When the Clouds Echo the Shape of the Mountains

This is what I saw from my front porch last night. Too bad about that pole, but I can't complain about the view. 

After dark there was lightning aplenty, then a wonderful drenching rain. We got an inch of rainfall--big excitement in desert country. That's maybe a tenth of what rain we'll get all year. I'm sure there were dangerous flash floods somewhere, but here our scraggly back lawn will turn green in a few days. The pecan orchard manager won't have to worry about irrigation for a while. All our flowers in the raised beds will perk up because there is a huge difference for them between the rare rainwater and the usual groundwater from the hose. 

If children still played outside they'd be dancing in the puddles.

As for us, we are grateful that it is well and truly monsoon season. Oh, we'll complain about the 40% humidity. But we know that, once again, we have lived through the hardest season of the year--the days and days of triple digit temperatures. From here on out the weather will be just fine. 

Sounds After the Storm

After the big storm last week, the orchard was so noisy that the sounds out there woke me in the night. I understand that there are toads in the desert that stay dormant and only appear after a rainfall, but I don't really know if these were toads or frogs. Please leave a comment if you know what I was hearing.

Because this video was shot at night, I didn't expect to capture much to see. I was really making the recording to get the amazing and very loud sounds. By the next night, the toad/frog songs were silent and all I could hear were the crickets.

However, we had another storm tonight (Sunday, when I'm writing this post for Monday) and the sounds are out there again.

Winding Up the Storm Story

The neverending storm saga is continued (see the 3 previous posts) and is finally wound up here. As stated earlier in one of the comment responses, please note that no cats were exploded in the writing of this blog...

*****

The dogs and I were safe at the neighbor's house. The wonderfully calm and efficient (and jovial, once the gas was off) emergency crews were on the scene and they worked into the night to remove the broken gas meter, cap off the damaged pipes, and drag away the fallen tree so I could get my car out.

Although the workers had a long night of work ahead of them, within an hour from when I called them and after a kind of mechanical sniff test done in a walk-through of every room in the house, I was allowed back in. The cats eventually emerged from their hiding places we all settled into a new kind of life that continues almost a week later now: No cooking on the stove and cold showers only. Not bad, when you are so grateful to be alive!

*****

These pictures of some of the damage have such a calm air about them, making all my hysteria seem a little over the top. Yes, I know that they have my signature out-of-focus look; many were taken with my cell phone. You can see the gas meter here, knocked off the pipe, which was capped by this point

That object between the tree and the fence is a large piece of metal that was folded up by the storm and tucked into that spot. At first, I thought it was part of my roof, but it was a piece of someone's shed.

Some of the emergency vehicles--at one point I counted 8. This was after the gas was capped and local traffic allowed through once again

This little fellow was judged to be "too small" for the job and was sent away

Using some bigger equipment the crews dragged the tree away to unblock the driveway. I didn't leave for several days, as cleanup crews, plumbers, and insurance people were arriving or calling at all hours. Besides, I assumed that the rest of the city was a mess and busy cleaning up; I later found that the big damage was confined to my road.

Now what will we do for excitement?

Help Me!

Continuing from yesterday's post: The storm was still raging and the broken gas pipe still hissing...

Since you already know about my problem with magical thinking, you won't be surprised to learn that I convinced myself that the gas somehow wouldn't explode if it couldn't see me while I used the phone. I rushed to the other side of the house and turned my back toward all the chaos and called 911 (see why you shouldn't use a phone in the vicinity of a gas leak). I don't think that I have ever been in such a state of fear (As I learned in my public speaking class, my mouth goes totally dry when I'm really scared and I find it hard to talk), but I managed to make myself understood and was even able to remember my name and address. The operator told me to grab the animals and get away from the house.

Getting the animals out felt a lot like this

I found two leashes and the snapped them on the big dogs. Telling the two little dogs that I would be right back (I hoped), I closed the door behind me and took off for the neighbor's house across the road. Although I'm normally a quiet person, not given to much shouting, I started screaming, "Joe, help me!" at the top of my lungs when I got near the house.

Joe's wife, Wanda, peeked out the door as we came barreling toward her, all of us soaked and some of us terrified and me still screaming. She started to say something like, "No, no dogs in the house..." when a part of me that I didn't even know I had in there told her to take the dogs, put them in the bathroom, stay inside because there was going to be an explosion, and that I was coming back in a minute (I hoped) with more dogs. This is a woman I hardly knew, and I was moving our acquaintance up several notches all at once, but she saw my terror and grabbed the leashes.

