Sukkot: Shelter, Snow, and Saecular Winter

In Israel, they say that rain on Sukkot is bad luck. The winter rains should begin after the this autumn pilgrimage festival is over, so that travelers may get home from Jerusalem before the roads become muddy and impassible. In this year of worry and anxiety, all the signs seem pointed towards hard times.

Is snow on Sukkot then a sign of impending Saecular Winter? A time of crisis?
Like the Fourth Turning itself, the signs are in the minds of those who observe them.
At the cusp of a different turning, the snow on Sukkot would be given a different meaning.
For it is we who make the meanings. And this Sukkot feels like the "coming of the winter" in a way that past Sukkots did not.


Sukkot, the festival of the Ingathering Harvest, begins on the full moon six months after the full moon of Pesach.

Here the full moon sets on the first morning of the seven-day festival, and that is snow on the roof of the house!

On the previous evening, we ate in the Sukkah as the sun set. Although the setting sun was warm on our faces, the clouds were gathering. By the time we had waved the lulav, the wind had picked up, and we cleared up as a fine mist began to fall. In the morning, it was snow that fell on our mountain.

On Tuesday afternoon, it was clear that we would eat at the kitchen table, gazing out at the snowy Sukkah.
The commandment is to dwell in the Sukkah over the days of the festival. However, we are also commanded to rejoice in the fruit of our labor. But the Rabbis of the Talmud understood that rejoicing and getting cold and wet are not compatible states of being. Thus one may not dwell in the Sukkah when it rains. Or snows? Do they mention snow on Sukkot in the Talmud?

We have had strong winds and rain when Sukkot comes in mid-October, but this is the first time I have found snow on my Sukkah on the first day! Not to worry! The Chile Lights are outdoor-rated by Underwriters Laboratories.

Wednesday was damp and blustery.
Thursday, it was cold enough that we said the blessings and waved the lulav in the Sukkah, but ate indoors.

Yesterday, though was actually hot in Albuquerque and warm here at Sedillo. It was a calm, clear evening. So I dressed the Sukkah up for Shabbat.
We said the blessings as the sun set.

Ah! Finally, a comfortable, leisurely meal in our own Sukkah.
Sukkot is the festival of joy in the harvest, and in the Sukkah we remember with gratitude the shelter of our home, and the shelter of each other.



It was so fine an evening, that we lingered over the meal, sitting and telling stories well after dark. The Chem Geek Princess closed escrow on her first house Friday, so we talked about our past houses, aware that soon our family dwelling will be reduced from sheltering four humans to three. (The number of canines and felines and amphibians is expected to remain stable for the time being). So this is the last Sukkot with all of us under one roof.



As frustrated and worried as we all are about the state of our country's economy, we have banned political talk in the Sukkah. No discussions of stock markets, bail-outs, the election and (especially) temple politics are allowed under the Chile Lights.

As we helped each other stay within the ban, we found ourselves talking instead about how grateful we are for what we have. Our home is secure. We have food in the pantry, and supplies laid in for the winter (and for hard times, should they come). We are secure with each other.

We finally put on jackets as the Engineering Geek took up the lulav.

We wave it in the four directions, towards the sky, and towards the ground, singing Songs of the Ascents: Hodu l'Adonai ki tov . . . Give thanks to Adonai for G-d is good . . ."
"B'zeit Yisrael mi-Mitzrayim . . . When Israel came forth from slavery . . ." "Esa enai el-he-harim . . . I will lift my eyes up to the mountains . . ." "Ana Adonai, hoshiana . . . deliver us, Adonai . . ."

It is a primitive moment. And yet, modern though we are, and not farmers at all, we understand the sense of joy and satisfaction that comes from work well done, a harvest well brought in, and stores laid in for the winter. This year, we have begun to consider how to prepare for the Saecular Winter that is coming with the beginning of the season of crisis.

On Sukkot, we celebrate the harvest. In the shaky, temporary dwelling of the Sukkah, we remember the years of dwelling in the wilderness, the years of learning to be free. Part of the joy in the midst of uncertainty is the understanding that although life is short, the earth yields up incredible riches that can and will sustain us, and give us reason to celebrate the fruits of our labor, in good economic times as well as in bad.

