Jeudi: Weather-Wise

For centuries, the moon has been believed to prognosticate the weather. As it turns out, this is not an unreasonable supposition; sailors have looked to the moon for weather news with great success. Here then are a few weathery hints from the moon by land or by sea:

A yellow, dirty moon ~ heat
Big, white moon ~ cold
Silvery moon ~ fair
Red moon ~ wind
Pale, "watery" moon ~ rain
Rings around the moon, which appear like halos, are said to foretell storms. If the weather is warm, look for rain but if it is cold, snow is on the way. Old sailors say that the number of stars seen withing the halo tells the number of days before the storm hits.

Header: Cloud Study, Moonlight by Albert Bierstadt c 1860 via Old Paint

Jeudi: Weather Wise

The Aurora Borealis, or Northern Lights, is a well known phenomena hear at the top of the world. The beautiful streaks of blue, green and purple that dance across the cold night sky are accompanied by an eerie pop and crackle which is similar to the sound of a wood fire. While gorgeous, explaining the lights and sounds prior to the dawn of the scientific age was a difficult endeavor. Our various ancestors spoke of various possible explanations, many of which are remarkably similar.

In North America, and in what is now Canada, Alaska and the northern U.S. in particular, the lights were often linked to the spirits of the dead, be they human or animal. In what is now the province of Labrador, Canada, the native people believed that the crackling sounds made by the lights were the voices of those who had died a violent or sudden death. People were told to reply only in a whisper, for fear of disturbing these ancestors who were finally at peace.

The Tlingit of southeastern Alaska saw the lights as the spirits of the dead, while in the Yukon, native people said the lights were spirits, but those of salmon, seals and deer. Sometimes the spirits were said to be dancing. In other stories, they were playing ball, often with the skull of an animal. If it was the spirits of animals playing, however, they were said to use a human skull.

The Mandan said the lights were fires built by shaman and warriors who had passed into death. They were lit to boil the bodies of dead enemies in giant pots. It was only in the Point Barrow region of modern Alaska that the lights were thought to bode ill. Seeing them could bring on bad luck, but carrying a knife, particularly one made of metal, would repel the evil energy.

Meanwhile, in northern Europe, people tended to agree with the Point Barrow natives. While the Vikings imagined the lights as nothing more than the gods at play, most of the Celtic nations in Great Britain believed the Aurora ushered in a time of great turmoil, aggression, illness and want.

These beliefs trickled down into the 17th, 18th and 19th century. In Arctic Zoology written in 1784, the author tells us that, at the sight of the lights, "the rustic sages become prophetic, and terrify the gazing spectators with the dread of war, pestilence and famine." Though Pennant calls these beliefs superstitions, it is clear that they are held by many people. In Scotland, the lights were seen as a portend of the death of the famous. Aytoun writes in 1849 of "Fearful lights, that never beckon Save when kings or heroes die." As late as the 1870s, writers mentioned that the lights portended disaster, especially toward their own nation.

Despite all this, and perhaps because we now know their origin, the lights continue to fascinate. Even for the most cynical among us, a little chill must run up the spine at the sight of those dancing ribbons and the sound of spirit fires.

Header: Aurora Borealis over Anchorage, Alaska via Wikipedia

Jeudi: Weather-Wise

The weather on New Year's Day has always been a portend of things to come. In more mild climates, it is usually agreed that whatever the weather brings on that day - wind, rain, sun - will be the predominant type of weather throughout the year. A simple prognostication perhaps but you'd be surprised how well it works, particularly on islands and in desert climes.

In areas that tend toward rougher weather, however, what happens on New Years may have more subtle indications.

A very old tradition not only in Europe but in the Far East as well is that making as much noise as possible at the exact turning point of a new year will bring good luck. The setting off of firecrackers, discharging of guns, ringing of bells and clanging of pots and pans was done just at the stroke of midnight to drive evil away and welcome in prosperity. In some European locals, particularly the far north of Scotland and many of the Scandinavian countries, the usually unwelcome thunder storm was a happy accident on New Year's Eve. The din caused by nature at that time was thought to bring particular good luck in the coming year.

