Reflection: You Don't Need a Weatherman

You Don’t Need a Weatherman

            I was new in town, new, in fact, to California, so I was still getting used to the idea that months could pass without any significant rainfall. The green on the hillsides surrounding San Luis Obispo came mostly from scattered oak trees and patches of cactus. The grasses had long turned brown, or golden, if you’re a romantic. Having previously lived in Pennsylvania and Colorado, where rain and snow were abundant, it actually made me a little sad and anxious to think that afternoon thunderstorms and beautiful snowfalls were a thing of the past.

            So I was excited on the morning in early October when heavy clouds blew in and I could smell rain in the air. I had some business downtown at the post office, only a few blocks from my apartment, and as I walked the wind started to blow and fallen leaves started skittering across the street and sidewalk. There was something about the wind that got my attention, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. I just knew that something unusual was occurring.

            I stood in the post office line behind an older man wearing a plaid jacket. His face was tan and lined, and I noticed that his right arm hung limply at his side, a large, working man’s hand protruding from his sleeve. When he turned slightly, I caught his eye, smiled, and made a comment about the impending change in the weather.  I said I’d been in town for close to three months and had yet to see a drop of rain, only mist and dew from the occasional overnight marine layer.

            “That’s the way it is here,” he said. “Almost all of our rain happens between October and April.” I mentioned that sometimes there were clouds but no rain, something I found disappointing, and then he related the first piece of local knowledge I’d heard regarding the weather. “Check the flags when the wind starts to blow. Normally they’re blowing toward the south, but when they turn around and start blowing toward Morro Bay, rain is certain.”

            When I left the post office I checked the American flag flying on the pole out front, and sure enough it was blowing north.  As I turned the corner and started home, the storm broke and I was looking for cover as I dodged and darted down the street back to my apartment, smiling all the way.  I was soaked but happy when I reached my front door.

            I’ve lived in San Luis Obispo for a long time now, and I enjoy anticipating the first few drops that signify the arrival of a replenishing, soaking rain. I saw my weather mentor a few more times around town over the years, but we never spoke again and I never learned his name. But the information he gave me made me feel like I belonged, like I was no longer an interloper looking for the California good life.  Now, when the opportunity presents itself, when the sky darkens and the wind starts blowing north, I say to newcomers or visiting friends, “Do you know how you can tell for sure if it’s going to rain?” And I remember that small but important moment in the post office, the moment when my new town became my home.