“I have forgotten much, but still remember

Poinsettia’s red, blood-red, in warm December.” ~ Claude McKay.

When I left England at age almost eight, it was a rainy, damp place.  Skies and buildings were drab and grey.  I am sure there was sunshine, occasionally, but it was in sharp contrast to the tropical island we moved to.  Jamaica had two seasons, rainy season and dry season.  Of course any true Jamaican would correct me and remind me of one more: mango season!  We trailed the hurricane Flora through the Caribbean, which meant that we were greeted by a strange sight: cows and goats roaming the streets and gullies of the capital Kingston.

We soon learned that tropical downpours were nothing like the persistent drizzle of a Manchester dampness.  These built from a clear sky, a wisp of cotton appearing and finding other wisps to attract and merge with, then gradually, over a lazy morning, growing, building, looming, towering, and finally turning an ominous shade of grey.  Pretty soon rumbles of thunder would warn of the coming storm, and once icy cold shards of rain drops started to fall, the rate and frequency of the drops would increase and anyone caught in it would soon be soaked to the bone.  And chilled.

These predictable afternoon convection downpours could almost be timed.  It would be a pleasant surprise of an afternoon stayed dry.  But mostly you lived with the expectation that first rain would threaten, then it would fall.  If you were lucky, you planned to be inside and stay inside until the storm was over.  That’s what everyone else did.  Unlike England, in Jamaica the rain was your excuse to stay put.  Umbrellas were no protection against the ferocity of a tropical downpour.  Maybe raincoats and those little concertina folded head coverings would do a little to keep parts of you dry.  And your feet! We had some ‘galoshes’, oversize shoes that went over your own, folded over at the shin to try to keep the water out.  But when the deluge created fast moving streams and rivers, finding old riverbeds to course down, those soon became full of water!

I have forgotten much, as the poet wrote, but oh the rainfall of Jamaica drumming on an old zinc roof.  So hypnotic, so soothing.  It hummed you to sleep, lullabied you into dreamland, told you the world could wait, rain was falling, nothing was urgent.

Florida, my current home, although outside of the tropics geographically, definitely copies it’s neighbors to the south.  We can grow all of the fruits and vegetables from Jamaica, can shop in Jamaican foodstores, and hear patois on the local radio.  So it seems only natural that the rainfall should also mimic the tropical downpours of my childhood.  Apart from the zinc roof, of course! And with stormproof windows, sometimes you barely can tell that it is raining! 

I once read that when the cities of Miami and Fort Lauderdale were planned, the city planners (who probably came from ‘up north’ knew nothing of torrential tropical rainstorms, and built drainage systems that were designed for the more decent rainfall of New York.  They soon learned that these drains were no match for the volume of rain that could be dumped from the sky in South Florida!  But also, the water table in this area is very high, and it doesn’t take much for the ground to become waterlogged.

We are being warned daily of the effects of climate change. It is no longer imminent, it is here.  You have only to listen to the news: extreme heat; flooding; hottest day/week/month recorded.  And the bad news is that even if everyone implemented the necessary actions to cut down on carbon emissions, we would only be able to halt the change, not reverse it. 

The irony of all of this is that I had difficulty starting off my Friday morning message this morning because of a sudden power cut.  The power cut and lightning flashes of yesterday evening had already challenged the poor computer with power surges that resulted in who knows what damage.  The rain which had been falling in torrents for the past several days had left the ground waterlogged, so as I drove home the streets were starting to flood.  Fortunately this morning the power was quickly restored and I was able to get onto a laptop to start this tribute to weather.

I do have to be mindful of the threat of sea level rise, since I live about four miles from the beach.  Where once this future threat seemed to be far out in time, a worry for future generations, it now appears to be looming.  The jokes we made about tying a kayak to the front steps no longer seem laughable.  What can we do?

There are small steps we can take, but the more significant one depends on the people who wield the power in the capitols: state and federal governments.  Who we elect to make decisions matter.  We have to be an informed populace, asking the tough questions.  But meanwhile, being mindful of our own footprint helps.  If enough people take small steps to make a difference, they add up.

This Friday morning, as I wonder if it’s going to rain again this morning, I wish you a wonderful weekend, whatever the weather.  Unfortunately, I still have to go to work (this is not Jamaica, after all!).  As we appreciate the power of mother nature in all her moods, let us work towards keeping this planet a hospitable place for all of us.  As Mother Theresa suggested: “Live simply, so others may simply live.”

Have a wonderful weekend, Family!

One Love!

Namaste.