In some parts of Britain, the idea that whatever one might be doing when the New Year's noise began - be it bells from the local church or just the family clanging away in the kitchen - would be the thing to take up most of one's time in the coming year. A superstition arose around this idea that if one had retired early and was in bed when the celebration commenced, they would spend the year ill - or worse. Thus it is quoted in A Dictionary of Superstitions edited by Iona Opie and Moira Tatem that "few people go to bed, for obvious reasons, and even the old and infirm prefer to sit up."

Opening up the house at the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve was also highly recommended. Regardless of the weather, and in some places especially if it was inclement, all doors and windows should be flung open just at that time. This tradition was thought to "let the old year out and welcome the new year in" but may have had its origin in the idea that unlatching closed things allowed negative energy to escape.

Other non-weather traditions surrounding New Year's Day included clearing up debts so that the next year would bring no more... or at least fewer. Pepys mentions this in a diary entry. On the 30th of December, 1664 he writes of "looking over all my papers to ascertain what debts should be attended. After dinner, forth to several places to pay away money, to clear myself in all the world."

The idea of "first footing" is also a New Year tradition that survives to this day. Probably originating with a Celtic ritual, it is believed that a certain person - usually a "dark man" - should enter one's home with specific items in hand. The things in question vary depending on where the tradition is upheld, but usually a piece of coal, a loaf of bread, a bottle of wine or ale or any combination of these is spoken of. Sometimes the man must travel through the whole house and then exit through the back door. Sometimes he need only enter, step in with his right foot first, and place his offerings near the hearth. Whatever the program, if it is followed, good luck will follow as well.

Much like the dead who should not be grumbled about until they are buried, the old year should be treated with respect. "Say not ill of the year, till it is past," wrote Thomas Fuller in 1732.

And as to the bird above, keep an eye out for him or his brothers the crows, on New Year's Day. According to L'Estrange writing in his version of Aesop circa 1692 "If you see two ravens or crows on New Year's Day, you'll have good luck after it, but if you should chance to spy one single, tis a bad omen, and some ill will betide you."

Here's wishing you a late night, noisy weather, a dark man with a cask of ale and two ravens this New Year.

Header: Raven by John Mankes via Old Paint

Jeudi: Weather-Wise

Today, a little change to the weather canon here at HQ. Instead of prognostications, a very old song that most literary historians date from Elizabethan times. The story of Mad Tom probably has an earlier origin, but it is often pinned to Shakespeare's play King Lear. The speaker in this version, which probably comes from Restoration England, is Tom's lover, Maudlin. In some stanza's she speaks as herself; in others, as her Tom. In all she speaks of the turning from light to dark in the sky, in the season and in the mind of Mad Tom.

Loving Mad Tom

From the had and hungry goblin
That into rags would rend ye
All the spirits that stand by the naked man
In the Book of Moons defend ye!
That of your five sound senses
You never be forsaken
Nor wander from yourselves with Tom
Abroad to beg your bacon.

When I short have shorn my sour face
And swigged my horny barrel
In an oaken inn I pound my skin
As a suit of gilt apparel.
The Moon's my constant Mistress,
And the lonely owl my marrow,
The flaming drake and the nightcrow make
Me music to my sorrow.

I know more than Apollo, 
For oft when he lies sleeping
I see the stars at bloody wars
In the wounded welkin weeping;
The Moon embrace her shepherd
And the queen of Love her warrior,
While the first doth horn the star of morn
And the next the heavenly Farrier.

With an host of furious fancies
Whereof I am commander,
With a burning spear, and a horse of air,
To the wilderness I wander.
By a knight of ghosts and shadows
I summoned am to tourney,
Then leagues beyond the wide world's end,
Methinks it is no journey.

