Living Here: Annual Storm Rehearsal

The patio in a tropical storm, 2007

We're watching the approach of tropical storm Ernesto, forecast right now to touch the continent a good distance southeast of Mérida, probably as far south as Belize, early on Wednesday.

No one is concerned at this point that Ernesto will amount to a significant emergency in Mérida. Most likely we will just have some rainy days and a bit of wind. However, Ernesto is noteworthy because it's our first real tropical storm warning of the year. At some point in the earlier stages of every hurricane season an event occurs that makes us realize that it's time to check our storm readiness. Ernesto is that take-notice event of 2012.

We did have a brief windstorm in April that brought hurricane-force gusts to Mérida, but that was an oddity, over in less than an hour, and unconnected with hurricane season, so didn't cause too much excitement about storm preparedness.

An April windstorm was too early to cause much excitement

This morning after checking the weather news, I made a new list of things to check, do, and buy.

Today I am pruning and cleaning the yard, roof and terraces of debris and objects that might blow, be damaged by wind or impede drainage. I'm also making a mental inventory of things like planters and outdoor furniture that will need to be secured in case of high winds.

Tomorrow I'll shop to bulk up the larder. I will buy mostly food that doesn't depend upon refrigeration and that can be readied and consumed, if necessary, without the use of electricity or the stove. I don't eat a lot of prepared foods, but canned tuna, hard cheese, fat-free tostadas, along with fruit and vegetables that keep well are at the top of my list. I also will make sure I have at least a week's worth of purified water on hand.

I've checked my supply of candles, matches and batteries and made a short list for the hardware store which includes spare batteries, tape, some rope and wire. I also today pulled out the sheets of plywood I salvaged some time back to protect the front door and windows. I think tomorrow I will have time to measure, cut these to size and check the fit, and then number them so they can be installed quickly some day when we have a real hurricane.

On my list for the eve of the storm, in this case Tuesday (if anything develops) is to charge the cell phone and radio, to make sure I can stay in touch if the house loses power. This is the day to check the gas level in the car and top it off, if necessary. Were a real storm getting close, this would be the day I would hang the plywood, tape glass, gather up the rags, squeegee, mop and buckets, and secure things around the property.

At that point there won't be much else to do but stay close to home and wait to see what happens.

And after this dress rehearsal, I will be mostly ready for whatever may occur during the rest of the hurricane season, which extends until the end of November.

Living Here: The Heat is on its Way

A short while ago in my kitchen, at the back of the house facing the garden, I began to hear the satisfied coos and clucks of parrots deep in the shade, munching the abundant ripe pistachios on my neighbor's tree. They continued doing so as I sat before my laptop at the table to start writing this post.

It's a sign of the season.

Another signal is that I find myself watering the garden more often, and despite this, some plants wilt or curl their leaves in the afternoon. Starting in late April, and running through May and into June, Yucatán bakes.

I notice these sorts of things, feel the dampness of my skin, and acknowledge that the hot season is beginning. We haven't had a long run of blistering days yet, but the temperatures in Mérida and the surrounding area already have reached about 40 degrees Celsius, or 104F, a few times this spring. Soon temperatures will climb even higher, and stay that way for days or weeks at a stretch.

At this point in the year we start seeing more heat-related stories in the local paper. There was one last week about temperature records and predictions of a long, dry hot season.

This is this time when the wisdom of high ceilings, found here mostly in older buildings, becomes evident, at least for those of us who live without air conditioning. The extra height gives heat and humidity space to rise above head level, keeping inhabited space near the cool tile floors more comfortable.

And speaking of high places, now is the time to start sleeping in the the upstairs bedroom I built with large windows for cross-ventilation that take advantage of nightly breezes. Exposed to the sun, the room is hot during the day, but at night when opened up it's like a tree house, cool and airy.

To keep the rest of the place comfortable, I have at least one ceiling fan in every room of the house, and about now is when I begin running them most of the time.

And this is the season when most folks around here with access to a pool or the beach start taking advantage of it. Nothing beats the heat like cooling water.

