The end of the seasonable weather, with its sunny vistas and heat, could leave us feeling dull and making angry mutterings. We are Albertans after all, accustomed to winters, long-lasting and bitter as well as the milder, Chinook-warmed offerings. We are prone to complaining: the weather makes as good a starting point as any.
I enjoy thinking about the abundance of good weather stories we've shared over the recent years. My ancestors were storytellers but seemed to lean toward the hard-luck and hardship version, probably because that was what they knew most intimately. The Dirty Thirties and deprivation of the war years were still a reality to them. The “make-do” attitude was the wisdom of the day.
When I moved to Peace River in northern Alberta with my husband and small child, I was astonished at the long, hot days we experienced. The night skies were often dark only a short time, with a bright strip on each horizon, the sun setting and preparing to rise again. We grew exhausted, until we realized that we were staying up till dark, much later than we expected. We were awed at the vivid display of northern lights and the suddenness of violent thunderstorms.
At the approach of one such storm, I gazed at the yellowish clouds with fear. I gathered candles, made a huge pot of coffee and checked that my children and cats were safely indoors. The storm was accompanied by horrific winds and hail and of course a power outage. My elderly widowed neighbour tottered over from next door when the storm quickly passed. He said he saw that I had light and he was nervous at being alone. Mr. Lloyd enjoyed the coffee with me while the boys reveled in the novelty of candle light.
I did have my grandmother's antique oil lamp but rarely used it. It put off a great deal of heat and I think I was very realistic concerning the consequences if it overturned. A childhood friend's isolated farmhouse had burned to the ground and the memory of that event never left me.
After I was married, my parents had travelled in the Grande Prairie-Peace country, visiting friends. They camped in a site close to where I later lived for 12 years. They and my younger brother set up camp in The Pines, a campground in the crook of the highway just west of the big expansion bridge heading into town. They too were astonished by a violent summer deluge and had my brother pounding on the vehicle to be let in during the night. His sleeping bag was soaked along with everything in it, including him. He said he even pinned his money to dry on the improvised clothesline. His impressions of Peace River weren't great, but mom and dad came back many times to visit us.
Another school friend moved into the country, although another two hours or so north of us.
She was closer to the border with the territories. She was able to take full advantage of the extended daylight and the summer heat and grew splendid gardens. Her friends were grain farmers, unexpected to us as their land was technically on permafrost.
It did get hot in our time in the north. My neighbours decided to help me turn my small garden spot back into lawn, on the hottest day ever. That afternoon it was above 100 F. But once Wayne and Anne began a task, they could not be dissuaded.
It seems a little odd to be thinking about a prolonged hot spell with the approach of an alternate season on the horizon. I guess I can choose what I will dwell on and if nothing else, there is always the weather.