Header: The Jester by Thomas S. Noble via American Gallery

Jeudi: Weather-Wise

The idea that changes in weather, and particularly storms, are a harbinger of death is not new. It seems to have been a Victorian preoccupation, however, that storms and the deaths of criminals were inextricably linked. Particularly in Britain, folklorists have been able to gather a number of examples of this perhaps not so odd belief. Here are just a few from A Dictionary of Superstitions published in 1989 and edited by Iona Opie and Moira Tatem:

When judges are in circuit, and when there are any criminals to be hanged, there are always winds and roaring tempests (verbal comment from a laborer c 1854)

The whole country side is excited by these storms, and the people connect them with the death of a Mr. ___, a notorious wrecker. On Sunday evening this day week, he was seen watching the sea, it is supposed for a wreck. He returned quite well... At Six O'Clock next morning the servants knocked - no answer. They went in, and there he lay quite dead. Ever since the storms have been continual. While I now write my Table trembles with the wind. (letter from H.S. Hawker of Cornwall, 12/26/1859 - note that a wrecker was someone who watched the coast for shipwrecks and then went to them, often with the spoken intent of finding survivors but with the real mission of finding booty to sell illegally.)

Remarking recently to an old man that, though it rained, it did not appear warmer, he replied: "We shan't have fine weather till after tomorrow... tomorrow is 'hanging day'." Three men were to be hanged the next day at Worcester. (from the N & Q of 1890)

This superstition, if one must put a label on it, continued in rural areas well into the 20th century as is witnessed by this entry from the Fenland Chronicle of 1967:

One of his beliefs were that it always blowed a gale on a day anybody were hanged fro a crime, to show God Almighty's displeasure at the taking of a human life by other human beings.

That last may settle the reason for the belief although, given man's inhumanity to man who was made in God's image according to organized religions, it seems a flimsy excuse by both man and God.

Header: The Tree of Crows by Caspar David Friedrich c 1822 via Old Paint

Mardi: Herbal-Wise

As I mentioned over at Triple P, we are preparing for a "storm of the century" sort of scenario here in Anchorage. A hurricane has formed in the Bering Sea, and the weather prognosticators say we can expect winds up to 100 miles per hour in our area. Needless to say, that's a little scary.

So I went to the hoodoo cupboard to see if I could find a nice combination of herbs to create a "throw" to calm the storm - at least to some degree. Click here for a previous post on just this sort of situation.

I'm off to put together my sage and basil mixture, and hopeful encourage the worst of this thing to calm down before it hits us. Bonne chance to you all, and to us here in the Far North ~

Header: The Venerable Sergius of Radonehz by Mikhail Nesterov via Old Paint ~ the Venerable Sergius is sometimes invoked to protect gardens and homes from storms

Jeudi: Weather-Wise

Historically speaking, and probably to some degree even today, people who work on the sea and those who live near the coast have what inlanders call "superstitions" about weather.  As it turns out - even in today's age of hectic climate change - the rhymes and adages developed by our ancestors tend to be fairly accurate.

Memories of weather past, and the conditions that foretold it, were often passed down in the form of songs or poems.  This made them easy to remember, use and hand along to the next generation.  One of my favorite weather rhymes probably originated in fishing villages and other coastal areas along the Atlantic seaboard of what is now Great Britain.  To this day it holds up, whether you're living near an ocean, sea or large lake, and can even be helpful in flat, damp areas such as moors, marshes and bogs.  Here is the version I am familiar with:

The hollow winds begin to blow,
The clouds look black, the glass is low;
Last night the sun went pale to bed,
The moon in halo's hid her head.
Look out, good men, a wicked storm,
With heavy rain, is soon to form.