It is also a good time for a getaway. I find the hot months the perfect for a visit with family in Alaska, or to see friends in the cooler highlands of central Mexico. Even a visit to my parents in South Florida, which when I lived in Alaska seemed terribly hot, now provides relief. If someone ever had predicted that I would view a trip to Florida as a respite from the heat, I would never have believed them.

Related posts:
Heat, I'm Cool, Pool Time, The Rains are Here -- Almost

Turbonada

My back kitchen/dining area this afternoon.

I learn new words best when I associate them with an experience. Today's unforgettable new Spanish word is: turbonada -- a sudden storm or squall.

We are in the midst of a serious dry spell. There were predictions last week of electrical storms with chances of some precipitation, but nothing much happened. Then, today in the midst of a very hot afternoon, thunder rumbled and dark clouds actually appeared.

But what started out as a welcome afternoon thundershower quickly escalated into something more. As lights dramatically flickered I hurried around the house unplugging appliances. Not long after that, I left the shelter of my bedroom in an attempt to secure a back kitchen door that was banging after being wrenched open by hurricane-force gusts. When I entered the kitchen area, I discovered that some light-weight rattan dining room furniture had scooted several feet across the floor and mosquito screens had been blown in.

Two large potted coconut palms which live outside on the patio had blown over and had their tops lying inside the dining area. The wind made a clean sweep of the kitchen counters closest to the open door; everything was on the floor. Rain pelted horizonally through the back of the house. Artwork from the walls lay on the flooded floor.

Large fallen branches fill my neighbor's back patio

Howling winds uprooted trees and downed power lines. An old ramon tree lost large branches, leaving the neighbor's walled patio looking like an Easter basket full of fake green plastic grass, waiting for colored eggs. A metalwork trellis, which I had built along the top of my garden wall, failed completely and fell, carrying with it a couple hundred pounds of vines and leaves, on top of my flower garden. Many plants in the ground and many of those in pots ended up crushed or lying horizontally.

The garden plants and shrubs suffered the worst.

My vented skylights leaked. As soon as the lightning stopped I climbed to the roof and discovered why: the downspouts were plugged with branches and leaves, and my flat roof was covered in more than six inches of water. This began to drain as soon as I had cleared the debris.

During the storm, I'd heard hail the size of peas pelting the doors and windows. Afterward, I discovered many garden plants had their leaves shredded. Bits and pieces of this blender-residue debris is sort of wet-pasted all over the exterior of the house and on window screens.

Walking down the block later, I noticed one cable down on the street, and intersections flooded. I was told that falling branches have damaged a lot of cars. My friend Jonathan out at Hacienda San Antonio Xpakay called to report that his kitchen's sheet metal roof had blown away.

I suffered little real loss from the turbonada. A young palm tree was uprooted, but I suspect that once propped up it will recover. The metalwork that was damaged will cost me a bit to repair, but not that much, really. Most of the plants will survive. The house is messy with blown leaves and dirt, but in a day or two will be presentable. The pool is murky and full of garbage, but a couple hours of elbow grease and a few dollars worth of chemicals will take care of that.

I guess today was a good practice, in its small way, for hurricane season. Now I have a few new ideas about things to be taken care of before we get a real storm one of these days.

As I began cleaning up with squeegee and mop, I took time out to buy some beer and order a pizza. It arrived late. However, although it was a bit cold, the pizza tasted good. 

Living Here: I'm Cool

A few days ago, I walked home across downtown Mérida when the temperature was 37 degrees Celsius, or nearly 100 degrees F.

I noticed when I got home that I had barely broken a sweat. That's very unlike me. What's going on here?

Ever since I began living in this climate I've done a number of different things to stay cool, like wearing a hat, keeping to the shade, and avoiding the streets and strenuous activities during the hottest hours of the day. But that is not always enough. The high temperatures can get to me, and I end up overheated, shirt dripping, and on the borderline of dehydration if I am not careful.

What was the difference the other day? How am I managing to keep cooler in the heat?

I think what has happened is that I am losing what I'll call my "northern gait," for lack of a better term. I'm doing what the locals know to do without thinking about it. I'm slowing down in the heat.

