 

"Boots...again?!!!"

The storms brought us lots of rain and snow. Last year February was the wettest on record, and this February entered the record books as one of the top five wettest. The historic February snow average is 6.2" and the historic rain average is 2.2". Snowfall for February 2019 was 3.7" above average; rainfall was 2.56" above average. Wellies and muck-boots were required outdoor footwear for us and the dogs most of the month.

The storms also brought very high winds. Toward month's end, Quiana hit with 18 hours of sustained winds of 25-35 mph, and gusts of up to 62 mph. I stood on the porch and listened to the awesome sound of the winds in the trees, and heard a tree fall. It was one of many lost in the Jersey Woods this month.

If you're like me, you remember when winter storms were just big weather events that dropped huge amounts of snow and or ice, and maybe caused temperatures to plummet drastically, but which remained nameless. I remember being surprised when I first heard a big winter storm called by name.  The Weather Channel (not the National Weather Service, as in the case of hurricanes) began the practice in 2012, about the time it was dawning on meteorologists that something wild was happening weather-wise in every season, and the abnormal was becoming the new normal. Severe weather is a hallmark of climate change, and winter storms have been worsening, both in terms of snow and ice accumulations, wind strength, and amount of people and property affected. The Weather Channel names an impending winter storm, blizzard, or ice storm which the NWS forecasts is likely to impact a population of at least 2 million, or cover an area of at least 400,000 square kilometers. Or both. There's an interesting article posted at Mental Floss about the controversy over TWC's criteria for naming winter storms http://mentalfloss.com/article/74744/why-it-controversial-name-winter-storms

February is the month we observe two Bean Hill signs of spring. The first sign is the return of the Red-winged Blackbird males, the earliest of the migratory birds  to appear at our feeders. The second sign is the annual meadow mow-down, which has to be done for the health of the meadow grasses and flowers, and, more importantly, before little critters, like bunnies, start nesting. It should be noted that the first dozen years or so that we lived here, these signs occurred around mid-March. The fact that they now occur in February is another small sign of how the climate on these 5 1/2 acres has changed over two decades.  

An Average Problem

Polar Vortex beauty: Icy branches reach to a bright blue sky

January was just an average month here at Bean Hill. We matched the historic monthly high and low average temperature exactly!

Except that January was anything but average temperature-wise. Instead, January was a month of extremes SO extreme, that it all evened out. Nine days had highs 10 or more degrees above average; January 8 was 30 degrees above the historic average for the date. Three days had highs that were 23, 27, and 35 degrees below average. Thirteen nights had lows that were above average by 10-26 degrees; five nights had temperatures that were 17-25 degrees below average. We had high winds that brought down more trees in the woods; we had heavy rain and even a thunderstorm. We had snow. Schools closed for two days because of the extreme cold when the polar vortex roared into town.

Blue Jay...

Numbers DO lie, especially if they're average numbers. If I shared only the monthly average high and low for Bean Hill, you'd begin to wonder what all the climate change hysteria is about. But when you look at January's daily records, the extremes that characterize climate change (or as Ann has dubbed it, climate confusion) are there in all their scariness. When January 2019 came out exactly average, after we experienced anything but average, I got to thinking about how many times over the last two years of record-keeping I all too often fell into the "kinda average" trap. I'd record the daily stats, fret over too much rain, or too much heat, or too much..weather...and then I'd work out the monthly average and compare it to the historic record. I'd see there were only a couple of degrees difference between the Bean Hill averages and the historic average, and I'd find that slight difference almost comforting. Even though I might have spent the month complaining about the crazy weather, even though day-by-day I noted the aberrations, the monthly average smoothed things over. I'd think: Maybe I'm wrong; maybe it's not as bad as I fear; maybe I am a tad hysterical. January 2019 made me realize those monthly averages often lulled me into a false sense of security.

...And a Downy pose with a peanut trophy

At the end of December, 2018, I thought I might not continue this blog. Then I read David Leonhardt's op ed, "The Polar Vortex and the Climate" (New York Times, February 1), and was reminded why I am doing this:

I've argued before for using weather patterns as evidence of climate change, and I continue to think it's the right thing to do. Nothing else--not dark vision of the future, not appeals to future generations, not promises of green jobs--has yet inspired the necessary action on the climate. The growing frequency of extreme weather has the potential to change people's minds.


I write this to share weather-related observations from this little piece of earth called Bean Hill. I write this to provide local evidence of "the growing frequency of extreme weather". I write this hoping to change minds. I know among my small readership, I preach to the choir, but maybe a choir member will pass this blog along to someone whose mind might be changed.

Thank you.

Primary color and glassy branches