The glass mentioned in the rhyme refers to a ship's barometer.  And, as a curious aside, seafaring folk also believed that a halo around the moon could help predict how soon a storm would hit.  All one had to do was look at the number of stars visible in the halo; one star meant the storm was a day away, two stars meant two days away and so on.  Any exception to this rule might indicate that the storm had an unnatural origin and was a good indication of witches at work.  A votre santé ~ 

Header: Wuthering Heights by Robert McGinnis via American Gallery

Jeudi: Weather-Wise

Superstions die harder in some areas than in others.  In a place like New Orleans and the bayous that surround it, weather signs are so engrained as to be almost second nature.  Here are just a few summertime weather signals and superstitions from that wonderful catalogue of all things Louisianan, Gumbo Ya~Ya; Lyle Saxon, editor.

Bullfrogs sing when rain is coming (the old Cajun saying is Laplie tombe ouaouaron chante.)

Killing a cat or a reptile will bring hard rain.

Good weather is coming in summer only if the night before was clear.

Heavy dew is a sign of fair weather.

A whirlwind in the dust of the street heralds dry weather.

Rain or tears at a wedding brings bad luck.

“If the oak is out before the ash, it will be a summer of wet and splash.  If the ash is out before the oak, it will be a summer of fire and smoke.”

All of these may work anywhere, although the one I wish most for is the first.  We’ve no bullfrogs here, and I remember their singing fondly…  Bonne chance ~

Header: The Old Absinthe House by Louis Oscar Griffith via American Gallery

Jeudi: Weather-Wise

Much of our weather knowledge in times gone by came from sailors, just as much of our weather comes from the large bodies of water that make life on Earth possible.  The information is usually simple, direct and easy to remember; because there’s enough to think about at sea, frankly.

A good example is this rhyme, which probably originated in New England around the turn of the 19^th century.  It is more the kind of pneumonic device that would be used by children than adults, but it doubtless got its start – and accuracy – from the seasoned salts who knew their coastline oh so well:     

North winds send hail,

South winds bring rain,

East winds we bewail,

West winds blow amain.

Northeast is too cold,

Southeast not too warm,

Northwest is too bold,

Southwest blows no harm.

Keeping this rhyme in mind, a quick glance at any working weather vane would tell a local what type of conditions to expect when the wind kicked up.  One imagines such things were and probably still are just as accurate as, if not more so than, any media forecast available.  A votre santé ~

Header: Boreas by John William Waterhouse c 1903

Jeudi: Weather-Wise

Spring has sprung (in most places in the Northern Hemisphere, anyway) and for our agrarian ancestors that meant not only caring for but paying close attention to the animals around them.  If old wives are to believed, there was a lot of knowledge to be gleaned from seemingly coincidental contact with or behavior of the creatures of the world.  Today, a handful of examples.

Watch the cows when you let them out to pasture.  If the separate and graze each in their own space, fair, sunny weather is certain.  If they cluster together in pods, spring storms are in the offing.

When small birds like sparrows and chickadees continue to feed and chirp through a rain, a long spate of good weather is just over the horizon.

Hens and roosters grouped together under the eaves when the sun is shining bright is a sure sign of storms to come.  As old wives say: “Fowls can smell foul weather.”

Likewise, doves or pigeons suddenly returning as a group to their roost or pigeonniere foretell a swift change in the weather.

A rooster crowing in the rain means sunshine will soon prevail.

If the first butterfly you see in spring is yellow, you should wear a scarf all year to avoid a deadly fever.

Wishing to find affection when you spy the first robin in spring will bring true love before the end of the year.

If you see a fox digging in your garden, you should put down mulch against a late frost.

Header: A former pigeonniere transformed into a garçonnière (young gentleman’s cottage) at Burnside Plantation in Ascension Parish, Louisiana, photo courtesy of  enclos*ure take refuge

Jeudi: Weather-Wise

Yesterday at Triple P, I talked about forecasting weather at sea by the look of the moon. This got me thinking about doing the same by land, and digging around in my notes on old wives’ tales for anything on the moon and weather. As it turns out, there have been many beliefs from ancient times about heavenly bodies telling us what to expect weather-wise. And the night sky has not been left out by half.