We all know it's a good idea to take it easy when it's hot, but sometimes slowing down is easier said than done. Any day here you can spot northerners, especially tourists from the northern U.S. and Canada, simply by the way they walk: a "purposeful stride," males with arms swinging and sometimes hands closed, gaze directed ahead, bodies inclined slightly forward, and moving right along down the street. It's as if they are hurrying from air-conditioned building to air-conditioned building, which may in fact be what they are accustomed to doing. The truth of the matter is that if they just slowed down, they wouldn't need the AC as much.



Contrast that to many Yucatecans who move a lot more deliberately down the street.

Of course I am generalizing here. There are plenty of slow-moving foreigners, and by the same token quick Yucatecans. However I think that the climate we grew up in can affect the rate at which we naturally move around. Where I grew up in Alaska, for a good part of the year moving quickly has the advantage of keeping you warm. I am sure that if I had grown up in Yucatán my natural rate of moving around would be adapted to the hotter climate here.

Anyhow, it looks as if I have lost my "northern gait" to some extent. Instead of stepping off the curb to pass the phalanxes of slow-moving pedestrians on Mérida's narrow sidewalks, like I used to do, I now fall in and flow with the current. I also stop to chat with friends I meet, or to cool down for a few minutes in one of the many parks or cafes in the downtown area. It's a natural and healthy adaptation to living in the heat.

I still sometimes find myself walking at a quicker "northern" pace and have to tell myself to slow down, but I have to think about this less and less.

I'm slowing down. And I'm cool.

The Rains are Here -- Almost

This was the scene on my street yesterday afternoon. After several hours of humid-smelling breezes, rumbles of thunder and darkening skies, the clouds finally turned loose just a little and we had about an hour of moderate spinkles in my neighborhood. It wasn't really much of a rain by local standards, but it was a start and a hopeful sign that more is on the way.

We haven't had a significant rain in months. Rainy season normally runs from late May or early June until about November. So the rains are a little late. In nearby pueblos and in the outskirts of Mérida people report some recent squalls but in the city and many parts of the region, we haven't had such luck. Right here in centro the few very light afternoon drizzles we have had evaporated as they hit the ground and did little more than make the streets feel like a sauna.

The Wednesday Diario de Yucatán featured an article stating that 40 percent of the country is experiencing the worst drought in 70 years. Things are pretty bad for a lot of folks. A good thing about Yucatán is that most of the peninsula pretty much floats on a huge fresh-water aquifer. Just about anywhere you can drill a well and come up with abundant water. My well here in Mérida, on the coastal slope and fairly near the Gulf of Mexico, is seven meters or about 23 feet deep. The water I pump for my garden and topping off  the pool is cool and crystal clear. We're in the city so I wouldn't drink it, but it is perfectly safe for swimming. If a situation ever arises in which other sources of water fail, I could easily treat my well water and use it for drinking.

So although it is very dry, in Yucatán we're doing better than many other regions.

Although it wasn't a big rain, yesterday's fall was enough to qualify as the season's official first at my house: I always discover a new roof leak during the first significant rain of the season, and yesterday was leak-day around here. I was walking through the bedroom after the shower when a drop hit me in the forehead. A good-sized puddle had formed on the floor.

I went up on the roof and looked at the spot. Sure enough, I found a hairline crack in the waterproof coating I thought I had thoroughly checked about a month ago. Today I climbed back up with a glob of thick roofing tar and a spatula and sealed the crack. 

The work didn't take long, and I was happy to be doing it. The annual roof-leak ritual marks the imminent end of the hot, tedious final weeks of the dry season and the beginning of the rains. It's a sign that we will soon be enjoying lower temperatures, less dust, fresher air, and will witness a rapid, lush greening of gardens, parks, and all of the Yucatán countryside.

Pool Time

    
     

This is the one time of year when the weather forecasters in Yucatán can't go too far wrong. They could all take the next couple of months off and just send in the same report each day: It will be very, very hot.

Few would suspect they hadn't been checking instruments, satellite images and making observations because the prediction would invariably be right.

It is getting to be that season in Yucatán. It's pool time.

Earlier this week we had a couple of days in the 38 - 40 Celsius range, which for Fahrenheit people, is 100 degrees and above. As I began writing this yesterday afternoon, the temperature officially crept to 41.6C (nearly 107F). Although I don't think it reached quite that level at my place, it was pretty warm here.

