I lived on the 6th, top floor of a building with downtown, a block from BART. I was aware of the lightning for a long time before the downpour. And the downpour quickly turned into hail. I could hear it pounding on the roof, down the sides of my building and into our courtyard. My windows, in a new (2 years old) building, rumbled from the wind.
It was actually pleasantly thrilling to experience nature in such high energy form. But I lived in the Upper Midwest (Minneapolis) most of my life, in a three story Victorian. My first floor was a rental unit and I became accustomed to living ‘up’ in my two-story home. I had a two-story atrium with windows all the way to the top, plus many skylights on the roof. All the windows were privacy windows, position so my near neighbors could not see into my home, nor I into theirs so I never covered the windows and I loved the feeling of being perched ‘up’ in the rain, snow, sun, shadow, and wind.
In the summer and fall, the house was densely shaded by the 110+ year old elm tree, which, alas, was declared dead by the city since I sold that home. That grand elm tree shaded three,three-story homes. It would feel like living in a bald spot to me now.
But with the elm tree wrapped over and around my windows, with or without leaves, depending on the time of year, I loved every minute I spent in that house during rain, snow, winds, and hail. I felt like I lived in that tree.
Up on the third story was another, completely different experience because up there, was was above much of the tree and my views of the weather were completely differently.
Ever since, I have longed to recreate a more direct experience of the weather than I got in my first California home. My first place in CA was in a second-story condo, nested around a very nicely landscaped courtyard but the only view was the top of shrubbery. I know there are some tall stately oaks in CA but there weren’t any tall trees in this mid-century-built complex. I was, as I said, a very nicely landscape space but there was little to see.
Now, perched in the sky, with views of the Berkeley hills peeking in my view, and endless sky, I don’t get the cosy feeling I used to get under my dear old elm tree. How I loved that tree. I am so glad I didn’t live there any longer when the city decided the tree had to come down. As it is, I mourn it but if I still lived there under the bald, unshaded sun, without the comfort of that cooling and embracing shade — I used to feel so embraced by that tree! — . . my weather/sky experience atop downtown Berkeley is different but I have come to love my view. When I moved in here, I resolved to love the view, for I expect to live here a long, long time.
When I awaken each morning, I try to calculate the time based on the sundial outside my window. This ‘sundial’ is simply the rounded tower of the other side of my building. Based on where the shadows fall on the wall, I can accurately tell the time. So I awaken, glance at the sundial and then check the clock to see if I am right. After two years, I have learned to adjust to the changing seasons, as the sun rises at different times and at different angles and I am right about the time each day. I have come to love my view, love what I learn about the changing sky conditions. Sometimes the fog dips down below the top of my building, even to the point where it covers my window. I love that. Mostly, it clear and sunny with overcast sky often, of course, but mostly it is always bright. And monotonous.
So last night, the light show was a thrill. I stopped what I was doing and just watched the sky for a long while. When the downpour began, it was another thrill. And then, by the time the hail was pounding down, all the high energy was happy excitement for me.
Wow. I live on the earth. Nature touches me, even in my very urban world.
This experience was very satisfying.
It was not so satisfying this morning when I trudged over to the farmers market in the cold rain. I have this one pair of shoes that I slip on most often to run neighborhood errands. I don’t understand why this one pair of shoes, a pair of ‘earth shoes’, as it happens, seem to catch the rainfall as I walk. It seems like my socks become wet after walking just one half a block. Slip-ons, I don’t quite understand where the rain falls so it is able to roll inside the shoe. But it does. I know other shoes I own keep my feet dry but I forget and seem to have on the wrong shoes every time it rains. I can’t stand it when my feet get wet because then they get cold.
So my trip to the farmers market became a shivered rush. I did my regular rounds, purchasing the same things I tend to buy each week, chatting with my regular vendors, which was much easier to do today because there were not many customers during the rain.
I felt assaulted, trudging through downtown, sloshing in the rain, the wind actually blowing back my Marmot hood, which is a rainjacket designed for windy and rain. I stopped at one point and secured the hood as snugly as possible, zipped everything as tightly as possible, pulled the rainhood so the visor left me almost blind as I walked and still the strong winds blew that hood back. It was a pain. I was cold. My feet felt like wet, icy chunks of chill. But, still and all, it was great. I was cold, icy, wet and alive alive alive.
