On Second Thought...

Yesterday I wrote three paragraphs for this month's blog edition entitled "May (It Stop Raining)". As you might guess, they were three, rather gloomy paragraphs. As you might also guess, we had a lot of rain on top of months of too much rain. Yes, things are green, but some things, like the the deck and the pole barn's siding, and the dogs' yard fence, aren't meant to be. We bought a powerwasher, but when the rain and the damp go on relentlessly, powerwashing only can add insult to injury.

By my observations, we had more than 6" of rain this month, about 2 1/4" above the historic average. Late on May 27 and into early morning of May 28, when tornadoes hit parts of Ohio and threatened us (we slept through the warning sirens), we had, according to our two rain gauges, nearly 3 inches of rain. The signs of minor flooding were all around the next morning: mulch was washed off gardens; gravel was washed off parts of the driveway; According to the mud-lines, the tiny creek at the front of our property rose a good 4 inches above its bank. To my surprise, the nearest weather-reporting station measured only .6" of rain, a total that once was a lot of rain, but over the past few months has been almost normal, and that amount doesn't cause the damage we found.

Which brings me to another cause of my gloominess; I'm no longer able to access the stats from a weather station anywhere near to us, which means I have no way to corroborate my observations at Bean Hill. Since January, for some mysterious reason, reporting from stations as near as 3 miles away is not longer accessible on the internet. For a while, I could get local precipitation reports from a government agency for a free, but that option has disappeared and been replaced by a rather pricey subscription. So the nearest weather-reporting station now is at the John Glenn International Airport, 15 miles away in the Columbus Metro area. Precipitation amounts can vary widely within a one mile radius; add 14 more miles and the chance for variation increases, which probably accounts for the discrepancy on May 28. There's also a big difference in temperatures; Bean Hill's temperatures are always 5-10 degrees lower than the metro area's.

Readership of this blog was never great, and has fallen off. Between that and my inability to get local confirmation of my observations, I'm pretty discouraged. In addition, this month, with all its dampness and grey skies, included a number of depressing observations and events: the discovery of drowned baby possums, the loss of most of our mason bees from the erratic weather, the absence of butterflies, fritterlies, and any type of bee (except for a few giants that float like dirigibles rather than really fly), and the terrible loss of trees in the Jersey Woods due to days of high winds.

All this is to say I've decided to lay this blog down for a while. I've enjoyed dabbling in citizen-science, but it's become a challenge on several levels, and I no longer have the time or enthusiasm for it. So instead of gathering stats and recording observations, I'm going to just be, and enjoy this beautiful, peaceful nature sanctuary we created out of a soy bean field.

What Can I Say About April?

Weeping crabapple trees

Things started to bloom at Bean Hill mid-April, which brightened an otherwise gloomy month. There was only one day that we enjoyed sun and blue skies; 21 days were cloudy or mostly cloudy. The remaining days depended on your personal outlook. If the month's weather depressed you, you thought of the remaining 8 days as mostly cloudy; if you were being hopeful, you called them partly sunny. I'm sorry to admit that both Ann and I were in depressed group. It was, with the exception of the beautiful flowering trees, the daffodils and their cousins, narcissus and jonquil, tulips, and spring beauties, a pretty grim weather month.                                                                               


                                                 

Spring has sprung

Trout-lily

Although we were only slightly above normal rainfall-wise (.3"), it seemed as if it rained all the time. This is probably because we are now 6" above normal for this time of year, meaning that since sometime last year (which was one of the wettest on record), the ground has never dried out; mud is a constant presence. The mud is so thick on the trails through the Jersey Woods that we gave up trying to walk them, even in wellies. Consequently, we didn't get to enjoy the trout-lily and Solomon's slipper and yellow pansies that decorate the woods this month.  I don't know when we'll ever get the 120 bags of mulch down.

Crabapple blossoms

Day and night average temperatures were both slightly more than 2 degrees above the historic averages. I was surprised to go over the stats and find that 11 days were 7-20 degrees above normal, because it seemed as if we were always cold. Dampness will do that.

To add to the month's over-all depressing weather, most of the two dozen-plus mason bees we nursed through the winter (in a box in the refrigerator!) did not survive. Neither did the bees we ordered, except for a small
number. Unlike previous years, at this point, no mason bees have nested in their bee "hotel". An unexpected freeze and heavy rains over a couple of days probably contributed to the loss of bee life. April 29 was the last day for mason bees to ship, so we ordered another 4 dozen bees. They should arrive tomorrow. Wish them luck and decent weather!

Btw, you're enjoying photos taken in previous years. The blossoms were just as lovely, but the weather wasn't conducive to picture-taking. It wasn't conducive to much beyond binging on Acorn TV. For those of you who like British television, it's worth the modest subscription, and relieves depression caused by bad    weather.

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

     

A Wet Not White Christmas

A cardinal and a downy share a feeder and
pretend the other isn't there

December is the month of the Winter Solstice--the shortest day of the year, the official start of winter. As we've done every year since we've lived here, we got out the candles and the bells and the smudge stick and called on all and whatever Powers That Be to bless Bean Hill and all its living things in the coming year. So far, so good.

As with last Winter Solstice, we had to don, not our gay apparel, but our wellies and rain gear to go outside at sundown for the smudging of the gardens, pond, etc. It's not easy to keep a smudge stick going in the rain, but after several years of practice, we're beginning to get the hang of it. The ritual culminates in lighting the Yule Log (thank goodness it was at least a chilly day!), and quaffing a glass of mead, that stuff Beowulf drank before killing Grendel.

Winter Solstice tools--
smudge stick, bell, and mead

Although no precipitation was recorded for 16 days during December, this ended up being the second wettest December on record in Central Ohio. The near record rainfall cinched 2018's claim as the wettest year since record-keeping began (55.18”). December 2018 joined eight other 2018 months in recording above-average precipitation. 

Aberrant weather patterns and events are signs of a changing climate, so it shouldn’t be surprising that 4 of Central Ohio’s 10 wettest years have happened since 2000. Here at Bean Hill over the last 3-4 years, I’ve observed that not only is it raining more often, it’s raining harder. More times than I can remember, I've described a rain event as "torrential".  Ben Gelber, NBC-4 meteorologist, made the same observation: “Average annual precipitation and the number of days with very heavy rainfall have increased significantly in the Ohio Valley in the past half-century.” (“Columbus’ rainfall record washed away”, Dec. 31, 2018)

Come set a spell

We saw only .06" of snow in a month where we should see 5.1". In what used be a "normal" year, Central Ohio would see just under 3" of rain along with that snow. This near-record December we had 4.45" of rain. The lack of snow wasn't surprising, since 20 days of the month had above average temperature, with 14 of those being significantly above average (6-25 degrees). The month's average high temperature was 4 degrees above the historic monthly average. The month's average night-time temperature was two degrees above the historic average of 27.

As the New Year begins, we continue to see temperatures well above normal and, of course, there's rain. Welcome to the New Year and to the new "normal". 

For a little nostalgia, I've chosen photos from winters past when all our Christmases were white.

A house finch and a gold finch wait for a feeder to be filled