Everything gets hot. Walls, furniture, clothes in the closet, toilet seats, the shower, drinking water...everything. A glass of iced tea left on a counter is no longer "iced" after about 20 minutes. A teacher friend of mine yesterday complained about how hot his classroom whiteboard was. Everyone is talking about it. Even the life-long locals have gotten into the act.

The newspaper notes that the temperatures this week have been abnormally high for the time of year. It also predicts a long run of high temperatures in April and May, which will be probably the hottest months of the year.

Mérida's principal daily newspaper, Diario de Yucatán in yesterday's front-page headline story predicted, "waves of heat." It is anticipated that in April we will to see 20 - 25 days above 40 degrees centigrade (above 104F). Spring typically is the hottest time of year here because daily rains, which cool things down, don't kick in until about June. This year the experts see little chance of rain until then, so the next two months will be particularly sweltering.

I wrote last year about living with the heat, and am putting into practice all of my regular strategies for dealing with the high temperatures. But it's early in the season. I'm not quite with the rhythm of the weather yet.

My solution to this situation? Pool time. I jump in at the break of day to shake away the sleep and get a fresh start. The heat of the afternoon is the most important time to cool off. And, a cool dip before bed eases me more gently into sleep.

It's nice to share pool time with friends. Yesterday I invited my friend Alondra and her not quite two-year-old daughter Aurora to stop by and cool off. Aurora has no fear of the water, so she is making great progress toward being an early swimmer. She enjoys a dunking and knows how to close her mouth and blow bubbles to keep from taking in water. Aurora loves to get wet and splash the adults -- which at these temperatures is a great pleasure for us.

I think I wrote last year that when I renovated my house there was only enough room left in the budget for a pool or for air conditioning. I opted for a pool, and after about five years now still have not gotten around to putting in the AC. The pool has worked out wonderfully.

Living Here: Cold

May, 1994: I was working on a project on the floating ice of the Chukchi Sea, north of Barrow, Alaska, where the temperature was well below zero. My recollection of this "siesta" lying atop a snow machine amidst ice and snow is a memory of feeling quite warm, hot actually. I was resting for a few moments in order to cool down.

December, 2010: I awoke chilled enough some mornings in my Mérida bedroom that I didn't want to get out from beneath the blanket. My nose, sticking out above the covers, felt cold. I knew that when I put my feet down on the hard tile floor it would feel very cold. One of these mornings when I finally got up and checked the thermometer in the patio right outside my bedroom, the temperature was 19 degrees Celsius, or about 66 F.

How is it that a person who grew up in cold climates finds himself chilly at a temperature which a few years in the past may have had him running around barefoot and in shorts? I suppose it has to do with the amazing adaptability of human beings, what we are accustomed to and what we expect.

It's interesting to walk in Mérida centro on a cool evening, comfortably dressed in short sleeves, and notice that many others are wearing sweaters and jackets, with scarves (bufandas, one of my favorite words in Spanish) tightly wrapped around their necks or even over their noses and mouths.

Often a frente frío, cold front, rates big play in the local newspapers, which feature photos of Yucatecans bundled up to face the winter chill. Here is an image of two front-page headlines from Mérida's Diario de Yucatán a couple of weeks ago. The lower headline warns the public, "The cold will be 12C (54F) today."

As I was walking one fresh morning recently I noticed a street sweeper at work along Calle 59, wearing gloves, long pants, and a long-sleeved sweatshirt with hood pulled up over the top of his baseball cap so only his visor and face were exposed. I was moving at an easy pace on the shady side of the street, but not slow enough to keep from getting a little damp under my short-sleeved cotton polo shirt. This guy was exercising hard with his big broom, and appeared to be quite comfortable all bundled up. It's amazing to me that two people can feel and react so differently to the same weather circumstances.

Due to the cold, some schools here in December gave students permission to arrive a half-hour late for morning classes. The early morning temperature was in the range of 10 - 13 degrees Celsius, or about 50 - 55 F. A friend of mine who teaches in an elementary school in Mérida tells me that absenteeism is very high on these days.

