When the temperatures around here start inching into the 60s, the locals complain of a heat wave. Seriously.
Well, maybe complain is too negative, but they are vocal.
Convertibles will have been cruising around with their tops down for some time, at least when it’s not raining. Or maybe not.
I even saw some tables on the Old Sow restaurant’s outdoor deck blithely occupied at night when the temps sat in the lower 40s.
I won’t even mention the guys who go around all winter in shorts.
This definitely ain’t California, Texas, or ‘specially Florida.
How does seasonal change kick in where you are?
The butterfly in the boy
running down the beach
The Amish do it, after all. Somehow, wet laundry hung out to dry in below-freezing temperatures still manages to dry.
Often a piece is already stiff before it’s fully pinned to the line.
The clean clothes and linens come in smelling heavenly sweet.
They had an active night, as seen from our kitchen window.
When the air temps drop to near zero Fahrenheit or below around here, these sprites start dancing atop the ocean.
River ice, downtown Bangor
That’s Fahrenheit, or minus almost 18 Celsius. And that’s after the reading had gone much, much further south.
I know we’re not alone in the northern U.S. in a brutal cold wave, especially after an unusually warm spell, but what’s hit us has been brutal. The kind of snap that probably killed off my favorite beekeeper’s hives. Minus 17 and quite windy, for one thing. The temps dropped about ten degrees an hour before finally bottoming out overnight, where they lingered. After that, about noon today, reaching zero felt like a relief, especially since it appears no pipes froze. We’ll see. Two or three nights in a row might have been a different story.
Oh yes, our fuel oil tank was reading much lower than I would have liked, especially once we cranked the thermostat up just to keep up. The very walls were radiating cold, after all.
Unlike last year, neighboring towns were recording roughly the same temps rather than ten or more colder. The ocean around our island wasn’t providing any relief.
Worse yet, a man could go mad under the unending roar of the wind, especially when the condition of the roofing is in question. Men definitely did out on the prairie and likely Scandinavia, but here? You see asphalt roofing tiles all over town when you walk (not yet today) and wonder about how many have come from your house. And we’re grateful the gusts didn’t go over 25 or so, rather than the 50 we were bracing for.
The sea smoke this morning was incredible, but you’ll have to take my word for it.
No way was I going out to photograph it.