Sloshing pretty fast for a lady my age back over the road and through the puddles in an outfit meant for hanging around alone on a hot day in front of a fan with no witnesses, I got back to the house. I had a moment where I thought I might be able to gather up the cats and stuff them into a carrier, but they were all hiding. It felt terrible to leave them behind, but I was betting on their resourcefulness and left a door open for them to get out when the house blew up. It wasn't a great plan for their immediate future, but it was the best I had.

The two little dogs were most willing to be scooped up and tucked under my arms. I almost left without my cell phone (I will never wear shorts without pockets again), but grabbed it on the way out the door and went back through the puddles and away from the house, this time noticing that the emergency guys had already gotten there in record time and were blocking off the road. Scared as I was, I had a big fashion realization: Their hazmat outfits were a lot more suitable for the occasion than mine.

I got back into Joe's house, dropped the dogs, and begged for a glass of water so I could talk and explain myself. My poor neighbors. Their house doesn't have much of a view in my direction and they had no idea what was going on.

*****

You know, other people might be able to tell this story in 25 words or less, but I guess that's just not in my nature. There will probably be more tomorrow. And lots of pictures, of course.

Bertie's outfit was also a lot cuter than mine

So I Cast a Spell, and Then...

In yesterday's post, I told you about my irresponsible behavior on the porch, leaving off just as the storm was intensifying. Here is what happened next, as best I can remember:

I moved through the house, closing the doors. I realized as I crossed the very wet and slippery kitchen floor that a lot of rainwater was coming in, so I started closing windows, too. By then, the hail was hitting so hard that I began to worry about it breaking the windows, so I started pulling curtains to help contain any possible broken glass.

The car alarm went off. As I rushed through the living room, I scooped up the car keys and turned the alarm off. I didn't really stop to wonder what had triggered it, because by now there was a horrible sound overhead--it was just like a freight train moving in circles up over the roof. That made me think that I had better get to some part of the house that didn't have trees above it. I think by then that I was twirling, and trying to think what to do. There were so many trees!

And then I heard a horrible loud hissing sound. I always think snakes! but that wasn't right. With the freight train overhead, I really couldn't figure out where the hissing was coming from, because it seemed to be coming from all directions at once. Arriving in the guest room to look for the source of the hissing and to close the window there, I glanced out and several very frightening thoughts hit my brain in a scary, scary way, all at the same time: I could hear the car alarm going off yet again, but I could no longer see the car; a huge tree maybe 8 feet out from the window had just fallen away from the house and toward the car (I never heard it fall because of the freight train); the falling tree had torn the gas meter off the gas pipe; AND THE LOUD HISSING WAS THE SOUND OF THE GAS ESCAPING, JUST LOOKING FOR A REASON TO EXPLODE!

Now this is the part where I was beyond scared. My poor brain was sending me frantic and conflicting messages, faster and faster: We're going to blow up! We're going to die! Call 911! Don't use the phone when there is a gas leak! Get the (4) dogs out! Get the (4) cats out! Don't let them get run over! Getoutgetoutgetout!!!

Terror setting in; I forgot to focus on objects beyond the screen--but I like the photo and the fact that I was still shooting, at least at that point. Note: Those plant pots were soon to blow away

*****

Tomorrow: Help me!

Librarian Needs Spelling Lessons*

Here is a picture of the storm that was taken while I could still open the front door

I was sitting out on the porch, watching a big monsoon rainstorm come in over the city in the distance. From time to time, strange white column-shaped clouds would form and reach down to the ground. I was watching these through the binoculars and wondering if they could possibly be tornadoes, when my neighbor pulled into his driveway and came over to the gate to tell me that he had just seen a tornado touch down when on his way home.

No, no, no. We moved far from Tornado Alley when we came to Las Cruces from Clovis, my mind protested. Couldn't possibly be a tornado. Could it?

Now, I have been reading Ursula K. Le Guin's A Wizard of Earthsea, a book about a young wizard who doesn't yet understand how to control his powers; moreover, he uses them out of pride, and just naturally gets into trouble. Well, stay tuned for a real life lesson, right from the pages of Earthsea.