Meanwhile, my friend and former neighbor Sally Donaldson posted this picture on her Facebook page, showing the view from my old neighborhood in Juneau. This was a "warm" winter day I think, with the temperature hovering just around freezing, lots of moisture in the air and snow or freezing rain possible at any moment.

Normally when the weather is like this in Juneau, we hope for a stretch of clear days. Then the sun shines and without an insulating layer of low clouds the temperature drops. The roads and walks remain free of ice and snow. The result is that driving and outdoor activities are more pleasant, so people go outdoors to hike, ski and play. That is quite a contrast to scenes of Yucatecans "freezing" amongst the flowers and palm trees at much warmer temperatures.

Why the contrast? It has a lot to do with what we are used to. For those who have always lived in a climate where most of the year their bodies are wrapped in a sweaty envelope of intense heat and high humidity (read earlier post here), a front of cooler, dry air can seem very cold. And there is a psychological element as well. It's winter. It's chilly. Brrrrrrr! Must be time to bundle up.

I am not belittling peoples' reactions to the cold here. There are areas of Yucatán where the winter temperatures sometimes reach almost to freezing. Homes are designed for a hot climate, not cold. The same qualities that make homes comfortable most of the year (airflow, open space, high ceilings) make them drafty and chilly in winter weather. And virtually no homes in Yucatán have heat. Many do not have hot water.

In addition, families of limited means simply don't have the money to devote to sweaters, jackets and blankets, especially with a cool season that is relatively short. Many are doing well if they keep food on the table, keep the lights burning and can provide their children with adequate shoes and clothing. Buying winter clothing is just not feasible.

Personally, although I sometimes marvel at how I have adapted to the Yucatecan heat, the cool weather of December and January doesn't bother me. But I don't swim from November until about March. When visitors from the north show up, they want to jump in the pool or go to the beach. I hang out with them, but generally I don't go in. Although in Alaska I swam in water cold enough to have ice floating in it without feeling particularly distressed, here the unheated pool or ocean in winter feels uncomfortable. And I do find myself grabbing a sweater at times when the temperature is not really what we would consider "sweater weather" up north. I have gotten to the point where I do as the locals do, I guess.

Interestingly, when I travel north into winter weather, I feel fine. It seems I have expanded my comfort range rather than shifted it, but a chilly winter morning still seems a lot colder in Yucatán than in Alaska. Of course how we deal with weather has a lot to do with experience, having appropriate clothing and a variety of other factors. However, I have begun to think that psychology and our expectations have a lot more to do with how we react to weather than we normally give credit for.

Living Here: Heat

I just returned from my third round trip between Yucatán and Alaska in about seven months. I used to really notice the temperature transitions on these kinds of trips, but anymore the big changes don't bother me.

There was a time when I could not stand heat. I remember traveling from Alaska to warm climes and feeling as if I was going to die when the thermometer got above 85 degrees Fahrenheit (29C). When we moved to Miami and lived there for several years during my youth the air conditioning at home was always set at 68 degrees (20C). There were seasons when we hated going outside. When you opened the door, it felt as if someone walloped you in the face with a steaming hot, wet towel. We ran to the car, turned the AC on high, and battled over who got to sit by the air outlets.

Of the many reasons I moved to Yucatán, one was not that I wanted to live in extreme heat, but rather that I did not want to live so much in cold. There are milder climates nearer my ideal in other parts of Mexico, but I love Yucatán and so have learned to live with the weather. It's a good bit hotter here most of the time than in Miami. I have lived here for years without air conditioning and it's fine this way.

One thing I know now is that we felt uncomfortable in Miami because we kept the house so cool we never acclimated. If we had managed to get accustomed to a warmer inside temperature, the transitions to outdoors would not have seemed so extreme. We would have achieved better results dealing with the heat had we decided to live more with it.

Living with the heat is the answer to the problem. In Mérida I know people who love the heat, and I have come to believe that attitude can go a long way toward making heat bearable. A Yucatecan friend of mine embraces the heat and comments to me that he loves the feel of perspiration on his skin. Appreciating the energy that makes life on earth possible and finding ways to stop fighting it makes a lot of sense to me philosophically and environmentally. Deciding that the heat is not going to be a big problem, and then taking steps to minimize its impact goes a long way to making life in the tropics comfortable and pleasant.

