24 February 2017, midday
75ºF (!), mostly sunny, strong breeze
Warm, warm, warm. And maybe—in the moments absent of wind, bathed in sunlight—hot. At least for me. But most of the time there's a persistent wind from the southwest ruffling conifer boughs and loose leaves across the park's lawn. The wind, I think, is the beginning fringes of the cold front expected to slide cool and gray into Pittsburgh tomorrow. Earlier this morning the sky spread above in a great cloudless blue plane, but now watercolor clouds stack across the horizon, uniform and blue-bellied. The heat of this high pressure system, mid-seventies in late February, is loosing its grip already. Low pressure opens the air, carves room for water vapor to expand to billows of white.
Still, what's the norm to return to? I heard on the radio this morning that today is supposed to break a record held in place since 1906. Though a number on a graph is only one of a sky-bound trend, the culprit seems obvious, heavy and hot and thick with carbon dioxide beneath the warm sunshine.
I'd considered doing my best to ignore the beautiful weather. Stick to shoes and socks and long pants, pretend it's not really mid-seventies in February. Ignoring the outliers is one form of a coping mechanism. I'd be hot and miserable, but at least I'd be hot and miserable like the pikas high in the mountains of my home state, or like the residents of Mumbai roasting in an unrelenting heat wave, or like the clay-cracked beds of lakes and reservoirs in the Desert Southwest. Like the polar bears, always the polar bears. I'd be hot and miserable to remind myself that I actually have that choice, that I have an ample wardrobe and central heating and air conditioning and the mobility to get to a cooler place.
But I caved. This morning I donned shorts and my beloved Chaco sandals, which I swore I wouldn't slip on until March at the earliest. Now they rest among last fall's dead leaves, and my bare toes weave into sun-warmed grass. A couple with a baby reclines on a soft white blanket behind me, and their Australian shepherd is keen on chewing on chestnuts. "Drop it!" they yell at her every so often, and I think, as always, there's something metaphorical about that response, the ridiculousness of keeping a dog from gnawing on chestnut husks. Just let her be, I think.
I have to let myself enjoy this weather. Or else I'll be miserable on both fronts: sweating under long pants, simmering at the news headlines every day. I'm not enjoying anthropogenic climate change, not wishing for this outlier to stack up to normalcy. I'll still fight for places and people bearing the brunt of these warm fronts and floods and droughts and inconceivable dumps of snowfall. For our terrifying future. But I still enjoy this moment, this half green park rattling with last fall's leaves, exhaling the smooth scent of humus, flaring in sunshine between shadows of increasing clouds as they skim past. Because, for now, it's still here.
Great entry! I especially appreciated your struggle with wanting to enjoy the record breaking weather and also ignore it. It was hard not to think about climate change yesterday and worry. Thank you for your honesty and for sharing.
ReplyDeleteHi Sarah- I enjoyed your lovely way of expressing both joy and concern for the unusually warm temperatures. I can easily imagine your wiggling toes in the warm sunshine! Your entry included helpful balance as you reminded us about the impacts of climate change on the rest of the world including the polar bears (always the polar bears!). Another beautiful entry with meaningful specifics and a warm emotional undercurrent.
ReplyDeleteI really enjoyed this entry. I like how you start off with a description of our warm Friday afternoon and transitioned into the reasons it happened by using the news of the record breaking warm temperature. I could feel your struggle to not enjoy the weather by wearing shorts or open toed shoes. I think your last sentence "Because, for now, it's still here," was powerful and brought together all of the emotion you created surrounding environmental change in this entry.
ReplyDeleteThis is another entry that weaves together the personal observation of your place's physical space and the larger implications of those observations. You've beautifully considered the tensions between your own enjoyment of the mild weather and the causes behind it.
ReplyDeleteGood work Sarah. I was in Boston when the weather broke and it was beautiful there as well. I ruefully looked at the heavy winter coat and boots that I had packed in the possible advent of snowmageddon which visited upon me and mine two years ago. They say it is an ill wind that doesn't blow some good our way and I am afraid, very afraid of the warm winds of climate change that our current administration chooses to ignore, but for that day... that one glorious and warm day, it was a little piece of heaven.
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