COLUMN: Weather watching is favorite pastime in Utah

Probably because I am a geek and/or a nerd, I like to monitor what the first story out the box is for local news channels. Of late, I have been amazed how many times the lead story is weather. And not just world-wide disastrous kinds of weather. Local weather, too.

It might be bad weather, the results of weather, power outages or accidents because of weather. Heck, one night the lead story was even that the storm was not as bad as the meteorologist had reported it might be. Think of it – the lead story was that the weatherman got it wrong! I mean, these guys are getting better, I’ll give you that, but when the top story of the day is that the weather outfoxed the weatherman, well, it must be a slow news day.

I’ve always been a weather watcher. It’s in my genes. My dad – because of his job and his genes, I suppose – monitored the weather hour by hour. I grew up with Pa chiding Bob Welti for “working for the chamber of commerce” when Welti’s weekend forecast was rosier than the gathering purple clouds and my dad’s bones said it was going to be.

But, of course, that was before Viper. Or Stormtracker or any of the other tools that help us peek into and under clouds.

Working in the hayfields as a young man, I had my own Viper system – my nose. I loved to smell an oncoming storm. After bouncing around on the metal seat of red tractor, I longed for a sudden summer storm to interrupt our hot and dusty work. As late afternoon clouds darkened the sky, raindrops about the size of pie plates would pound on my straw hat and make me jump when they hit the backside of my workshirt. Sometimes it poured and stopped the work. Sometimes it only assaulted – in a good way – my sense of smell.

Years later I would basically fear for my life while crouching in a tent in the High Uintahs. I gave up trying to count the seconds between the thunder and lightning to determine how far away the powerful strikes were – you know that old trick, don’t you?- and instead watched the inside of the tent light up like an X-ray as the deafening snap of thunder was instantaneous with the lightning strike. It’s the one time in my life I was right in, not under, a thundercloud.

Speaking of old tricks, weather experts say that the chirping of a cricket can provide a close indication of air temperature. By counting the number of cricket chirps in a 14-second period and adding 40, the total will equal the air temperature to within one degree 75 percent of the time. To which I say, “Huh?”

As a child growing up in Randolph, we had another way to determine temperature – the crowbar hole. We had a hole in our back porch though which we would stick a crowbar. If your hands got too cold to hold it, you knew you needed a hat and muffs. If the bar snapped right off, you knew it was too windy to go out, but if it only bent a bit, you better get out and do your chores.

One of my chores was to help my grandfather milk a couple of cows. The stream of milk would usually freeze before it hit the bucket, so he would snap off the long strand of frozen milk and I would carry a bundle of it into my grandma to thaw in a pan on the stove.

(I’ve got to tell you, I told that one to an unsuspecting workmate a few weeks ago, and she bought it, hook, line and sinker.)

While I might be stretching it a bit with the last two stories, with my hand on my Bible I will tell you that I once saw it snow on the 4th of July. It didn’t stick, mind you, but there was snow in the air during the July 4th Parade.

Some place up Logan Canyon called Peter Sinks claims to hold the record for cold in Utah. That doesn’t count. Doesn’t mean a thing unless you are carrying a gym bag and trombone going to school. Nobody lives in Peter Sinks. People live in Randolph.

But all in all, I love Utah weather. I love the surprises. I love May, especially. Ånd the next time I hear you complaining about the weather, I’ll say just one word:

Myanmar.

++++++++++Jay Wamsley is the faculty adviser of The Utah Statesman