Our First Hurricane

"Awww, isn't that sweet?"

Isn't that what your significant other (and insignificant others, for that matter) is supposed to think or say when you make note of a "first" in your relationship? Many guys depend on accruing "points" by remembering these types of things, to make up for our inevitable episodes of spectacular stupidity.

That said, recognizing some "firsts" runs the risk of overreaching, like too narrowly focused sports stats. "He's the first left-handed batter with a last name that starts with L, born on the 4th of July in Georgia who's hit two home runs in the post-season off a cross-dressing pitcher from Albania!"

So it is I find myself this Sunday afternoon, feeling a strange sober casualness, quite literally in the calm before the storm.  Hurricane Sandy, having made a believer in the ever-present and mostly unpredictable powers of Mother Nature of quite a few in the Caribbean, is bearing down on the mid-Atlantic. We've both seen some pretty notable "weather events" - tornadoes, snowstorms, even floods - but we've never been hugely negatively affected beyond the inconvenience of living without power and maybe running water for a few days. Ironically, we noted earlier today that as backpackers we love to go out of our way to have the opportunity to filter our water, eat freeze-dried food and sleep uncomfortably. Maybe that's why we aren't quite as freaked out as the flocks of Audi- and Lexus-drivers clogging the local supermarkets to buy the distilled water, organic fruits and free-range meats they apparently believe are the key to survival in the anarchic aftermath of the "Frankenstorm".

We have our water, we have plenty of nonperishable food (even, heaven forbid, freeze-dried backpacking meals), our storm windows are shut as tightly as this old house will allow, and our heat's turned up a notch to offset the damp cold outside. Tina's cooking up what will undoubtedly become a fantastic chicken dinner while I sip a glass of Douro and tap away on my laptop as we await the arrival of our first hurricane as a couple.

Isn't that sweet?

Humidity

Having lived in the West for over a dozen years, I found myself missing some things from earlier stages of my life: Certain foods (real grits, fried Krispy Kreme's, collards with ham, etc.), architectural styles common before 1930, friends (most of all). The one thing I never missed - not for a moment - was humidity.

Pennsylvania apparently doesn't often suffer from the levels of humidity to which I grew accustomed - didn't know any better - living in Ohio, Georgia, and Alabama. When I would visit those places, or more sultry locations like Mexico, after moving to Idaho, I'd mutter a curse at how I felt like I was wearing a wet blanket taken straight from a hot dryer.

Temps in our neighborhood reached nearly 90 today, with humidity around 80%. Tina, having acquiesced in her battle with the humid air for control of her hair, admitted that she appreciates its affects on her skin. She noted, though, that after having walked only a few blocks I had already sweated through the t-shirt I was wearing (Icebreaker merino wool, chosen especially for the occasion. If you aren't familiar with the all-season wonders of merino wool, I'll be happy to educate you). To put it very politely, I was uncomfortable.

haze over Philly

Sitting on our little porch this evening, though, the dark and quiet was punctuated by the distant flash and thump of a fireworks display in an adjacent town. I felt an occasional breeze lift the dogwood leaves in our front yard and listened to the rattle of melting ice settling in my glass. I remembered sitting with my grandparents in their yard in rural northeast Georgia listening to a train approaching through the drone of the crickets; sitting on curbs outside stadiums after shows, eating PB&J sandwiches and chatting with my drum corps family; camping among and climbing the gritty limestone cliffs at Red River Gorge...

At night, I realized, humidity has a different personality - becomes a familiar and comfortable character, one I like to spend time with.

Spring Is Here (we hope)

The Taters moved to PA in the fall - in our opinion, the most beautiful time of year Idaho. October turned out not to disappoint in Pennsylvania either, but by Thanksgiving the woods around our house were literally a stark reminder of winter's thrall.

Like most of the rest of the US (including Idaho), Pennsylvania's been spared a harsh winter, granting us one small favor in our adjustment to the east coast. And, as of the past few days, it appears as though spring has arrived in earnest, if not on the calendar (it officially starts March 20th) at least in temperatures and, perhaps, temperament.

We heralded the season with last weekend's visit to Longwood Gardens in nearby Kennett Square. In the early years of the last century Pierre S. DuPont, great-grandson of the founder of the eponymous company, bought a farm on the site and created most of the extensive horticultural center that exists today. The place is like a Smithsonian for plant and flower lovers; every imaginable variety is on display in a gargantuan, rambling greenhouse and in various formations around the vast grounds of the estate. Even on a crowded spring weekend it was hard not to find it impressive and charming.