During Sukkot, we read Megillat Kohelet--the Scroll of the Preacher (Ecclesiastes). The Preacher, it is said, is Solomon the Wise, who in his youth wrote the Song of Songs and in his age wrote this scroll. He laments that all that a human does appears to be vain, chasing after the wind that cannot be caught. That life is short and impending death makes human striving seem futile. But he sees that wisdom lies in rejoicing over what can and is accomplished. That rather than eat one's bread in bitterness because life is not endless, one should appreciate the work of one's hands thus:

"Behold, that which I have seen: it is good, yes, it is beautiful for a man to eat and to drink to enjoy the pleasure for all his labor that he works under the sun, all the days of his life that
G-d has given him, for this is his portion. Everyone also to whom G-d has given riches and wealth, and has given him power to eat thereof, and to take his portion, and to rejoice in his labor. This is the gift of his life. For let him remember that his days are not many; that G-d answers him in the joy of his heart."

In the hard days that are coming what do we have? We have much if we prudently keep the fruits of our labor, and rejoice in what we have made and done. For the Eternal answers us in the joy of our lives, not in meanness and suffering.

Cloudburst!

NEARLY WORDLESS WEDNESDAY

This past weekend, the weather was decidely un-New Mexico. We had morning fog Friday and Saturday morning, and on both days we had clouds and rain all day.

Here, the cloud has settled on our mountain, obscuring the distance, bringing the close objects nearer, and as we walked the familiar aspects of the landscape seemed different, closer, more intimate.

On Saturday afternoon the thunder rolled and the heavens opened up! In the first wave, 0.30 inches fell in about ten minutes.

Here, water cascades, a river, down the driveway.

Then the rain fell harder, and the drops were larger;

they made crown-like splashes in the rapidly forming puddles.

The stream in the drive became a river, and I could not help but wonder what it looked like in the culvert on the new road.

Following the storm, clear water ponded against the low wall of the door garden, and we could hear it dripping off the trees and shrubs, and splashing down the narrow beginning of Sedillo wash.

That afternoon's total rainfall was over an inch in an hour. Later that evening, while we were in town get recieved another half-inch for a grand total of 1.5 inches for the day!

It was spectacular!

The general geological principle of gradualism--that changes on the earth's surface happen by the slow and steady weathering of rock does not totally explain the changes wrought by our western cloudbursts. Here, at the southern end of the new road at Los Pecos Loop, this one cloudburst wore down the borrow ditch by about a foot, and spread rocks and silt on the roadway.

Water is very powerful, being a reasonably heavy compound in which the molecules a pulled together by polarity. It moves very fast downhill, so that about two feet of water on a slight incline can sweep away a grown man.

A desert mountain cloudburst can downcut an arroyo by three feet in half-an-hour!

Hello, Dolly! Tropical Depression Meets Monsoon

NEARLY WORDLESS SPECIAL

This has been a bad year for the TAAS Summer Star Parties at Oak Flat Picnic Grounds on South Highway Fourteen.

In June, the forest was closed due to extreme fire danger and the Solstice Picnic and observing party was cancelled.

This month, with the Engineering Geek staging the event, it was a hurricane.

A hurricane? I hear you asking. What? Nine hundred miles from the nearest ocean waters?

Well, actually, it was the remnants of Hurricane Dolly--now the remnants of a tropical depression that moved north from the Brownsville Texas Area up the Rio Grande Valley, socking in the whole state of New Mexico and causing serious flash flooding. Our mountain neosols, already saturated, just cannot hold as much water as the deep loams in the midwest.

So without further ado, I bring you a Nearly Wordless Special post.

Here comes the second wave!

I was teaching in ABQ for the first wave, but caught this at suppertime when I got home. I was in a windowless room teaching, but I could hear the rain on the roof and I got the Engineering Geek's message by cell phone. The TAAS event was cancelled.

The torrent pours out of the dark clouds,

cascading off the eaves at the back of the house.

It rained like this for a good hour.

