The Weather in Newark

I get an e-mail for online check-in that includes a weather report.

I’m going to New York this weekend. It’s for a surprise birthday party for my husband, Mike. He knows about it, of course. His blabbermouth brother managed to keep it a secret for all of ten minutes.

Anyway, we’re flying out there. On Continental Airlines — their hub is in Newark. And I just got an e-mail message from Continental offering online check-in.

The e-mail included a graphic image with the weather forecast. Here it is:

Weather in Newark

Should I be upset that they’re forecasting rain the whole time I’ll be out there?

Or should I be glad to feel the rain on my face and in my hair (and down my back) again? After all, we haven’t had any significant rainfall here in a while and I rather miss it.

Will report back next week.

It’s Not Just Sand

I have to explain to passengers that the desert is more than sand dunes.

I had some passengers on a helicopter flight a few weeks back who were just visiting the Phoenix area from somewhere back east. At sometime during the flight, they told me they were hoping to see the real desert.

My DesertI was confused. Wickenburg sits in the Sonoran desert. That’s the desert with the big saguaro cacti all over the place. It rains, on average, less than 8 inches a year. The desert can’t get any more real than that.

My passenger clarified. “Well, where’s the sand?”

The sand, unfortunately, is all over the place. In washes, in my front yard, in my shoes and cars, and in my hair and eyes during a dust storm. Sand (and dust) is a part of life here.

But not the kind of sand my passenger was thinking about. He was thinking of sand dunes. You know. Like the kind in movies that take place in the Sahara desert.

I began to understand. His mental picture of the desert included the rolling sand dunes from the movies. The same sand dunes that had hazards like quicksand and oasises with palm trees and ponds of water.

I explained that there were sand dunes in the southwest desert, but they were only part of the desert landscape — not the whole thing. I told him about the big sand dunes west of Yuma on I-8, and the small sand dunes west of Blythe off of I-10 (I’m not even sure if you can see those from the road, but I see them from the helicopter when I fly that way), and the medium sized sand dunes in Death Valley.

Then I put on my tour conductor voice and gave him a summary description of the Sonoran desert landscape, including information about its cacti, trees, animal life, and other features.

Of course, all this has me wondering how many people think the desert is just a big sand dune.

Monument ValleyOne of the things I love about the desert is its diversity. There are so many kinds of desert, each with their own little ecosystem. Drive 50 or 100 miles in any direction and you’re likely to be in a whole different kind of desert. For example, if you drive up route 93 from Wickenburg, you’ll enter another kind of desert where there are no saguaro cacti, but plenty of Joshua trees. Drive up to Monument Valley and you’ll see the layers of underlying rock exposed in magnificent formations, with scrubby trees and bushes hanging on for life in the fine red sand.

Just don’t go down to Phoenix. There isn’t much of the desert left down there, with all the asphalt, golf courses, non-native plants (like palm trees, for heaven’s sake!), and irrigation.

Acadia National Park

Fog in Maine.

When we went to Maine in October 2005, we had fog almost every single day. At first, I was rather pleased about it — fog is one kind of weather we hardly ever get here in Arizona. But after four or five days of it, even I started getting a bit sick of it.

But it didn’t stop us from getting out and around.

One day, we went with John and Lorna to Acadia National Park. Mike and I had been there years before — maybe as long ago as 20 years? — and didn’t remember it very well. It didn’t matter anyway. It was foggy and we couldn’t see much of it.

Otter Cove, AcadiaWhat we could see, however, were haunting images of the coastline veiled with fog. Like this one, which I snapped at Otter Cove. I like this photo so much it’s currently the desktop picture on my laptop.

We did have a few clear moments. We stopped at Jordan Pond House in the park for baked apples [actually, they were popovers according to Lorna] and it cleared out for a while as we sat outside in the sun. We climbed Cadillac Mountain (in the truck, of course) and passed through the clouds. Up top, on the rocky surface, the wind was blowing hard and clouds flew by overhead and below us. At one point, the clouds cleared just enough to give us a breathtaking view of Bar Harbor, with a cruise ship waiting off the coast. The the clouds moved in again and we were back in our isolated world above the world.

Anyone can visit Acadia on a nice day. How often do you get to visit when the clouds are doing their magic?

A Town on the Coast of Maine

But which one?

I put off writing about this photo because I wasn’t sure exactly where I snapped it. I know it’s in Maine and I know I took in in October, when Mike and I went to spend a week with John and Lorna at their place in Winterport. I wrote about the trip in my old blog, but it hasn’t made it to this blog yet. (I still have about 60 entries to import; I did about 12 yesterday.)

The Coast of MaineThere’s no place in the world that looks as much like New England as some of these New England coastal towns. It’s the harbors, I think, filled with all kinds of boats, and the typical New England style architecture all around. And the colors, too.

I took this photo late in the afternoon from a park overlooking the harbor. We’d just spent a while walking around the town, browsing shops. It had been a foggy morning — every morning was foggy while we were there — and if you have really sharp eyes, you can see the fog bank way out to sea in this photo. (It may be easier to see in the larger header version of this image, which should eventually rotate to the top of this page if it isn’t already showing.)

I’m not sure what town this is. We did a lot of driving up and down the coast. It might be Searsport, Belfast (my vote), Camden, Rockport, or Rockland. (I admit that I’m looking at a map right now, trying to figure it out.) I’m hoping Lorna or Larry read this soon and use the comment link to tell us.

One more thing: there can’t be anyplace else in the country that’s more different from central Arizona than the coast of Maine. It was a great trip, refreshing to be back in a place where rain and fog were relatively common weather phenomena and where I could smell the salt air almost everywhere I went.

Major Hurricane “Expected” in Northeast

Another typical media attempt to breed fear.

Stories like this really piss me off. It’s like someone said, “Hey, I think we could get more hits to our Web site it we published a story that said the Northeast was likely to get hit by a hurricane this season.”

So they wrote the story: “Threat of Major Hurricane Strike Grows for Northeast”, complete with the subtitle, “AccuWeather.com Warns That ‘Weather Disaster of Historic Proportions’ Could Strike as Early as This Year.”

They go on to say:

“The Northeast is staring down the barrel of a gun,” said Joe Bastardi, Chief Forecaster of the AccuWeather.com Hurricane Center. “The Northeast coast is long overdue for a powerful hurricane, and with the weather patterns and hydrology we’re seeing in the oceans, the likelihood of a major hurricane making landfall in the Northeast is not a question of if but when.”

They then discuss the last major hurricane to hit the northeast, which was in 1938, leaving me with the impression that someone had done a statistical analysis on the odds of it happening again this year.

Heck, I haven’t won $7 on a lottery ticket in months. Statistically speaking, it looks like I’m due to win again soon!

Just more evidence that the U.S. media’s main marketing strategy is to keep the U.S. public in fear.