This past week brought consistently warmer temperatures until today, when we noticed the farmland and trees around us greening quickly and enjoyed sitting on what passes for our front veranda. Crocus, daffodils and other greenery are bursting through the brown grass and dead leaves in the yard, and the merest hint of leaves tips most of the trees that are no doubt enjoying the warmth as much as we. So warm was it today that the dogs even took themselves out of the game (of fetch) at the local dog park, lying in the shade panting. 

We're not foolish enough to believe without reservation that the potential for wintry temperatures and precipitation is behind us. Anyone who's lived in Idaho knows that the key to successfully surviving the "shoulder months" is to dress in layers and keep the umbrella handy. But the probability of a nasty surprise is diminishing daily and we're very much looking forward to cycling, hiking, fly-fishing and otherwise experiencing the outdoor life in this part of the country.

Let It Snow... (or not)

Ahh, how we enjoyed snow days in Boise. Snowshoeing with the dogs at Camelsback or Robie Creek Parks. Riding the bikes downtown or elsewhere. Long Foothills runs on snow-covered trails. Even shoveling the sidewalk was fun, inasmuch that we'd stop to chat with our wonderful neighbors Don and Rita Belts, CK Haun and Karen Meyer, or Hobie and Gina Swann. Even though neither of us especially enjoy alpine skiing (a favorite hobby of many of our friends) we found plenty to do and never dreaded a forecasted snowfall.

Let's just say that residents of the Mid-Atlantic region have a somewhat different perspective, one that reminds Kenn of his childhood in the South. There, even the hint of snow - temperatures below 40, a few puny flakes - elicited uncontrolled glee from children and near-panic from adults. Supermarkets would be mobbed as though a the area were on the cusp of a massive natural disaster or World War 3. It's not *quite* that bad here, but all eyes were on the weather radar a few days ago as a storm approached from the south and west, threatening snow, sleet, and the dreaded "wintery mix."

In full disclosure, even the Taters filled a few water bottles and made sure the pantry was stocked in anticipation of spending a day or two without power, or at least without the ability to travel on the area's hilly roads.  After all, much of southern PA is forested, and limbs heavy with ice seem to be magnetically attracted to power lines. And without power, the house we're renting has no heat or water. "It'll be like camping," said Kenn with feigned enthusiasm as he dug his backpacking headlamp from a basement box.

The Taters awoke this morning to 3-4 inches of snow, about what was predicted by the most recent forecasts. 8:00AM found them shoveling their long, hillside driveway (far earlier than neighbors, who seemed content to wait until hired help arrived at 3PM in the form of a tractor with a blade mounted on the front) and by 9:15AM they were tucking into one of Tina's always outstanding breakfasts - scrambled eggs with cheese, pancakes, and grilled ham.  Just like they did back in Idaho.

Snowshoeing in McCall, Feb 2011; Tina & Kenn, Eric & Tobi Mott, John & Donna Hoyne, Jason Crawforth & Jimsi Kuborn

Soggy Taters

In Boise from June to November, more or less, you can bet on it being dry. Sure, you probably need to give some thought to how many layers to wear to the Idaho Shakespeare Festival, but you can count on one hand the number of days it rains. Similarly, that's about all it does from March through May. The point is, the weather's pretty consistent.

It appears to rain in Pennsylvania about twice per week. Sometimes it's a mist that reminds me of Portland or Seattle. Sometimes it's a gully-washer reminiscent of my childhood in GA and AL. But we've been reminded - FREQUENTLY reminded - that there's a reason there are so many trees, plants, grass and moss here, and nary a sage or tumbleweed in sight.  Heck, we even have moss as ground-cover for part of our yard.  Makes finding dog droppings easier when it's time to clean up, but doesn't hold up well under their toenails.

Car windows fog up on the outside from the humidity, not on the inside from respiration like in Idaho. Glasses holding cold beverages sport beads of condensation (that of course seek out the least convenient spot, like a necktie, when raised.)

Upside is, no dry-air related nosebleeds or cracking skin here (Tina likes that part.) And the humidity brings out the natural curl in our hair! Seriously, my hair is curly - ALL FIVE of them!