A Leaky Sky and The Old Farmer's Almanac, No. 235

 The sky is leaking rain today, only 55 degrees. I'm not sure if this is good weather even for a duck.

We went through a summer drought here, no rain for about a month, and now we've gotten more than three inches over the past few weeks. That's probably a good thing, though. According to The Old Farmer's Almanac, this winter will have below average snowfall and an

unusually mild start to the season, punctuated by sharp temperature swings and highly unpredictable precipitation patterns.

While that forecast sounds mysterious and impressive, it is awfully vague. It basically says Minnesota's winter will be predictably unpredictable. It will get cold... and it will warm up (it is called the "January thaw," and it happens every winter). It might snow a lot... and it might not (no, that's not really helpful). Honestly, it doesn't tell me much that I don't already know, aside from a mild December and below average snowfall.

Where did this forecast come from? The answer is actually kind of fun.

Way back in 1792, when the  Almanac was first published (it is the oldest continuously published periodical in North America), the original publisher and editor,  Robert B. Thomas, invented a secret forecasting method using both solar activity and astronomy. This secret formula is still used today. 

Robert Thomas published The Old Farmer's Almanac from 1792 to 1846. He died reading the proofs for the 1847 publication. He's an unsung American icon. 

The Old Farmer's Almanac boasts an 80% weather forecast accuracy claim. That's refuted by the University of Illinois, which conducted its own study and found the Almanac to be accurate roughly 50.7% for temperatures and 51.9% for precipitation, citing that a random guess would be accurate 50% of the time. 

But scientific data be damned! The U.S. government so respected the Almanac's accuracy, that when a World War II German spy was caught with a copy of the publication, Uncle Sam instructed the editors to change their description from "weather forecast" to "weather indications," fearing the enemy could use its long-range forecasts to schedule attacks. A less definitive "weather indications" felt less certain. Fearing censorship, the Almanac complied.

Abraham Lincoln famously used The Old Farmer's Almanac's 1857 edition to acquit an innocent man on murder charges, proving there was a new moon on the night a witness falsely claimed to see the accused fleeing the crime scene in the "bright moonlight" (the witness subsequently admitted to lying under oath). 

An original copy of the 1857 Old Farmer's Almanac (No. 65), used as evidence by a little known defense lawyer from Illinois, Abraham Lincoln. 

I confess, I am very fond of the Almanac. Whether its forecasts (or "indications") are accurate is unimportant to me: in the end, it is a connection to my parents. Those 288 pages give me a warm, tangible connection to my youth. It feels like home. 

The Almanac was a constant presence during my childhood. We always had a well-thumbed copy lying around the house, either lounging on the kitchen table or tucked away near my dad's rocking chair. Dad enjoyed the day-to-day forecasts, which were always set to a little poem. Mom liked the gardening tips and recipes. A September without a new Almanac would've been like Christmas without presents at our house.

Today, we live in an age of constant stimulation. A continuous bombardment of the senses: text messages, emails, phone calls, never-ending social media notifications. Our brains are never allowed to pause. The Old Farmer's Almanac feels like a welcomed stretch-and-yawn back to a much slower and much simpler time. A time to reflect as the raindrops puddle in the yard. A time to simply study the steam rising from a cup of coffee. A time to just be for a while. 

Photo by Ava Branstner

I love that the Almanac is still here.

I love that the yellow, woodcut cover has never changed. I love that a 235 year-old "secret formula" is still used to predict weather patterns (no matter how nebulous it might be!). I love that the editors have refused to succumb to an all digital format or AI generated crap. And I love that the publication still sells greater than three million copies a year. 

I thank The Old Farmer's Almanac for never really changing in well over two centuries. Sometimes, progress is overrated. 

So here's to publication No. 235...

I know if my parents were here, they'd already have their copy. 

My copy is arriving tomorrow!

First Day of Autumn, 2026

 Today is the fall equinox as the Sun crosses the equator and heads south. Days are shorter, shadows are longer, the air no longer tropical. Migratory birds have taken wing as squadrons of Canadian geese check their visas and go south. 

We haven't seen a hummingbird for about a week now. Like clockwork, they are off to their destinations in Mexico and Central America. It is amazing those little zip darts can fly that far. 

Hopefully, they will be allowed back into the United States next spring. 

