This week my inbox began the beep and chatter again. We gonna play wit de roofs and play wit you face. I comin’ to see you in you Concord place, …forecasters now got me goin’ to new jersey,īut I ain’t goin’ dere, dem guys is crazy O, donnie donnie k, gon blow you plans all away. What you gonna do when de wind start blowin’…
To defend myself, I had to resort to verse: Last fall, when my eponymous hurricane was making its approach to catastrophe along the mid-Atlantic, I received a series of e-mails tracking and speculating…about me. Yes, Don has professional reason for his weather-eye (he is in charge of our school’s plant and emergency preparations), but his weather-heart is that of a kid. Prediction of snow makes us all ten again. For me, the mix of modern forecasting tools and work at a school ensures rumor’s percolation well before any storm coalesces off the mid-Atlantic, where our biggest, our “historic” snows all come from. The buzz (a sort of song) begins days in advance. Let us sing Winter.’ So I say, ‘Let us sing Winter.’ What else can we sing and our voice be in harmony with the season?” Henry Thoreau, Journal, 1/30/54 “I knew a crazy man who walked into an empty pulpit one Sunday and, taking up the hymn book, remarked: ‘We have had a good fall for getting in corn and potatoes.
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