Knowing how much we needed rain, and idly thinking wouldn't it be great if I could cast a weatherbringer spell and summon some of that moisture over here, I tried holding my arms up in that classic wizard pose--but not too high, as the neighbors here are already worried about the-lady-who-drinks-wine-while-watching-the-sunset, and that nut who is always scampering around in her nightie, taking pictures of the sunrise. So, I got my arms just a teeny bit raised (while remaining seated in my rocking chair, of course) and tried to make some sparks shoot out of my fingers toward the distant storm.

You're not going to believe this, but it worked! The storm veered in my direction, and there I was out dancing in the rain, feeling like a goddess, and eating a few pieces of hail for good measure. Suddenly, the rains and winds and the general violence quotient strengthened about tenfold, and I realized it was time to grab my book and my binoculars and get inside before I blew away.

I could hardly open the door, but managed to take this one photo before things got way out of hand.

Tomorrow: A freight train passes through, and what is that awful hissing?

***

*Thanks to Auntie Bucksnort for the inspiration for this post title

Monsoon Morning for Skywatch

I wish that my photos could show the full magnificence of this rain shower falling in front of the Organ Mountains. It was pretty early in the day and I had to run to get these shots before the brief rainfall faded away.

For skies with all kinds of weather, be sure to visit Skywatch Friday.

About Those Monsoons

We all talk about the monsoon season in the summer here, but I've never understood the actual mechanics of this weather phenomenon. Here is a quote that explains the monsoon season from Understanding the Southwest Monsoon, an article by the University of Arizona's Zach Guido for the Southwest Climate Change Network:

In Arizona and New Mexico, monsoon storms typically begin in early July after several complex and dynamic weather phenomena collide. By July, the Four Corners region has baked in the sun for months. Air has risen like a helium balloon, creating a low pressure trough in the lower atmosphere. Off the coast of Baja California, the sun’s energy has boosted ocean temperatures to around 85 degrees Fahrenheit. But the ocean has a moderating effect on the air and has kept it at temperatures below those over the deserts of the Southwest. This temperature imbalance becomes large enough that a change in the high and low altitude atmospheric movement occurs. The winds aloft over the Southwest, near an altitude of 30,000 feet, take a U-turn westward, opposite their trajectory for nine months. They carry with them moisture from the Gulf of Mexico. At approximately the same time, the near-surface air over the Gulf of California rushes northward into Arizona and New Mexico, carrying with it moisture from the gulf.

The moist air flowing into Arizona and New Mexico hits the mountains and rises. As the air ascends, it expands and cools. The air temperature decreases, falling below the dew point temperature—the temperature below which the air can not hold all the moisture and condenses to form rain. Thunderstorms begin. Vegetation grows. Humidity increases over land. Then more rain falls, creating a cycle that continues until the temperature difference between the land and sea is reduced, sometime in early fall.

Although the article was written about the monsoon season in 2008, it contains plenty of useful information about monsoons in general in this part of the world. The rest of the website contains constantly updated information about weather patterns, models, and changes in the Southwest.

Clouds in the Morning

We have clouds in the morning now. You wouldn't think that would be something to get excited about, but it means that we are now in monsoon season. In a place that gets only eight inches of rain a year, every rainfall is a celebration: I hear laughing voices outside whenever it rains.

More about the monsoon next week. In the meantime, have a great weekend and a Happy Fourth of July. And a happy Canada Day to all you Canadians, one day late.

The Clouds Sail in Like Crystal Ships; Monsoon Weather for Skywatch Friday

According to the National Weather Service: A monsoon is generally defined as a seasonal variation of wind, cloud cover and precipitation that is controlled by the annual cycle of the sun. In climates that are strongly influenced by monsoons, most of the annual precipitation is received during the monsoon season. Portions of the southwest United States, including New Mexico, are influenced by the North American Monsoon System (NAMS), which is also referred to as the Southwest Monsoon. Many locations in New Mexico receive 40 to 50 percent of the annual precipitation during the period from July 1 through August 31 and much, but not all, of the summer rainfall can be attributed to the Southwest Monsoon.

I'm a little late with my monsoon cloud photos, but these are pretty much what we see in the afternoons in eastern New Mexico during the monsoon season (even though these photos were taken in September). Our mornings often bring us clear blue skies, but once we pass noon, the crystal ships come sailing in from the south and the west.

Umbrella man come

Quick, quick, quick,

The monsoon rain is here.

The rain is finally here.

~Lisa, Newcastle Community High School