In the ancient world, particularly in the Near East and Egypt, a red moon was a sure sign not only of turbulent, dry weather, but also death. In Medieval Europe, the opposite seems to be the case as long as the ruddy moon appeared in August or September when it was the sign of good weather throughout harvest season.

A moon with a ring around it – often spoken of in 16^th and 17^th century lore as “the moon wearing a veil” – was a sign of rain.

The full moon was considered a favorable weather sign in Ancient Rome if it was not blocked by clouds. This continued to be the case until the early modern period, when the fear of witches congregating under full moons tainted a previously happy time.

Stars, too, were thought to foretell the weather both in the short and long term. Bright stars, particularly in a winter sky, foretold a clear day to follow. Dim stars covered by fog or mist were a portend of snow or sleet. Venus, the morning and evening star, was said to hint at the growing season when she rose in the springtime sky. If she stayed low and hugged the land, summer would be cool and crops would grow indifferently. If the star was high in the evening, and particularly if she was seen shimmering before the sunset, then a glorious summer and banner crops were surely in the offing.

Header: Starry Night Over the Rhone by Vincent van Gogh c 1888

Jeudi: Weather-Wise

Birds were the village wise person’s first weather indicator in times gone by.  Neither past events, the shapes and colors of clouds, the stars nor even the calendar date were as trustworthy as animals, and particularly birds, when it came to day to day forecasts.  Animals on the ground, especially the familiar rodents that hibernate in winter, were excellent harbingers of the seasons.  It was the birds, though, that told an old wife whether or not she could hang out laundry, walk down to the village or thatch her roof tomorrow.

Particularly in cold climates in the Northern Hemisphere, the beautiful birds known as Bohemian wax wings were a harbinger of either bitter cold or relief from same; usually the former, unfortunately.  These birds wing their way across the sky in large flocks, darting, swooping and changing directions with abandon and precision that would make the Blue Angels jealous.  In North America they currently range over most of Canada and the northern U.S. and they are listed as “permanent residents” in South Central Alaska and Pacific coastal Canada.

An average group of wax wings, which can range from 20 to 50 birds, massing on a tree, flying off and then returning is said to be a sign of snow within 24 hours.  Large numbers of more than 50, perhaps two or three flocks together, huddled in rows on the branches of trees, the roofs of barns or the tops of fences are said to signify very harsh weather and unusual cold. 

In colonial times, this sign also foretold more illness than usual in both men and domestic beasts.  Some even imagined it as a portend of the end of the world.  Old wives would advise that people safeguard their health and that of their children.  Animals should be brought into barns and not left out to pasture as well, and the next spring’s seed stock should be checked frequently for mildew and rodents to prevent future famine.

While I’ve yet to witness apocalyptic occurrences after odd behavior in wax wings, they surely have a way of showing up and then leaving.  The next day, almost without fail, the snowfall will arrive.  Some old weather “superstitions” are still worth paying attention to.  Bonne chance ~

Header: Alaskan Bohemian wax wings, photo by the talented Clark James Mishler from his website; this photo also appeared in Anchorage Daily News

Jeudi: Weather-Wise

 

An over the top weather event can be one of the most terrifying things a person can experience, particularly if that person is an adult with kids.  And I’m not necessarily talking about cataclysms such as hurricanes, major earthquakes or floods.  Sometimes the seemingly little things are even more worrisome: long droughts, high winds, ice or sand storms, blizzards.  We don’t think about these things the way we think about the really big wallops of weather, but maybe we should.  They can be just as much trouble; arguably perhaps more because they don’t bring the “disaster relief” that more terrible disasters do.

We’ve had quite a bit of nasty weather in my neck of the woods over the last eight weeks.  Far more than normal snow has combined with high, warm winds that bring about a freeze-melt-freeze cycle which is not only irritating but dangerous.  We had one school closure and a number of power outages not to mention worries about falling trees and stable roofs.  It got to a point where it was time to take action, and that is where a little bit of magick was in order.

