Befriending The Rain
January 16, 2009
By Donna Quinn
Whether you are a resident of or a visitor to the Columbia Pacific region, you know of our reputation. While many lament and curse our famed maritime weather, others are awestruck by our dramatic winter storms and envious of the moist bounty we enjoy, especially in the midst of global warming and climate change. The ongoing surprise about living here is that you never know, despite weather predictions, when you are going to get wet. Rain shapes our landscape, our culture, and the way we live our daily lives. Rain is part of our family.
My own relationship with rain, and by this I mean our particular Northwest Coast rain, is only six years old. I had always considered myself a sagebrush-sun-loving lizard. So a move to Astoria from sunny Idaho to allow my daughter to fully realize her inner mermaid was daunting. The first year I resented the rains, all of them-whether gentle Irish mist or pounding sideways-blowing torrential.
I had to learn new ways of going about my daily life and new ways of describing weather. What did KMUN Community Radio announcers mean when they talked about a sun break? Why did Joanne Rideout’s “Ship Report” warn of Columbia River Bar dangers when it looked perfectly clear outside my window? Why did the salt in my salt shaker refuse to flow easily? Why was I always concerned about car windows being open, even on a hot sunny day? How could one predict a morning, even an hour, which could be dry when rain can appear out of nowhere while the sun is still shining? How could one ever plan for a grassy picnic without plastic being involved? And, most of all, how could people be cheery and live “normal” lives with buckets of water being thrown at them from above on a regular basis?
The weather takes on a different meaning here because of our rain. In some organic way, this rain connects the hardy souls who live on the Northwest Coast. Recently, a local newspaper pointed out that although we have especially strong and dramatic storms, which occur mostly in the winter, we, the residents, are even stronger than the storms. Perhaps because we survive and even thrive in what others call “inclement” conditions-which we view as just our typical weather.
It’s well known that rain can influence moods, but it’s not just copious amounts of falling water that play a role in this. There’s the grey, the overcast, the gloom, the darkness which most often accompanies rain. A few years ago I remember being overjoyed to see a shaft of sunlight filter through layers of serious looking clouds and rest on a restaurant table for about 30 seconds. That was it, the only appearance of the bright star in our solar system for an entire week, 30 seconds. While I wasn’t fast enough to turn my face into its radiant glow, I had seen it. The sun still existed-enough for me to be happy for a few more days. This kind of thing happens more often than one might think; our rain is of the “here it comes, there it goes” variety for the most part.
With 191 days of rain here and an approximate annual precipitation of almost 70 inches (making us the third wettest place in the lower 48-after Mt. Washington, New Hampshire and Quillayute, Washington), we all have to deal with this liquid nourishment for Mother Earth. Rain’s life giving, revitalizing, negative-ion-filled water is available for harvesting and a whole host of other uses which we are now developing technology to utilize. The Northwest is increasingly attractive to people who are depressed by withering sun and enervating heat. Our just-washed air is fresh, clean and clear, providing us with a healthy quality of life which will only become more precious and sought after in future.
Local author Robert Michael Pyle addresses what he calls “Rain World” in his excellent book, Wintergreen: ”The maritime Northwest differs from other northern places in some fundamental ways. It is a soft green place where rain rules and mildness moderates the proceedings; where the grass grows in January, and the airways and waterways run together in a near-constant interchange of water and mist; where ferns and moss swaddle all surfaces left out in the weather for any length of time; and where the rivers and the sea and the clouds conspire to lend the land a verdancy that never quite runs dry-this is a wintergreen world.”
We have happy rain, sad rain, sexy rain, comforting rain, misty rain, angry rain, peaceful rain, cleansing rain, mysterious rain, melancholy rain, and awe-inspiring rain. In short, there is no such thing as “it’s just raining” because all of our rain is different, every time. We have no precise language to deal with these various types of rain as Eskimos have for their snow, nor do we have a green language to describe the flourishing plant kingdom which our rain creates for us here. Usnea, or Old Man’s Beard, a medicinal lichen, only grows in pure ecosystems, and it still grows here. That’s a comfort in today’s polluted world.
I’ve learned that we adapt to living here in “waterworld”; we don’t just watch rain from a distance and wait until it’s over to be outside, to live our lives fully. We interact with rain, whether we’re fishing or bicycling, delivering mail or playing football, or even having a family picnic. How did our ancestors keep their good humor when wearing heavy oiled skins and waxed cotton with leather boots? Today we have technologically advanced rain gear for every occasion, and colorful rubber boots for splashing in puddles. Now, messing about in the rain can be fun and comfortable.
