It's now been 275.31416 5/9 days since rain last fell in Sacramento. That's an exaggeration, of course, but our long, dry summer--except for a few drops of precipitation one August morning--is running its usual course. It's the kind of weather that makes it hard for TV weather folks to think of new and entertaining ways to avoid saying "more of the same."
Before I came to Sacramento I had lived in Houston and Chicago. Houston, besides having hot, muggy summers, gave residents another treat in the winter--the blue norther. I could stand on the flight line, which offered an uninterrupted view to the horizon, and watch a line of clouds colored in blues and black roll in from the north and feel the temperature drop. And that night my buddies and I would drive into town and stand outside a convenience mart drinking beer and people would walk by and ask, "Aren't you cold?"
"Cold? I'm from New Jersey (Connecticut, Boston, Chicago). This ain't cold."
Chicago weather was another story. In a city that offered mile after mile of fine beaches on Lake Michigan and plenty of municipal swimming pools, there were summer heat waves and summer days too cold to warrant a swim.
And then there was a day in February 1951 when the temperature in Chicago dropped to 15 degrees below zero. That day stuck so sharply in my memory that I felt it necessary to verify it with National Weather Service online records.
Did that really happen? Yes. it did. And that was the last winter I lived in Chicago. And to be clear, I left not because of the weather but because some nut in Korea started a war and I enlisted in the air force before I could be drafted.
American River Parkway, October 18, 2020
Fall colors beginning to show.
The air force moved me around, and I eventually arrived in Sacramento early in May 1957. Six months later the air force transferred me again; other moves followed. Ah, but the military works in strange and wondrous ways, and in 1966 I was back in Sacramento, and am still here more than a half century later.
It's a benign climate. For much of the year you can plan a picnic on Monday for Saturday and know that you're going to have good weather. It's hard to say that about a lot of other places.
But it's boring.
By this time every year, I'm ready for rain and clouds; gimme some gloom. I want to need a jacket when I go out. I want to hear geese honking when they fly over the house. A few appear on the parkway, but they could be permanent party who see no reason to migrate anywhere.
As for fall colors--next month.
I'm waiting.
Before I came to Sacramento I had lived in Houston and Chicago. Houston, besides having hot, muggy summers, gave residents another treat in the winter--the blue norther. I could stand on the flight line, which offered an uninterrupted view to the horizon, and watch a line of clouds colored in blues and black roll in from the north and feel the temperature drop. And that night my buddies and I would drive into town and stand outside a convenience mart drinking beer and people would walk by and ask, "Aren't you cold?"
"Cold? I'm from New Jersey (Connecticut, Boston, Chicago). This ain't cold."
Chicago weather was another story. In a city that offered mile after mile of fine beaches on Lake Michigan and plenty of municipal swimming pools, there were summer heat waves and summer days too cold to warrant a swim.
And then there was a day in February 1951 when the temperature in Chicago dropped to 15 degrees below zero. That day stuck so sharply in my memory that I felt it necessary to verify it with National Weather Service online records.
Did that really happen? Yes. it did. And that was the last winter I lived in Chicago. And to be clear, I left not because of the weather but because some nut in Korea started a war and I enlisted in the air force before I could be drafted.
American River Parkway, October 18, 2020
Fall colors beginning to show.
The air force moved me around, and I eventually arrived in Sacramento early in May 1957. Six months later the air force transferred me again; other moves followed. Ah, but the military works in strange and wondrous ways, and in 1966 I was back in Sacramento, and am still here more than a half century later.
It's a benign climate. For much of the year you can plan a picnic on Monday for Saturday and know that you're going to have good weather. It's hard to say that about a lot of other places.
But it's boring.
By this time every year, I'm ready for rain and clouds; gimme some gloom. I want to need a jacket when I go out. I want to hear geese honking when they fly over the house. A few appear on the parkway, but they could be permanent party who see no reason to migrate anywhere.
As for fall colors--next month.
I'm waiting.
***
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