My wife and I joke that we are now of the age where sitting on our deck watching the hummers dive bomb each other is our primary form of summer amusement. In their absence, I guess our new entertainment will be our substantial squirrel population: the grays versus the blacks versus the reds. Daily, non-stop drama. Hmmm... maybe that will be the subject of a future post?

Yeah, we live a simple life.

An empty feeder and an empty hummingbird swing means summer is over.

It is easy to overlook autumn because those delicious summer days and soothing summer nights are gone and another brutal winter lies ahead. Yet in a way, fall is an anticipatory season. Those first white flakes are not far away and my son once said he really looks forward to that.

"Why?' I asked him.

"I guess it is because I haven't seen snow in a while," was his thoughtful answer.

Even though autumn can be a very short season, it is actually my favorite. The confetti colors, the smell of wood smoke drifting from chimneys, the crisp air, hot apple cider, brittle leaves crunching under foot and sunflowers in bloom.

Oh, and football season!

A bright-eyed sunflower on our deck. We planted it this spring. A sure sign of fall.

So here's to autumn and the memories of summer. 

...and to hummingbirds. Come back soon, guys.

Attack of the Anonymous Keyboard Warriors (So Scary!)

 I have found a new inspiration to post a bit more here. Heck, it has only been six months since my last post, it is not like it has been half a year or something.

And that right there... that right there is where the anonymous keyboard warriors attack.

Six months and half a year are the same thing, but those anonymous keyboard warriors would be very quick to point out how dumb I am for not knowing the difference.

~

I launched this humble little blog five years ago, and I have had almost 95,000 people visit. I think that is awesome, but it has come with a price.

You see, the difficult thing about blogging, or finding the motivation to continue posting, is this: There are people out there who delight in insulting others anonymously. As usual, this is the pond scum who cannot differentiate between sarcasm, irony, cynicism and satire.

Fourteen months ago, I posted about an expedition in the South Pacific to find Amelia Earhart's long lost plane. The post was part genuine curiosity, and part sarcasm. I found something on Google maps that looked interesting and suggested I had discovered her plane (all by myself!!) on Nikumaroro Island, where the Taraia Object can be found. 

The object I found was a shipwreck, which is well documented. I knew that. Unfortunately, this was ill received by the simpleton crowd.

Anonymous keyboard warriors, having no idea who I am and clueless to my sense of humor, attacked me like you wouldn't believe.

Among the less insulting comments were, "How dumb." "Do your research" (I love that one). "Your an idiot" (that would be "YOU'RE an idiot," you jeenyus -- and yes, I intentionally misspelled genius, just in case you are wondering and are sitting at your keyboard ready to attack). 

In 2021, I turned on the comments here for anyone, including folks who wanted to remain anonymous. I enjoyed the feedback. I liked exchanging ideas with people. I liked creative criticism. But that was a mistake. Something has changed over the years. 

Why have people become so fucking vicious to others? Why do people type things that they would never dream of saying to you face to face? Have we always been this awful as human beings? Is the lack of accountability hiding behind a keyboard given us this "courage" to be bad people assholes? Do we feel better about ourselves belittling others? 

Indeed, something happened. And I know what it is. It isn't a mystery. But I will keep that to myself.

It is especially hilarious when something is written tongue-in-cheek and it flies like a fragile bluebird over the heads of those who are intelligence-starved.

Don't get me wrong, because deep inside I know the vast majority of people are good. I see it everyday at my workplace. But there is an old saying that goes, "One rotten apple spoils the whole barrel."

Anyway, after weathering so many negative comments, I thought about just closing this site. Why would I open myself up to that kind of abuse? 

But giving up is not in my DNA. I swing back.

I am going to continue to write what I feel like writing and I am going to write more frequently. If I post something that pisses somebody off, then I am doing something right. Like they say, if you don't stand for something, you'll fall for anything.

This site is still open to all public search engines and open for the public to read; however, if you want to leave a hurtful comment, you now have to be a member of this blog. If you want to call me "a fucking loser," you can't hide behind your keyboard anymore. You will be required to identify yourself so we can have a little discourse. 

And if you look at my occupation on my profile, I am not an interpretive dancer. That's called humor. It is also called irony, because I am a white middle-aged male and I can't dance.