I seem to be spending a sizeable chunk of my internet time checking the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) Weather Service website for the 10-day forecast for our area. Although my usual interest is to see if there is any rain in the near-distant future, I started relying on the forecast to see if we would have a freeze. I had planted many summer-friendly plants in pots, and since we've had an unusually warm autumn, with leaves still clinging to thirsty blue oaks and goldfinches forgetting to fly south, many of the flowers were still blooming at Thanksgiving. I wanted to cover those plants that might be shocked by an overnight freeze or two. It turned out to be several overnight freezes (like a week or so) and several more near-freezes, along with mild-to-warm days, continued dry weather (only bordering, according to the terminally optimistic newscasts, on drought, although we've broken records for dry year and warm days), and an unprecedented number of in-a-row spare-the-air days. Folks are upset, it seems, that they can't have their Yule logs this season. I haven't heard many complaining that the native plants and trees can't have their seasonal drink of water, although there was (thank you) an opinion piece in the Napa Valley Register about the effects of drought (and consequent dry creeks and sandbars) on the Coho salmon that usually are able to find their way upstream to deposit their eggs.
Each day, when I visit the NOAA site, I spend a little more time watching the animated satellite images from 4 kilometers above the Western U.S. I have stared--no, glared--at that high pressure area that has parked itself stubbornly and ineluctably over the state of California. For a time, through most of November, the high actually took on the shape of California, with its edges squared off at the northernmost border, draping in a virtual straight line down the Pacific coast, with somewhat feathered edges on the other side of the state along the Sierra Nevada range. Occasionally it lifted its Eisenglass skirt to allow some cloud cover and precipitation in Southern California, then defensively dropped it back down to prevent any penetration by wayward weather.
Clouds, clouds everywhere, and not a drop to drip on us. There have been ravishing storms and raging floods elsewhere, alternating with drought and wildfires. A Wikipedia summary of the year: "The 2013 extreme weather events included several all-time temperature records in Northern and Southern Hemisphere. The February extent of snow cover in Eurasia and North America was above average, while the extent of Arctic ice in the same month was 4,5% below the 1981–2010 average.[1] The Northern Hemisphere weather extremes have been linked to the melting of Arctic sea ice, which alters atmospheric circulation in a way that leads to more snow and ice.[2] "
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2013_extreme_weather_events
Now, that's Wikipedia, not me, claiming that the weather patterns have something to do with melting of Arctic sea ice, which in turn, we could assume, might have something to do with global climate change. I'm not ready to assert that our (not quite) drought and warm fall/winter weather is caused by climate change, because I hate it that every time there's a snowstorm somewhere in the world the "deniers" sneer and chuckle with disdain, pointing to the snowstorm as proof that there is no such thing as global warming.
I'll limit my commentary for today to the reality we are facing here and now. Our well continues to threaten desiccation; we are scrounging the last bits of manganese- and calcium-thickened dregs and I'm committed to no more than three or four showers a week. The plants I've been protecting from the freezes are at risk of dying of thirst, because I dare not use the well water on them and our water collection tanks would now be empty had we not had water delivered a couple of times.
I would merely like to point out, for those willing to see, that we need to think seriously about water conservation. A near-full reservoir is not a guarantee of continuing availability of water. The fact that vineyards can now have water delivered to meet their growing needs in a dry year doesn't mean there isn't a growing problem with groundwater levels. I've been trying to conserve water for about 50 years now, having spent my early years in desert environments and a couple of years as an adult living just south of the Sahara. I'm still waiting for complacent, conventional wisdom to notice the dry grasses and burning bushes.
In the meantime, I'll keep staring at that animated satellite image over and over again. I doubt my visual meditations will melt that intransigent high pressure area, but I'm mesmerized by the clouds that swirl around it trying to get in.
