Category: Weather

Juan and Juan Manuel and my Roof

While living in Mexico, I learned what the rainy season really is. We’re talking rain so thick, so heavy, so hard that it comes through the roof.

We’re talking thunder so loud and that lasts so long that I swore that it alone could kill me.

And the lightening. Lightening that lights up the world every bit as bright as daylight.

We’re talking the jungle itself being torn away and swept into the streets… torrents of water carrying trees, and plants that wash down from the hillsides, into the streets and into the ocean turning it into a swirling brown mass of debris.

The only thing to do was to climb onto the bed, open the balcony doors and watch the show. Sometimes the storms would last so long that my nerves would shatter.

Geckos and insects would come in to shelter on the walls and take cover in the corners of the ceiling.

And then it would be over as quickly as it started. The heat persisted because the rainy season happens in summer… 100° and 100% humidity. Was it refreshing? No.

Always sweating, always wet. It was too hot and wet for hair, for jewelry, for underwear. Earrings would heat up and burn my neck. I cut off my hair to the scalp. And underwear? What for?

My roof leaked. Not leak like I could catch water in buckets, but water that stood inches deep that I sloshed out and off the balcony and into the street with a broom.

I’d had enough: I called Juan Manuel to fix my roof.

Juan Manuel sent Juan Manuel and Manuel to fix my roof. Meanwhile, Juan came. I thought Juan was sent by Juan Manuel but he wasn’t. I had to send Juan away. So Juan Manuel and Manuel fixed my roof. Sorry Juan for the confusion.

I don’t know who sent Juan.

True story.

As Solstice Approaches

Frost covers everything this morning though it’s not cold enough to freeze the water in the watering bowls set out for those of fur and feather.

The persistent wind has calmed so the old, giant maples, chestnuts, walnuts, fir, spruce and pine are not creaking in protest and the attic doors are not threatening against the hook locks.

The tiny heater tries so hard to warm the air in my room without success. This is winter (almost) in this old house. The furnace heats the first two floors though we can feel the air seeping in through the closed windows. We are grateful for this old house that shelters us.

Solstice approaches bringing longer days but colder months. I welcome the barrenness, the shades of grey. Though Winter settles in, Spring holds promises of life just below the surface and thrusts swords of iris and sprouts of crocus out of the mud and the brave honeysuckle shows tender green buds on seemingly dead and hardened vines.

There is no guilt in rest this time of year. Follow me says the earth, follow me.

December Morning

Sitting in my warm bed covered in a wool shawl. Candles and incense are lit with a cup of fragrant coffee at hand while the rain pummels the world outside in the dark morning light.

Where Have All the Flowers Gone? Long time passing…

This was a weird summer for annual flowers in my yard. We planted lots and lots of annuals to add color to the ever thriving perennials, like all of the shade plants like hostas and ferns and Japanese grasses, rhododendrons, azaleas and mosses and succulents, besides the sun loving roses and lilies, berries, lavender, sage, rosemary thyme… you know.

The 5 ancient maple trees suffered the most in our two waves of unbearable heat, while all the while, doing their best to keep us cool. They will survive unless this drought keeps it up.

Oh, and I can’t forget, as usual we had a major display of kiwi blossoms but no fruit. I know, I know, male and female but now we can’t “bear” to separate these two gigantic specimens who are apparently happy being childless and just hanging out together in their splendor.

But back to the geraniums and fushias and begonias. The pansies and lobelia did fine, but what happened to the firework flowers of, red, pink, orange and fushia colored blossoms? They made a weak showing but nothing to make me dream of Italian cobbled streets lined with terra cotta pots festooned and overflowing with bright geraniums.

And what of my favorites, the begonias? The squirrels, crows and raccoons kept digging up their bulbs, so they at least had an excuse. The sticks, twine, and stones were not a deterrent. Three of my bulbs survived and bravely produced nothing more than some bedraggled and chewed upon leaves. I’m used to big, thick and juicy stems struggling under the weight of giant blossoms of every color and humongous leaves shading those seemingly delicate flowers… but nary a blossom.

Two shy, late-bloomers

That brings me to these two shy fushias blossoms. They didn’t show up until the party was almost over. Of all the fushias invited to the garden, only these two came appropriately dressed… but too little too late. But I have to say that they are welcome, nonetheless. The days are dark, wet and a little cool for such attire, but they made the photo shoot afterall.

Thank you for coming dear fushias. Our party this year was a bit under attended, which makes each guest this year that much more precious.

Here we are in autumn with its own special beauty. Bye, bye summer. We’ll dream of you and wait to buy more geraniums, fushias and begonias next year. We’ll hope for a better showing of bright and exciting blossoms. You are always welcome in the garden.

When it rains, it pours and roars and throws out spears of lightning.

It’s Rainy season in Puerto Vallarta

The first time I experienced a thunderstorm in PV, I thought that if thunder could kill I’d be dead. It literally shakes the windows and your bones. These storms are like nothing I’ve ever seen.

At night the sky lights up and the entire world is like daylight and all things are in sharp contrast. It truly is unbelievable.

And the rain, the sky opens up and sheets of rain come down as if you’re under a waterfall. Truly fantastic storms… and it’s hot. Temperatures are in the 90s and the 100s with 100% humidity. Truly spectacular.

The ocean turns brown and fills with jungle debris from torrents running out of the hills; all the dry gullies rush with water and floating garbage. The jungle creeks fill to overflowing and merge with the water filling the gutters in the streets. Then it’s over.

Everything is soaked, the strong sun comes out and the evaporation begins and within minutes everything dries out but the air. Then you’re left with 200% humidity and you’re soaked in sweat.

And that’s how it is in the rainy season in Vallarta.