All in all, a fine winter storm.
It was actually pleasantly thrilling to experience nature in such high energy form. But I lived in the Upper Midwest (Minneapolis) most of my life, in a three story Victorian. My first floor was a rental unit and I became accustomed to living ‘up’ in my two-story home. I had a two-story atrium with windows all the way to the top, plus many skylights on the roof. All the windows were privacy windows, position so my near neighbors could not see into my home, nor I into theirs so I never covered the windows and I loved the feeling of being perched ‘up’ in the rain, snow, sun, shadow, and wind.
In the summer and fall, the house was densely shaded by the 110+ year old elm tree, which, alas, was declared dead by the city since I sold that home. That grand elm tree shaded three,three-story homes. It would feel like living in a bald spot to me now.
But with the elm tree wrapped over and around my windows, with or without leaves, depending on the time of year, I loved every minute I spent in that house during rain, snow, winds, and hail. I felt like I lived in that tree.
Up on the third story was another, completely different experience because up there, was was above much of the tree and my views of the weather were completely differently.
Ever since, I have longed to recreate a more direct experience of the weather than I got in my first California home. My first place in CA was in a second-story condo, nested around a very nicely landscaped courtyard but the only view was the top of shrubbery. I know there are some tall stately oaks in CA but there weren’t any tall trees in this mid-century-built complex. I was, as I said, a very nicely landscape space but there was little to see.
Now, perched in the sky, with views of the Berkeley hills peeking in my view, and endless sky, I don’t get the cosy feeling I used to get under my dear old elm tree. How I loved that tree. I am so glad I didn’t live there any longer when the city decided the tree had to come down. As it is, I mourn it but if I still lived there under the bald, unshaded sun, without the comfort of that cooling and embracing shade — I used to feel so embraced by that tree! — . . my weather/sky experience atop downtown Berkeley is different but I have come to love my view. When I moved in here, I resolved to love the view, for I expect to live here a long, long time.
When I awaken each morning, I try to calculate the time based on the sundial outside my window. This ‘sundial’ is simply the rounded tower of the other side of my building. Based on where the shadows fall on the wall, I can accurately tell the time. So I awaken, glance at the sundial and then check the clock to see if I am right. After two years, I have learned to adjust to the changing seasons, as the sun rises at different times and at different angles and I am right about the time each day. I have come to love my view, love what I learn about the changing sky conditions. Sometimes the fog dips down below the top of my building, even to the point where it covers my window. I love that. Mostly, it clear and sunny with overcast sky often, of course, but mostly it is always bright. And monotonous.
So last night, the light show was a thrill. I stopped what I was doing and just watched the sky for a long while. When the downpour began, it was another thrill. And then, by the time the hail was pounding down, all the high energy was happy excitement for me.
Wow. I live on the earth. Nature touches me, even in my very urban world.
This experience was very satisfying.
It was not so satisfying this morning when I trudged over to the farmers market in the cold rain. I have this one pair of shoes that I slip on most often to run neighborhood errands. I don’t understand why this one pair of shoes, a pair of ‘earth shoes’, as it happens, seem to catch the rainfall as I walk. It seems like my socks become wet after walking just one half a block. Slip-ons, I don’t quite understand where the rain falls so it is able to roll inside the shoe. But it does. I know other shoes I own keep my feet dry but I forget and seem to have on the wrong shoes every time it rains. I can’t stand it when my feet get wet because then they get cold.
So my trip to the farmers market became a shivered rush. I did my regular rounds, purchasing the same things I tend to buy each week, chatting with my regular vendors, which was much easier to do today because there were not many customers during the rain.
I felt assaulted, trudging through downtown, sloshing in the rain, the wind actually blowing back my Marmot hood, which is a rainjacket designed for windy and rain. I stopped at one point and secured the hood as snugly as possible, zipped everything as tightly as possible, pulled the rainhood so the visor left me almost blind as I walked and still the strong winds blew that hood back. It was a pain. I was cold. My feet felt like wet, icy chunks of chill. But, still and all, it was great. I was cold, icy, wet and alive alive alive.
All in all, a fine winter storm.