Novel Times, Novel Measures

Hard to believe that winter here consists of rain, rain and more rain. Coming from the much colder climes of the Northeast, I’m still getting used to 50 degree January temperatures. I guess 30 years of weather conditioning are hard let go of all at once. After a few months in the Bay Area, though, I have come to understand a bit more about the seasonality here, especially the rain.

80% of San Francisco’s rain falls between the months of November to March, due primarily to “occluded fronts on a trajectory from the west-northwest and an occasional cold front from the Gulf of Alaska.” While that meteorological explanation (courtesy of www.ggweather.com) clears up a few questions – no pun intended – I have noticed some lingering clouds of uncertainty in the forecast. Perhaps the timing of my move has affected my appreciation of the West Coast winter. Not only did I arrive promptly for the notorious rainy season, but a particularly rainy rainy season at that. California has already been witness to some severe mudslides this season, have a look:

I won’t complain though. Let me tell you why.

I have little tolerance for those that grumble about the weather. There are better things to rail against in these troubled times. No amount of griping will change the weather, so why cultivate that negativity? Accept and move on, accept and move on. I would rather spend my protestations on matters where my voice might actually affect change. At the moment I’m thinking about ecocide at the hands of our societal model of democratic-capitalism, though I will spare the reader a political rant. (In the future, however, I will touch upon the 6th great mass extinction currently underway.) Of course, those pesky Buddhists assert that we cannot change anything at all except our reaction to the various types of stimuli. I am still struggling to come to terms with that perspective, and I am also venturing far off-topic.

There is another reason for my acquiescence to the weather of San Francisco beyond its intractability. Put quite simply, I like rain. I find the random patter of raindrops to be one of the most soothing rhythms of the natural world. Water, in general, has always held great therapeutic value for me. How many times have I been lulled into quiet contemplation – or still acceptance – by the cascading symphony of a rushing stream upon rock and riverbed? Indeed, I often look to moving water for inspiration, whether intellectual or something beyond words. I think this may be why, on a deeper level, I really have not minded the wintry deluge of my first few months here. The sound of rain across the skylights above has been like a familiar friend offering the solace of home.

For all the notable climatic differences between East and West, though, I am realizing that certain seasons can retain their the basic character in different locales. Skies grey and cloud-laden, whether the darkness portends precipitation liquid or solid. Streets quiet calm during evening hours and human activity confined to indoor arenas, with the welcome exception of a warm day or clear sky. Utterances of wonder – and sometimes grief – at the harsh extremes of unpredictable Mother Nature. These similarities make me feel at ease here this winter, engaged in homebound activities very close to those that occupied the snowy days back East. No, on second thought, arriving during the rainy season has not been an inconvenience at all. I’m pleasantly suprised to find it an odd reminder of my old home, and the ideal lull period in which to readjust to my new.

Filed under: San Francisco