The low pressure system has drifted away, and NOAA is warning us to prepare for this first week of June:
“While this isn’t quite record-breaking heat, nor completely unusual for this time of year, it will be the first time in 2016 that temperatures will get this warm, and thus: it could feel unpleasant until personal acclimation to this kind of heat occurs.”
They clarify that this warmest day, 87 degrees, is six days out, and the ridge break-up is likely to bring cloud cover and showers, so it might not reach its full warmth potential, but “it could feel unpleasant“. This is life in the north country, where we have weather preparedness warnings for the first time the temperatures get warm in 2016!
It was a lovely preview to Summer here at our lake house this past holiday week-end with the Barry family visiting. True, we had a fire in the living room one night, the table top propane heater was roaring on the front porch, and a campfire at water’s edge. And, the women went canoeing wearing down vests and jackets. But, still, we sat one afternoon on the grass in the warm sunshine, and ate brownies at sunset on the dock. Mainly, we told our stories to one another, wrestled with the problems of the world, and laughed at our own foibles and follies. The stuff of deep and rich friendship.
It’s the story of Summer at our house, with family and friends coming to enjoy the spectacular beauty of Flathead Lake. We get into the rhythm of preparing for guests’ arrival, then cleaning and spiffing, in anticipation of the next bunch. There’s almost always a nice respite in-between when we have nothing to do but sit on the dock, peacefully and quietly alone. But, after the farewells, there’s that space in which “it could feel unpleasant”, to quote the weatherman. I wrote about it here before, describing it as having “ghosts in my house.” Right after loved ones leave us, and it’s eerily still, and it feels so empty, I’m left with that letdown feeling which Don describes as “feeling flat”. I used to run away from it and launch into a frenzy, getting the house back in order. Now, I let it float over me, and consider it the consequence of being wholeheartedly present with those I love. It’s just a momentary hole that will soon fill in with new sweet memories, mixing and swirling with remembrances of all summers by the water, or the sea, both real and imagined. I just have to wait for the light of the new day and my sea legs will be back.