Throws, as they are known in hoodoo, have been a big part of magickal practice probably since the dawn of time.  Because most workers of magick have been – and probably still are – ordinary people who can’t afford to waste a lot of what they have, sacrificing something to the elements is a powerful way to entreat them to do your bidding.  Thus a stone, water, some herbs, a coin, locks of hair, pieces of clothing and so on were thrown to the wind, over the shoulder, into running water or onto a fire with a thought or a spoken petition for a specific result.  Done with intention, this simple working can be very effective indeed.

So, when the brutal weather got to me, my family and my neighbors, I gathered up my anger and frustration into a rational petition: calm the winds and stop the sleet.  Repeating this like a mantra in my head, I opened my magickal cupboard and grabbed a handful of equal parts dried basil and sage.  I then went out onto my front porch and, calling out my request, let the herbs fly into the miserable breeze.

Basil is an all purpose jinx breaker and is strongly believed, particularly in hoodoo, to remove all evil from any place that it has been.  Sage, of course, has a long history of purifying the air in many magickal disciplines.  Two easy to acquire and familiar herbs, along with concentration and intention, did the trick.  As of this writing those warm, nasty winds are only slightly more than a bad memory.

Be creative, be sincere and, with a little practice, the art of “throws” – which we will revisit on more than one occasion – will become second nature.  Bonne chance ~

Header: In the Wilds of the North by Ivan Shishkin via Old Paint

Jeudi: Weather-Wise

Winter weather is often absent from the tales of old wives aside from when it comes early or stays late.  This is probably because our agrarian ancestors didn’t pay too much attention to it aside from when some disaster like a leaky roof or animal epidemic struck.  Winter was down time; farmers got in their crop, slaughtered the designated animals and hunkered down well before the month we now call December.  Medieval era Europe is one of the most indicative cultures as far as this is concerned.  The Illuminated Hours of the Duke of Berry, for instance, show fairly comfortable peasants doing no more than chopping wood and warming themselves by their fire on a winter day.  No wonder the Christmas holiday lasted twelve days.

There were a few notable signs that seem to hold true in both hemispheres and particularly closer to the poles.  The Northern Lights were thought to be a sure sign of windy snow storms in the offing and the Southern Lights are also considered a storm warning.  This is probably a fairly accurate assessment as the clear, crisp winter days that allow viewing of the Borealis are often followed quickly by clouds and storm.

Another sure sign of storm from late fall to early spring is the bunching up of large, domestic animals at pasture.  Horses and cows were turned out almost daily, regardless of weather, and seeing them stand together with their breath making foggy clouds around them was often an indication that it was time to bring them back to the barn.  Native Americans on the Great Plains had a similar weather indicator but in their case, the animals were bison.  

A final winter storm warning was said to be falling stars or, in particular, meteor showers.  This probably speaks to the same sort of weather patterns as the beliefs about the Borealis.  If the sky is clear enough to see falling stars, it naturally follows that sooner or later it will cloud up again.

Header: February from Les Tres Riches Heures de le Duc de Berry

Jeudi: Weather-Wise

Winter weather is a subjective thing.  Real winter came to Alaska before Halloween; heck, it came to the North Slope before mid-September.  But there are places where it is still warm now and places where it will never actually get cold.  “Winter” in Ecuador – at sea level anyway – means a light shawl in the morning at the most.  But much of our winter weather wisdom in the Northern Hemisphere focuses on snow: the threat of it, its many different types, and when (oh! when) will it go away.

One of my favorites on this score has to do with the home fire.  The hearth has always been a place to gather, even in warmer climes, but where it is cold out a fire was a lifeline.  Not surprisingly then, many weather signals grew up around the hearth.  As an example, in Northern Europe it old wives say that, when you stoke an already burning fire for the first time before sundown, you should go outside and look at the smoke that emanates from your chimney.  If it rises straight up, the current weather conditions will prevail.  If it blows to one side or another, rain is in the offing.  If the dark trail of smoke dips down below the chimney to touch the roof as it blows away, snow is a certainty.  This sign is particularly consistent before the first snow of the winter, or so those wives would say.