Airflow and shade are very important. Living spaces with cross ventilation are more comfortable in hot weather, and high ceilings give heat and humidity a place to go above head level. One of the reasons the old colonial houses in Mérida are so popular with foreigners moving here is that they employ these types of design features to keep inhabitants cool. Fans are a huge help. I installed large-bladed ceiling fans in every room of my house and make liberal use of them, supplemented by floor fans in bedrooms. Once you live in a place for a while, you learn when to open and close which windows and doors in order to take advantage of breezes, keep sun out and the cool in. My routine of opening and closing parts of the house depending upon the time of day and weather keeps the house comfortable much of the time.

Clothing is important, as well, and besides using natural, breathable fabrics and loose garments I have only one rule: wear as little as possible. This is most easily done in the privacy of one's home and at the beach.

I can take a lot more heat when I am not working under pressure, or can pace myself and do things on my own schedule. Scheduling activities around the weather is probably the oldest way of dealing with heat. The siesta is maybe the best known of these strategies. I regularly take a siesta, planning work and energetic activities for early in the day and late in the evening, and reserve the heat of the afternoon for quiet activity or resting. Throughout much of Mexico, businesses and offices close or reduce staff in the afternoons so most employees can take a long, two-to-three hour break for lunch and a rest during the heat of the day. They then reopen late in the afternoon and keep their doors open into the evening. Evening meals are sometimes eaten as late as 9:00 or 10:00PM, when a lot of the day's heat has dissipated. In old urban neighborhoods, chairs are put out on the patio or sidewalk, doors and windows are thrown open, and families enjoy the night breeze and socialize with neighbors. As Mexico modernizes these practices are seen less, but they are still common, especially in the warmer parts of the country.

Generally I prefer to be hot in the outdoors rather than in an enclosed area, so I have open-air living spaces, and I use them. Trees rather than a roof provide shade, and shrubs and plants in place of cement surfaces keep temperatures down. A swimming pool, outdoor tub, sprinkler or shower -- anything that allows you to cover your body in cooling water from time to time -- provides instant relief in the heat. I take a quick dip or lounge in my backyard pool three or four times a day in hot weather. After the sun has gone down, rooftops provide access to breezes. Many homes in this area have rooftop terraces for evening relaxing and entertaining. While enjoying the cool of my rooftop I have a 360-degree view the city, stars, storm fronts and lightning passing in the distance, and observe owls and bats hunting in the night.

I started out living here without air conditioning because it didn't fit my budget. In renovating my house I was faced with a choice. I had enough money left to put air conditioning in the house or build the pool. I chose to have a pool and to worry about the AC later. I wired and plumbed the place for AC units, but after five years still have not put them in. Now I suspect I never will. Not using AC saves a lot of money and energy and lowers my impact on the environment. I have come to the conclusion that I don't need it. It's simpler this way and I live comfortably, so why bother?

Getting into Mañana

I wrote last week about thoughts that came to mind when a neighbor passed away. He was a pretty happy and successful guy, mostly due to his attitude and priorities, as far as I can see. Well, I posted that piece on the blog here nine days ago, and two days ago started stressing because I am not meeting my self-imposed schedule of one blog post per week.

There's lots of other stuff on my to-do list that isn't getting done, either, and I find myself worrying about it. It's part of my upbringing to meet deadlines, stay on schedule and accomplish things. This attitude is part of American culture, and one of the reasons that the United States has been highly successful in the world doing certain kinds of things. At any rate, lately for a variety of reasons, my days have been full but the long to-do list doesn't get smaller.

Let's see, yesterday, instead of folding a mountain of laundry that's been there since Monday, and buying glass for a new window, I spent a couple hours going over drafts of poetry translations for my friend Jonathan, and then spent a couple more hours, when he stopped by later, talking about them, drinking beer and eating spaghetti.