The Geek said we had gotten 0.98 of an inch

earlier in the afternoon.

Neither of us wanted to venture out to check

the evening total.

The clouds over the Sandia Mountain Front lift their skirts slightly, so that we can see the pink sunset horizon as the rain continues to fall.

As water puddled up over the culvert at the top of the driveway and spilled down toward Sedillo wash to the south of the house, we were glad we did not have to go anywhere.

Yesterday morning, we ventured out to observe the aftermath. The dogs were as curious as we were.

The morning did not dawn, rather the light came up gradually, softly through heavy fog.

From the Los Pecos extension of the road, we saw mud flats and standing water below the very large culvert on the new road. Los Pecos Loop.

The heavy fog was shifting, curtains of it moving across the sky, playing hide-and-seek with the rising sun.

We moved as though through a mass of warm, moist cotton, our footsteps muffled, our voices hushed.

The Geek checked the rain guage as we ended our morning walk, partially obscured by the "jungle," as we call the abundance of flora that has burgeoned in this really good monsoon summer.

We got 0.25 of an inch more Saturday night, giving us a total for Saturday of nearly an inch and a quarter.

We had some flash flooding, but nothing as severe as Ruidoso, to the southeast in the Sierra Blanco, where they got four inches in less than 24 hours.

The flash floods there cut off the entire town, and people went missing in the raging Ruidoso River.

Good-bye, Dolly!

We watched the as the storm swept northeast, over the shoulder of the Sandias as we sipped our coffee in the breakfast nook.

The rest of Sunday was warm and sunny. And more humid than we are used to experiencing.

One of my students drives down from Santa Fe for my Sunday afternoon level 5 class. His mom said they drove through serious rain and hail near Budaghers--the last wave.

As I write, five Air Guard helicopters just flew low over our house, headed to Ruidoso. They say that all the bridges over Rio Ruidoso are out, and the recovery will be long and expensive.

A Day in the Life of Monsoon Season

NEARLY WORDLESS WEDNESDAY

The morning began with a rare mist over South Mountain in the pre-dawn gloaming.

The sun rose over Los Pecos Homeschool, scattering a golden light across the mist.

Moisture aplenty in the air means that

afternoon rain is in store for Sedillo.

In the forenoon, clouds already gather
up against South Mountain.
There is rain to the south, and to the east.

Frontal weather brings clouds

cascading down the Sandia Mountain Front,

like water spilling over a dam.

Low clouds gather over

Cedar Crest and Tijeras.

Rain falls on the curve of the new road, at Los Pecos Loop, nature testing the design of the drainage, and water gathers in the borrow ditch below.

The strategically placed rocks slow down the water and keep the slope from rilling.

Clouds over Los Pecos, and rain washing across the Sandias. There will be eight muddy paws to

wipe on the porch, and two underbellies to dry.

Tea in the kitchen as the thunder rumbles and rolls above, and the sound of the steady rain beats on the metal roof.

Flash Flood Alert: This is the 'Semi' Part!

NEARLY WORDLESS WEDNESDAY

In the past few days very wet air coming up from the Gulf has precipitated very good Monsoon conditions along the east side of the Central Mountain Chain.

Here, afternoon thunderstorms build over the Sandia Mountain Front.

Last night, the heavens opened.

We received 0.49 inches of rain in about 30 minutes.

The white flecks you see are raindrops illuminated by the flash. The larger streaks and ghosts are from streams of water falling over the eaves.

This morning we surveyed the results of last night's gullywasher.

Rarely, does one see standing water in our desert mountains. Here, we see the borrow ditch along the extension of Los Pecos doing its job.

But there was trouble in the large culvert on Los Pecos Loop. Much standing water, and washout below meant that the contractor has to remodel how the drainage will work there.

Yesterday, they had dug out the rock bed downstream of the road. Now, there is more water and more work.

Although the rock dams did slow down the water last night, the intensity of the rainfall and the ground saturation created downstream rilling that could eventually undercut the rocks.

Upper level disturbances over the

San Pedro Valley at dawn

is a good indicator that the

flash flood warnings for this

afternoon are accurate.

