I enjoyed hearing from quite a few of you about my column a few weeks back concerning the “fog calendar,” and its predictive abilities!
Apparently, this knowledge has also proven useful to some of you over the years and has been shared and passed down through your families, as all good folk wisdom should be.
For those that missed the column, the fog calendar predicts that 84 days — or three lunar cycles — after a significant fog event, there will be precipitation in the form of either snow, rain or more fog. Consequently, it is very handy for advanced forecasting!
If you, dear reader, still doubt or dismiss the fog calendar, here’s some more evidence to sway you: The precipitation event predicted by the epic fog I wrote about in that earlier column arrived right on schedule. After months of dry, unusually warm weather, a blizzard rolled its way across the prairie this weekend, carrying (and depositing) great piles of snow along with gusts of wind and bitterly cold temperatures.
The timing was not great. When I first counted forward from our January fog, I thought whatever precipitation came our way would hit before calving started. “It’ll be close, though,” I told my husband.
Then last week, he had a surprise, slightly premature calf. And then another: “I guess we are calving early,” he said.
Usually, nobody is very excited about a blizzard, but “We need the moisture,” was repeated in every household across the region as the wind howled and the snow fell. Thursday, the day before the storm, I took the kids to Rapid City to run errands, and we’d ended up stripping down to T-shirts by mid-afternoon because it was so warm.
High winds, the precursor to the storm, were whipping through the city’s streets, and the whole region was under “red flag warnings” because extended drought, heat and wind are a recipe for wildfires.
Sure enough, before evening, there were two separate wildfires blazing in the Black Hills, one already covering over 7,000 acres with no signs of slowing.
Driving through the city streets, the sound of distant sirens blaring, I felt chilled despite the unseasonably warm weather. It’s only been a few years since we had to evacuate from our ranch when a prairie fire raged nearby.
The fire jumped the highway a mile west of our house, but I still remember packing to leave, then seeing the bright line of flame in the rearview mirror as we drove east.
All of which is to say: When people around here shake their heads and intone, “We need the moisture,” they aren’t speaking hyperbolically. Even without the danger of fire, the destruction wrought by drought is unassailable and wrenching.
Looking out across the dried, gray grass last week, the wind pulling dusty clouds of soil around in swirls, it was hard not to feel dread welling up in my body.
Today, the same ground is covered in soft, sparkling whiteness. The storm has passed, and though it is still cold, the sun is shining. It feels like a gift.
By the time you read these words, the temperatures will have soared back up into the “unseasonably warm” category again. The kids are looking forward to the potential of wearing shorts by the end of the week. They were also excited about playing in the snow with their friends at recess. What a wild shift in a very short amount of time!
Meanwhile, though my husband has been up around the clock for the past 96 hours, he’s not complaining either. The babies born during the storm are doing well, as are their mamas.
By tomorrow, the herd will be spread across the pasture, resting and meandering as they please, while the melting snow seeps softly into the soil. The birds who migrated back early will be singing their spring songs, no longer regretting their life choices. The kids and dogs will be covered in mud, and my husband will hopefully be taking a well-deserved nap.
For now, we can set aside some of our worries and just enjoy, and I hope you can too.