Today, when the guy who I pay to sweep and mop floors couldn't make it to work, I spent five minutes hitting the bad spots and decided the rest of the mess can wait until next week. Then I climbed on the roof. I have been planning for some time to re-coat the roof this month because this is the height of the dry season, the best time of year to do it. Trouble is, starting a couple of weeks ago, just when I was ready to scrape, clean, patch, and put down a new coating of waterproofing, or impermeabilizante, it started to rain. You can't coat a damp roof, so after it rains it's best to wait a few days. Each time I thought things had dried out enough to start work, it rained again.

This morning I was all ready when the temperature dropped and the sun disappeared behind gray clouds. Time to punt. I finished all of my preparation, quickly put a light coating of impermeabilzante on a couple of trouble spots, and left it for another day. I'll be optimistic and make the rain work for me. One more rain will wash away the last bit of dust up there, making the perfect clean surface for the new waterproof coating.

So today, I also have errands, banking, the blog...

Oops! I just got a call from Padre Luis, the beekeeping priest in Manì. He's starting his honey harvest in the morning, and invited me and a friend to come down and stay over a night or two to observe and help. This is something I have been looking forward to since meeting him last month. I've got to get clothes, hammocks and a few other things organized, and put gas in the car for a very early start tomorrow. And Jonathan told me he is looking for a ride out to the hacienda. That means picking him up bright and early and dropping him in Tekit on the way to Manì. The next three days are full. Looks like not much else will get done around here until next week.

One thing, though, I have something like 35 ripe tomatoes from the backyard garden and I can't keep up with them. I bet I have time to make a batch of spaghetti sauce this evening and put it in the freezer. I have onions and garlic. Good. That's important.

So today, laundry, window glass, errands, banking, the blog. Hmmm. The blog. Well, the topic I'd planned for this week will take quite a bit of time; I'd need to organize photos and my thoughts, and spend a couple hours at the computer. No time for that, so here is this week's post.

The rest of the things on my list? I'll have to get around to them mañana. And actually it looks as if mañana will stretch into late next week.

Weather: Feels like Southeast

In my last post, I wrote about all of the flowers there are to be seen around Mèrida, while up north, "fall color" has as different meaning. I was able to get nice, saturated colors in my pictures, and flowers were looking especially fresh and lush, due to the fact that it has been gray and raining here for several days...not something that's a frequent occurrence in Yucatàn. Here, during the season which typically runs from June through about November, an afternoon rain following a hot day is usually the thing. This week's weather looks more like rainy Southeast Alaska than sunny Southeast Mexico.

This was the view from my kitchen yesterday afternoon:

Yesterday, we woke up to the news that a tropical depression which rapidly formed off the coast of Nicaragua had quickly become Hurricane Ida, and was predicted to graze the coast of Quintana Roo, affecting the coastal resort areas including Cancun, which is not far from here as hurricanes blow, about Monday. I recall a week or so ago having a conversation one cool day with an elder neighbor, a lifelong resident of the area, who confidently told me that once the cold fronts started coming through, as they began to some weeks ago, hurricanes are just about impossible. Well, Ida seems to have remained officially a hurricane long enough to do damage in Nicaragua, and then began to weaken, but not before I spent a few minutes running down a mental checklist of preparations I would have to quickly make should we be threatened with a real storm. Now it looks as if the storm will strengthen again as it heads over water, that we will get rain and wind this weekend, but probably not much worse than we have been experiencing. However, that could change.

The good news is that it is raining. The bad is that it came a bit late. We had a very, very dry summer rainy season here with terrible heat, and lots of crops failed. This burst of moist weather is good for us, but won't help the producers, particularly small farmers and campesinos in the countryside who lost corn, vegetables, and animals over the last few months.

People here are talking increasingly about the erratic weather as yet another signal from Mother Nature about global warming, and there are frequent articles in the local paper on the topic. Weird weather of a sort that the oldest and wisest folks have not seen in their lifetimes, serious coastal erosion and loss of habitat are things that I read about in the Alaska news; the identical topics are on the agenda here. It's about time we started taking these things more seriously. If you haven't seen Al Gore's film, An Inconvenient Truth, please watch it. If you have seen it and done nothing, please take the time to watch it again. It's available on YouTube.