Hello, June? It’s Me, Rachel

Would somebody like to tell me what’s going on with the weather this year? Snow, snow, more snow, gloom & doom, MORE SNOW, cold temps, high winds, a frigid May, a sudden and alarming heat wave, TORNADOS, FOR PETE’S SAKE, and now it’s chilly again. I refuse to believe it is actually June 3rd. 56 degrees does not a June make, although I am gratified to see them forecasting 70 over the weekend and 75 on Tuesday.

As for the tornados, yes, whatever dear readers I have, we here in Quincy are just fine. I was mostly calm until I saw the footage from Springfield, MA, (WARNING: This video is not for the faint of heart; start at about 25 seconds for the scariest footage I’ve ever seen) and then I said to Jim perhaps we should round up some flashlights and think about putting Amy’s crate down in the basement just in case. We took a number of walks around the neighborhood between 2 and 8 PM, trying to assess the weather, the speed of the wind, the temperature, and contemplating the effect of the ocean air mass beside us. My best friend a little to the south-west said weather was absolutely awful at her place, even though we only had ominous skies and blustery winds at ours. I checked the local Doppler and determined that she’d be stuck in yucky rains for the rest of the evening, but it would descend on our town around 10 PM, and be gone by 10:15 or 10:30.

Around 9 PM, I decided to stop getting all wound up watching Governor Patrick hold press conferences, and switched to the Bruins-Canucks Game 1 coverage. Jim went out to stack debris from out latest home improvement projects between the shed and the fence, and secure the trash cans and patio chairs. By 9:30 the thunder and lightning were so intense, I asked him to come inside with whatever was left undone, undone, and also popped Amy in to her collar with tags and flashing heart-shaped safety light, just in case. Whereas she had been as calm as gelatin beforehand, having her collar put on made her very excited and barky. No, we’re not going anywhere, Pup-Pup, I told her. She also decided at this point that her pack was going to be sticking together, no being in separate rooms, “separate rooms” meaning behind a closed door or not immediately in line-of-sight. Jim went on to the front porch to watch the storm come down, and when he closed the door (to keep me from being made more antsy by the light show) Amy went nutty. She much preferred being able to see us both from her preferred vantage point smack in the front doorway.

“Wow, it looks like the lightning is hitting that power station on Sea Street! Or should I not tell you that?”

At 9:45 it was loud, and flashy, not quite like a freight train bearing down on us, but I sort of felt how you would imagine a fish in a fish tank would feel when someone tapped on the glass.

And by 10:15, it was gone. Just — over. Off to the east and south, off to Nantasket behind us and the Atlantic Ocean beyond, the South Coast and Outer Cape. We uncollared Amy, who plopped in her usual spot half under the coffee table and fell in to a deep sleep. We had the last two slices of lemon pie that I’d made last weekend. We watched the Bruins lose with 18.5 seconds to go.

I went to bed, wondering what the tree damage might be in the morning (as it turned out, none whatsoever) and thankful we weren’t among those far to the west, reminded of why I’ll take high tides and Nor’easters on the coast over the picturesque rolling hills of the Berkshires anyday.


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