Some say locals never use umbrellas; I do. When I’m walking my dog late at night in my flannel pajamas and raincoat, I want that umbrella over my head-I’ve been caught in sudden downpours before, and going to sleep in dry pj’s is preferred!
Because of our rain, sandal days are numbered (although some locals slide around in flip-flops during the winter); we always carry a raincoat in our cars; our towels never truly dry; we close our potato chip bags with special clips; we put a few grains of rice in our salt shakers; and we buy tarps. In fact, we may be the blue tarp capitol of the United States!
Our local chain grocery store has a row of hooks by the checkout counter just behind the Fig Newtons, where bright shiny yellow slickers for employees live in case local shoppers need help out to their cars. You won’t see those in Phoenix.
We never assume that because it is a clear starry night when we go to bed that it will be a clear morning when we awaken. Therefore, we never leave our boxes of magazines outside until the next day or ever forget that hammer we don’t want to rust (which takes about 11 minutes). We also don’t start working on our roofs or washing our cars unless we wish to trigger rain.
Although there are Columbia Pacific residents who use SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) light lamps and participate in ritualistic sun dances, the majority of residents here appreciate the blessings our rain offers. Weather is an endless topic of conversation for us. There are even those who delight in and live for rain. It makes them happy, “singin’ in the rain” style. My daughter is one of these people. She wishes it would rain every day. She says when it’s raining it feels like a giant breath or a big sigh. She avoids sun, delights in watery skies, takes long walks on wetly shimmering surfaces and comes home soaking wet and shining with happiness and relief, perhaps from all the negative ions.
Negative ions are odorless tasteless molecules that we breathe into our respiratory system. High concentrations of negative ions can be found in nature: in mountain forests, waterfalls, and beaches-places where people feel energized and invigorated. Research in the last decade has begun to support the view that negative ions have a net positive effect on health, including improved mood, circadian rhythms, enhanced recovery from physical exertion and protection for positive ion related stress and exhaustion disorders. Computer terminals, fluorescent lighting, forced air ventilation systems and modern building materials generate an overabundance of positive ions. Positive ions make us feel tired, depressed and irritable. After a storm we are left with gloriously tranquilizing overdoses of negative ions, which ease tension and pressure and leave us feeling full of energy. That’s good, since we sometimes have a lot of clean-up to do after a powerful storm here.
Rain comes with sidekicks, like fog, hail, wind, and rainbows. Most of us love rainbows (could there ever be anyone who dislikes a rainbow?) but many are not so keen on fog. Here, though, there are folks who view fog as a comfort and liken it to “being wrapped in a big hug.” My yoga instructor, Ute, says rain gives her permission to slow down and knit, and if the darkness becomes challenging, she simply goes to her yoga mat for a few sun salutations. Artist Jamie Boyd tells friends in dry states that she “walks between the raindrops,” so she hardly ever gets wet.
Rain brings jaw-dropping visual gifts, like the double rainbow arcing over the Columbia River yesterday, connecting Washington and Oregon with stunning beauty. Our rain brings fast-moving clouds and celestial entertainment on an ongoing basis. Changeable skies force us to be present and pay attention to the world beyond on own busy thought-filled minds. Rain makes us redefine what a “nice day” really means. Weather? What weather? And the rain? It’s only water.
Rain makes the Northwest Coast an introspective place, offering soft, gentle female Yin energy in an increasingly noisy and expanding world of jangly male Yang energy. Perhaps we have more musicians, artists, poets and craftsmen here because of that as well. And perhaps we are not completely yuppified and overrun by now because of our saving rain.
Rain gives our skies and days movement along with rhythmic natural sounds and refreshing smells. Rain sets a mood, much like a good play, where something mysterious and interesting could happen. Nighttime rain calls up images of Sherlock Holmes beside a roaring fire with a good book.
Rain is immediate and sensual, and it’s a great leveler: rich and poor, young and old, all get wet. Rain ultimately teaches us that we can’t control everything. It invites us to slow down and reflect, and rain can restore and heal people just as it heals the earth. I know I feel more rooted and grounded here than anywhere I’ve ever lived-and I’m certainly more well-read than before. Almost anyone can flourish in the constant bluebird days of California. We’re different here-we’re resilient-we’ve got “sisu,” Finnish for “guts.”
If we are willing to surrender to rain’s elemental rhythm and flow, as well as its temporary inconvenience, with levity and a trip to sagebrush country every now and then, rain can be an endearing and familiar friend. You can always choose to have a “nice day” on the Northwest Coast. It’s just a matter of perspective.