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Ramble with Storm: Buried to the axles & missed it by one degree

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stormtight.jpg Mulling things on my morning ramble

with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.

I told the kids they would not have school today.

Missed it by one degree, apparently.

Something not quite frozen was falling from the sky. The roads were only wet. But car windshields were frozen solid. Sidewalks were a treacherous mix of wet and slick with just freezing ice.

From what they are saying on WGN-AM, we are just a few miles south of really bad stuff.

Missed it by 20 miles, apparently.

The stuff falling from the sky intrigued me.

Naturally, I looked up the definition of mist on the National Weather Service's glossary:

A visible aggregate of minute water particles suspended in the atmosphere that reduces visibility to less than 7 statute miles, but greater than or equal to 5/8 statute miles. It does not reduce visibility as much as fog and is often confused with drizzle.

Well, a definition like that naturally made me look the definition for drizzle.

Precipitation consisting of numerous minute droplets of water less than 0.5 mm (500 micrometers) in diameter.

Well, that certainly clears that up. Other than making me wonder about a guy who would try to measure the size of the mist/drizzle/rain falling from the sky.

Set out early this morning in the dark. Even so, robins could be heard all around town and were seen in yards.

Too early for mourning doves.

As the meathead and I came over the side rail track and toward the town pond, I saw a small old station wagon, buried to its axles in the mud.

I debated just moving on--``Nothing to see here''--then did my civic duty and peered in the windows. Not sure if it was to make sure anybody inside was OK or half hoping to catch somebody in action.

Nobody there.

Too early, apparently, for red-winged blackbirds, too. No trilling to be heard.

I very carefully walked across the bridge over the neckdown between the two old pits. It was a slick sheet of ice and it is too early for a wet-wade.

Even in the dark, I could tell the pair of Canada geese still are not on their nest. They swam by the island, watching us quietly.

The ice shanty is still blown up against the south shore of the south old clay pit. On the other side of it, two wood ducks took off.

The pile of old tracks and rail ties on the edge of town were a sheet of ice that took some effort to avoid smashing my head on steel rails.

The precipitation ramped up to what I would, unofficially of course, call a light rain.

The bank clock in downtown read 31 degrees. Sounded about right.

One mourning dove fluttered out of a bush by a neighbor's house.

Two Canada geese came low over town as we neared home. In the half hour we were gone, the front steps had lightly iced.

Changes as the dawn grudgingly lightened the morning.

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This page contains a single entry by Dale Bowman published on March 18, 2013 7:16 AM.

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