At sea and in northern coastal areas, it is said that a lavender sky predicts snow.  In particular, this oddly colored horizon is thought to denote the big, goose down type of snow we so often see in books and movies.  I never believed this little tidbit until we moved to the Last Frontier.  As it turns out its true, during the day at least.  The usually gray winter sky will skew to a surreal sort of lavender and at some point the snow will arrive.  If a wind kicks up as well, particularly one that moans through the trees, the snow will dance in those classic, dust devil flurries that make a body want to head home early.  At that point, a fire and some hot chocolate are beyond optional.

Header: Landscape with Snow by Vincent van Gogh c 1888

Jeudi: Weather-Wise

In September, I started these weather posts with an off-handed remark about the leaves on our deciduous trees portending very wet weather.  While I was only half in earnest at the time, it turns out that the wives’ tales were right, at least this year: we’ve had one of the soggiest early Octobers in recent memory.

European weather wisdom about October tends to focus on storms.  Unlike tropical and sub-tropical areas, where storms are addressed in warmer months, Northern Europe tends to be afflicted by hard winds and thunder storms in the late fall.  The fear of lightening is a particular issue in much of this advice.

For instance, in Scandinavian influenced areas it was considered wise to set aside work with metal objects, whether they be cauldrons or anvils, until a lightening storm had passed by.  The notion is that the lightening indicates the God of Thunder, Thor, is toiling at his forge.  Distracting him with our own puny concerns could incur his wrath via lightening strike.  Obviously, since a lot more of this type of work was done out of doors in earlier times, the advice is well taken.  Carrying a bit of green moss on one’s person was thought to avert the possibility of being caught unawares by a sudden lightening storm.

In other seafaring cultures, particularly in Celtic fishing villages in Ireland, Scotland, Wales, Cornwall and Northern France, the day’s storms were judged by the ability to sew for local sailors.  It was said that if one awoke to heavy rain with sun, it was wise to judge the rest of the day by stepping outside and looking up.  If there was a large patch of blue sky open and visible – large enough to allow plenty of light to cut and sew a pair of pants – then even the fiercest storm would subside by midday.  If, on the other hand, only ribbons of blue sky were seen between gray clouds, it was no good to put out to sea as the storm would not subside and could very well get worse.

Header: The Storm by Pierre Auguste Cot c 1860

Mercredi: Weather-Wise

Watching, predicting and even changing the weather has been the domain of local wise people and old wives for centuries.  Keeping track of what was going on with weather signs as they related to individual seasons and months was often the purview of the same village expert who people went to see for love potions, cures for illness and help in childbearing.  Nine times out of ten, that person was a woman.

I’ve been researching the old weather chestnuts from around the world for a while now.  My interest began some time ago with sailing rhymes like “Red sky at night, sailor delight” and has only grown from there.  With this in mind, I’d like to add an old wives’ tale or two about each month’s weather here at HQ.  For me, this is simply an avenue to share what I’m learning.  If nothing else, it will be amusing.

In ancient Europe it was August, not September, which kicked off the harvest.  These days, however, our calendars say fall begins at the Equinox and not at the old Lammas festival celebrated on August 1.  Much of the older weather wisdom, then, tends to focus on harvesting in August and things like preserving and butchering in September and October.  For instance, only when the first frost is seen should any pig be butchered.

Early September signs often focus on how wet or dry the rest of the harvest season will be.  One of my favorites advises paying close attention to the leaves on local deciduous trees.   Stillness among the changing leaves portends only light rains and potential late heat.  Leaves rustling often throughout the day – especially if they fall in large batches and land with their undersides up – is a sure sign that persistent rain will be bothersome and continue until the first snows.

Based on this, and despite the brilliant sunshine streaming into my window, it looks like we’re in for some soggy weather where I live.   

Header: Falling Autumn Leaves by Vincent Van Gogh c 1888