Bruce and I are driving to Santa Fe this afternoon. He is taking one of the two evening reading classes I am teaching at Santa Fe Community College-UNM Continuing Education extension. I hope there is no serious water on the road at Madrid and Cerillos.

I remember my first Monsoon* season in New Mexico in 1982. I arrived at an Advanced Geomorphology class soaked from the knees down from wading across Lomas Blvd. (Albuquerque proper has no serious storm drains). As I stood in the doorway, water running off my umbrella, I announced to my classmates: "I thought that I was moving to a semi-arid climate!"

The professor responded: "This is the 'semi' part."

*In New Mexico the Monsoon is always capitalized. It it almost spoken in italics. It is that important.

Rainbow Over Los Pecos

NEARLY WORDLESS WEDNESDAY

A rare morning rain coming in from the west, combined with a partly-cloudy sunrise brought us a beautiful sight this monsoon season.

A full arc rainbow over Los Pecos, here seen on the western sky, over the new road.

Here it arcs down and seems to rest behind the house.

Here is one limb over Los Pecos Loop.

You can see the beginnings of

a double rainbow above and to the right.

I couldn't seem to find the pot of gold, though, until I realized that owning a house in this beautiful place is all the wealth we need.

Summer Solstice: All Hail the Monsoon!

The Summer Solstice occurred in the northern hemisphere this year at 23:59 (UT) on Friday, 20 June, which translates to 17:59 MDT. The Summer Solstice is Midsummer's Day, or the day of longest daylight; from this time forth days will be getting shorter in the northern hemisphere.



I caught the Solstice Sunrise very early in the morning from the front of the house.
Clouds were moving in rapidly, from the southwest.

The North American Monsoon appears to be setting up early this year, and afternoon thunderstorms were expected.






Since last August, I have been taking pictures of the sunrise on Solstices, Equinoxes and Cross-quarter days from the meadow behind our house, as well, in order to get a document of the yearly circle of the seasons.

On the Summer Solstice morning, I had to wait an hour from sunrise for the clouds to clear--somewhat. On the winter solstice the sunrise was over the roof of our house on the far-right foreground of this picture.


As the moisture in the morning air and the barometer predicted, the first afternoon thundershower of Monsoon 2008 occured shortly after 4 PM. At 3:50, I felt a shift in the pressure, and then a cold wind came up out of the north-west.

At 4:15, we had light sprinkles followed by marble-sized hail streaking down from the north and bouncing across the driveway. It makes quite a percussion solo on the metal roof of the house, too!







Then came the rain--a steady thunder-shower that fell for about half an hour, bringing water to the thirsty trees and grasses, and washing the dust and gravel off the roads and patios.

The Engineering Geek arrived home in the middle of it, and of course I had to go out and greet him. We stood, lifting our faces to the blessed rain.

The Monsoon has arrived early and this is a promising beginning to the summer season in the mountains of New Mexico.



True to Monsoonal form, the rain stopped at about 5 PM, and the clouds completely cleared away two hours later.

After we took our pre-Shabbat luxury bath, I was able to photograph the sunset just about two hours past the actual moment of the Summer Solstice.

Here, the sun is setting as far north on the western horizon as possible, 23' 27" north of where it set on the Vernal Equinox. The setting place for the Vernal Equinox is on the far left of the picture. The distance in degrees from the sunset on the Vernal Equinox to sunset on the Summer Solstice is equal to the tilt of the earth. It is the tilt of the earth that gives our planet seasons and gives us the ability to count time by where the sun appears to rise and set on the horizon.

The Wheel of the Year keeps on turning with the spin of the earth, and the seasons alternate, making ours a very fertile planet, burgeoning with life.

New Mexico Weather Patterns and Fire

A comment from my friend Denise over at Mom in Madison led us to do a little information gathering about New Mexico's seasonal weather patterns and how they relate to our weird fire seasons. Thanks, Denise!


On the California Coast, fire danger is greatest in the late summer-fall, due to extreme dryness, heat, and winds coming off the ocean--like Southern California's Santa Ana Winds.


But the New Mexico pattern is different.


