Clear Skies and Long Views

It occurs to me that some of you may fear that this blog is, at times, in danger of becoming a "weather report", justifiably so since ProfessorRoush shares that same fear with you, and yet I still cannot resist showing you this view, as it presented to me a couple of evenings back as I turned onto my road:

In the west, I saw this view and thought, "that's a rain cloud," and yet we had no rain predicted.  I was not prepared, however to check the weather on my phone and see that this thunderhead belonged to a single isolated cell that was still more than 60 miles distant (radar screenshot taken at 6:49 p.m.)!   Salina Kansas, to the storm's south, is 66 miles from me!  How's that for clear air quality?

I haven't calculated the earth's curvature over that distance, and I know this storm probably reached tens of thousands of feet into the air, but, still, I can scarcely believe I was able to see it coming at that distance.  The world is a wonderful place, full of surprises if we only let them in.

I watched the cloud through the evening as the storm tracked from our direct west.  At 8:07 p.m., it was still more than 25 miles away to our west, but it ended up passing barely to the south later that evening.   My  last view of it below is at dusk, 8:07 p.m., still to the west and at the same time as the radar capture seen to the left, with barely enough light from the setting sun remaining to outline the storm cell.  Lightning was flashing in the storm itself as I watched, and it is no wonder that the Vikings could conclude that Thor was angry in the center of that cloud.

Perhaps now you can better understand my fascination with weather events here in my view from these semi-arid, rolling grasslands where rain is sometimes measured in drops and the wind can strike fear in a brave heart.   Better at times, I wonder, would we be if we were this garden spider, a Yellow Garden Spider (Argiope aurantia)  that has patiently tended its web in this exact spot near my back patio for over a month.  I can't tell you how many times I've almost shortcut across this bed into this web, but so far it has survived obliteration from myself, Bella, the neighbor dog, and the weather.  I'm happy for the spider's presence because  it is another sign that Fall is coming and it seems to justify my seasonal neglect and provides some natural pest control for my garden.

Everything's Alright

Believe me, ProfessorRoush is very aware that he's been "blog-absent" for a couple of weeks, but life sometimes makes other plans for us.  This past 2 weeks, the "other plans" have included some emergency medical visits and surgery and hospitalization of Mrs. ProfessorRoush, and the mere fact that I'm blogging now should be taken by all as a clear sign that she is mending.  Slowly, but progressively.

During a period where I was traveling back and forth from home to hospital, missing my wife and worrying about her surgery and recovery, I was struck one evening by the likely Divinely-inspired appearance of the Sweet Autumn Clematis that grows on my now-neglected gazebo.  I built this hexagonal gazebo nearly two decades ago merely to have a place deep in the garden to escape from the sun and sit on a swing on a hot day.   Surrounded by a honeysuckle on the south, a struggling 'Romona' clematis on the west, and the Sweet Autumn clematis on the north, I've neglected the gazebo a bit, especially the last couple of years, and it is beginning to show its age.

Hence, as I have not paid any notice to it this summer, I was surprised when I saw it suddenly in bloom from my bedroom window and I realized the clematis had climbed through the top of the gazebo.  In my tired and lonely mental state, I was struck speechless by the gift and the perfectly-timed message from nature, and I received that message loud and clear.  I took this sweet-smelling, perfectly-white, delicate but determined floral display as a certain sign that my beautiful bride of  nearly 43 years would be okay, and my fears and worries melted away at the sight of it. 

A view of the inside of the gazebo reveals the path of the clematis as it sought out the sunlight and clung to the cross beams.  "Life", as Michael Crichton wrote, "always finds a way".   This Sweet Autumn clematis is the only one I have allowed in my garden for several years because I've learned it will self-seed everywhere here in this climate and become invasive. But now that it has demonstrated its resolve to thrive, and superimposed itself on my mind's eye alongside my love for Mrs. ProfessorRoush, it is likely that I'll allow others to grow here in the future.  After all, who am I to deny the forces of life and ignore heaven-sent messages?