Much of the state is Chihuahuan Desert country with associated high desert grasslands, shortgrass prairie, and montaine forests. The life zones are pushed higher because much of the state lies below the 36th latitude. That means that in central New Mexico--where we live--we don't see Pinyon-Juniper Woodland below about 6,000 feet (depending on which side of the mountain) and Ponderosa Pine Forest does not become well-established below about 7800 feet. Also, average annual precipitation in the Rio Grande Valley is less than 10 inches a year, and in the Central Mountains, it is about 16 inches a year--less further south and more further north. Twenty inches is about the upper limit on annual precipitation for anywhere in the state.


New Mexico has the bi-modal precipitation pattern common to the Chihuahuan Desert.
We typically have a dry and windy spring and fall due to to movement of the jetstream high altitude pattern during those seasons. Starting in late June of early July, we get the summer monsoon storms, which are influenced by the ENSO pattern (El Nino-Southern Oscillation). In a good El Nino year, we get more precipitation--as in the summer of 2006, and in a strong La Nina year, we get less precipitation. In an ordinary year (neither El Nino or La Nina) we get an precipitation somewhere between the two. If we have a long string of weak El Nino's, or strong La Ninas, we have summer drought conditions. The monsoonal winds last until late August or early September, and then we return to a fall dry, warm and sunny situation. Our winter snowfall is also influenced by ENSO, and we watch the mountain snowpack carefully, because our overall drought conditions depend a lot of whether we get good snowpack or not. Also, if spring conditions come too soon, we can end up with a summer drought situation and an earlier fire season. (This picture is from the NOAA website and you can learn all about the North American Monsoon by clicking the link).


What all of this adds up to is that our most extreme fire seasons tend to be spring and fall.
During La Nina years, if the monsoon fails, we can end up with a fire season that extends from March-October or even November. Last year, the worst fire in Central New Mexico happened at the end of November--the Ojo fire--which was not far from the current Trigo fire.



Last year, we had a good but normal monsoon which helped mitigate the fire danger in summer. This year it looks like the La Nina pattern could persist, causing us more fire problems. The last two summers have also increased grasses and forbs, so a dry summer means a heightened grassland fire danger.

This year, too, the March winds have lasted into the beginning of May. Since mid-March, we have had more days of Red-Flag Fire Warnings than not. A Red-Flag Fire Warning requires the combination of warm, sunny days--which lifts the thermals over the mountains in the afternoon--lack of precipitation and low relative humidity, and high regional winds from fast moving storm systems that mix downward as the day progresses.

Yesterday, the Trigo fire jumped containment due to high winds. Slightly lower pressures due to a fast moving storm system from which we do not expect precipitation means that these high-wind conditions will continue through Friday. Exacerbating the problem is that fixed-wing planes cannot drop retardant in the high winds, so they usually only get a few hours near sunset to to their drops. The fire is already relatively inaccessible, being on peaks and in canyons, but the high winds mean that the hot-shot crews are pulled off the mountain frequently.


What has made all of this much worse is that the fuel loads of the central mountains are high due to what we call "dirty woods"--lots of snags and deadfall--created by the USDA's misguided fire-suppression policies of the past 50 years. You know what they say about "good intentions."


Fire is a natural part of this ecosystem--and small, frequent fires keep the fuel loads down, preventing the kind of crown forest fires that have extremely high heat, create their own weather, and burn the entire forest.


Live and learn.

April Snow and March-like Wind

A Nearly Wordless Special Edition

We thought we were done with this!

Last night, I was in town, at the university, giving presentation to my Trends and Issues class, my phone beeped. It was Bruce, worrying about snow in the canyon and poor visibility.
I had to finish my class, go pick up N. at Machon, so by the time I headed up Sedillo Hill, the snow had stopped, the pavement was wet (warm ground under the roads is a blessing) and we got home safely. We had about five inches on the ground this morning.

Dawn this morning.

The light has the springtime quality, and the clouds look like the kind that produce April Showers. And yet, heavy, wet snow covers the mountains.

The clouds, still looking like rain clouds, race above the snow-covered road construction barriers.

As the sun begins to rise above the ridge, the wind is picking up speed. April snow, March-like winds. It confuses the eye and the brain.

On the morning walk in the meadow, we plough through the heavy snow.

The Clouds on the hillside shadow the rising sun. We're back to white and gray, but there is a blue-purple springlike quality to it, that makes it different than February.

It was such a heavy snow, driven by spring winds, that it frosted the fence and the trees.

This won't last very long. The wind is picking up.

By mid-morning, the wind is blowing clouds of snow steadily to the east.
Bad weather is brewing in Texas.

Odd. We have a fire warning as well as a wind warning today. Snow and fire? Probably not.

The warning should apply only below the snowline.

It's a good day to stay inside and clean.

The March Lion Continues Roaring!

Yesterday afternoon, when N. and I left the house, the sun was shining, the sky was blue, and the temperature was 49 degrees (F). We did notice the clouds over the Sandias. And we were aware of the winter storm watch posted for the northeastern quarter of New Mexico. But when I dropped N. off at the library, it was 55 degrees and still sunny in Albuquerque's Northeast Heights. By the time I parked the truck at UNM, the temperature had dropped slightly, the wind had come up, cold and damp. Just before class began, I got a text-message informing me that the East Mountains were under a winter storm warning. Two-and-a-half hours later, as I left class, it was cold and windy and Albuquerque was under a cloud cover. The East Mountains were socked in. Still, I stopped at the grocery store and the pet store on my way home.

There was no snow in Tijeras Canyon, though the wind was strong and the trucks were going only 50 mph. But when I got off the freeway at Zuzax, I was met with flurries. The snow intensified as I climbed Sedillo hill, and the wind drove the snow straight at me, so that my headlights made a tunnel in the snow. And when I turned off on Via Sedillo, the howling wind blew the falling snow across my path, and also picked up the powder on the ground. The little Catholic Chuch was a ghostly presence, and I had to slow to 10 MPH and follow the center line to stay on the road. Still, the roads were wet but not snowpacked. But by the time Bruce and N. got back from Taekwondo a half-hour later, two inches were on the ground. Whoah! The NWS was not kidding about the storm warning this time.

This morning, we woke up to 9 inches,and the snow was still falling. It was a heavy,spring snow, making frosting on the fence, and weighing down the branches. Although the snowplow had not yet made it up our hill, the newspaper guy did. He's got to have 4WD!

We took the "short walk" today, Bruce and I together, because he was waiting on the snowplow. The short walk, around Teypana Drive and then through the meadow and up the hill to our house, usually takes about 20 minutes.

Today, as we broke trail through knee-deep snow in the meadow, it took 50 minutes. But it was so beautiful, the snow on the new fence, piled up with abandon on the shrubs and trees, the sky gray and snow still falling lightly.

In the woods south of the house, the snow was the deepest of all, and we lingered, taking pictures as the dogs broke trail. They were chest-deep in the snow, and moving slowly, snow on their tummies, and frost around their noses. Even their collars were coated in snow and ice.

By the time we got home, they were happy to be there, but it still took nearly ten minutes to sweep off four pairs of boots, two sets of pant legs, eight dog paws, and two dog bellies and chests.

By the time we got inside, the dogs were more than ready for breakfast, and even Zoey, Miss Picky Geriatric Eater, at a full breakfast .

Now the clouds are coming and going, as the center of the storm moves south and east, toward Union County and the Texas State Line.

We are still getting snow off-and-on, but I think it is safe to say that we have already gotten the lion's share of accumulation. My truck is buried, the rain guage is frosted, and the temperature is still well below freezing.

Although Bruce got off to work rather late with the Focus, which has front-wheel drive, I probably will not be going anywhere in the truck. It is not 4WD, and although I can get it down the snow-packed hill--probably--I will not be able to get it back up. So we are home for the day, like it or not.

Frankly, I rather like it. We are having a homeschool snow day, complete with a movie--Letters from Iwo Jima--a part of N.'s World War II study. We'll venture out to shovel a walkway up the drive later, and have hot chocolate made with real cream. I can taste it already!

I'll have to see if I can make it to class tonight. I think not.