Hot Saturday
Good Morning Augusta.
This morning it is partly cloudy. High of 90F. Winds from the WNW at 5 to 10
mph shifting to the SW in the afternoon.
Tonight it will be Partly cloudy, then clear. Low of 66F. Winds less than 5
mph.
The readings outside at this moment taken from my own instruments are:
a relative humidity of 70% with a Dew Point of 68.2º F.
The temperature is 79.2ºF.
Presently we have lazy East Southeast winds between 1.3 MPH and 2.7 MPH.
Our Barometric pressure is 30.02/HPA 1016.5 and falling with a weather
graphic indicating clouds.
UV is 1 out of 16, sunset will be at 8:20 PM with Moon Rise at 1:21 p.m.
Eastern Daylight Time, and the moon phase is Waning Crescent.
For the aviators out there: Raw METAR –
METAR KAUG 141053Z AUTO 00000KT 10SM CLR 20/18 A3010 RMK AO2 SLP190
T02000178
We had no precipitation overnight in this area.
Visibility is 10.0 miles / 16.1 kilometers with a beautiful ceiling.
Now, on to folk lore weather prediction. NWS take note here, I pulled this
one off of the web last night. How much does a pig cost compared to a
weather satellite anyway?
Have you ever heard of a pig spleen being able to predict the weather? You
can call it folklore—but what do you call it when it works?
Legendary forecaster Gus Wickstrom of Tompkins, Saskatchewan
Gus, a man of Swedish descent who lived in this prairie province all of his
life, was a weather forecaster. He predicted weather conditions six months
in advance, yet his technology required no fancy equipment, no high-tech
razzle-dazzle. All Gus needed was a barn and a farmhand or two standing by
because he predicted the weather by looking at a pig spleen.
Every 6 months or so, Gus slaughtered a pig, and in the frugal way of farm
families, he found a way to use everything but the squeal, as they say. Gus
closely scrutinized the spleen, using a method he learned from his father
and Harold Pearson, a neighbor.
Gus's method:
Gus divided the spleen into six areas, each representing 1 month. The top of
the spleen (closest to the pig's head) shows the current month. The bottom
indicates the end of the upcoming six-month period. Where the spleen
thickens, a change in the weather is indicated, usually pointing to a cold
spell. Where there's a pronounced bulge, expect even more inclement weather.
Gus could even read wind and rain into the variations in the spleen.
Next, Meet Seventy-two-year-old Joe King, in Wynyard, Saskatchewan.
Joe also learned pig-spleen weather predicting from his father. But Joe is
adamant that the pig must be slaughtered in the fall or early winter; a
spring spleen, says Joe, is not nearly as accurate. His method predicts only
temperature, not precipitation. In the fall of 1997, Joe slaughtered his pig
and pulled out a spleen that was even all the way through. This, he says,
was one of the first indications that Saskatchewan would experience an
even-tempered winter. Never mind that meteorologists were hysterical about
the phenomenon called El Niño; or that onion skins and corn husks were
thick. Joe predicted a mild winter with just a few cold days, and his
temperature predictions were right on the money.
I checked with a few animal scientists, whose reactions were of disbelief.
After all, said the experts, a spleen is a vascular, ductless organ that
stores blood, destroys worn-out red blood cells, forms lymphocytes, and so
on. "A spleen," I was reminded, "is a useful organ that has bodily
functions. It has nothing to do with predicting the weather."
I found myself defending this form of weather prophesying, even though I
know it's folklore. I too have farming in my blood, so I went to the one
person I knew would have the answer—my father. "I recall," Dad said, going
back to his upbringing on a farm near Goodeve, Saskatchewan, "that our
Polish neighbors also looked at the spleen of a pig to forecast the weather.
And I know it's something the Ukrainian families did as well."
Aha, I thought to myself. It's not just Gus and Joe—it's in many cultures,
probably more than I'll ever know. Those who believe in pig spleen weather
prognosticating have seen it work, and that's just the way it is.
(Not only do you get accurate weather forecasts, but you get pork chops,
bacon and… What do you get when a weather satellite dies?)
This morning it is partly cloudy. High of 90F. Winds from the WNW at 5 to 10
mph shifting to the SW in the afternoon.
Tonight it will be Partly cloudy, then clear. Low of 66F. Winds less than 5
mph.
The readings outside at this moment taken from my own instruments are:
a relative humidity of 70% with a Dew Point of 68.2º F.
The temperature is 79.2ºF.
Presently we have lazy East Southeast winds between 1.3 MPH and 2.7 MPH.
Our Barometric pressure is 30.02/HPA 1016.5 and falling with a weather
graphic indicating clouds.
UV is 1 out of 16, sunset will be at 8:20 PM with Moon Rise at 1:21 p.m.
Eastern Daylight Time, and the moon phase is Waning Crescent.
For the aviators out there: Raw METAR –
METAR KAUG 141053Z AUTO 00000KT 10SM CLR 20/18 A3010 RMK AO2 SLP190
T02000178
We had no precipitation overnight in this area.
Visibility is 10.0 miles / 16.1 kilometers with a beautiful ceiling.
Now, on to folk lore weather prediction. NWS take note here, I pulled this
one off of the web last night. How much does a pig cost compared to a
weather satellite anyway?
Have you ever heard of a pig spleen being able to predict the weather? You
can call it folklore—but what do you call it when it works?
Legendary forecaster Gus Wickstrom of Tompkins, Saskatchewan
Gus, a man of Swedish descent who lived in this prairie province all of his
life, was a weather forecaster. He predicted weather conditions six months
in advance, yet his technology required no fancy equipment, no high-tech
razzle-dazzle. All Gus needed was a barn and a farmhand or two standing by
because he predicted the weather by looking at a pig spleen.
Every 6 months or so, Gus slaughtered a pig, and in the frugal way of farm
families, he found a way to use everything but the squeal, as they say. Gus
closely scrutinized the spleen, using a method he learned from his father
and Harold Pearson, a neighbor.
Gus's method:
Gus divided the spleen into six areas, each representing 1 month. The top of
the spleen (closest to the pig's head) shows the current month. The bottom
indicates the end of the upcoming six-month period. Where the spleen
thickens, a change in the weather is indicated, usually pointing to a cold
spell. Where there's a pronounced bulge, expect even more inclement weather.
Gus could even read wind and rain into the variations in the spleen.
Next, Meet Seventy-two-year-old Joe King, in Wynyard, Saskatchewan.
Joe also learned pig-spleen weather predicting from his father. But Joe is
adamant that the pig must be slaughtered in the fall or early winter; a
spring spleen, says Joe, is not nearly as accurate. His method predicts only
temperature, not precipitation. In the fall of 1997, Joe slaughtered his pig
and pulled out a spleen that was even all the way through. This, he says,
was one of the first indications that Saskatchewan would experience an
even-tempered winter. Never mind that meteorologists were hysterical about
the phenomenon called El Niño; or that onion skins and corn husks were
thick. Joe predicted a mild winter with just a few cold days, and his
temperature predictions were right on the money.
I checked with a few animal scientists, whose reactions were of disbelief.
After all, said the experts, a spleen is a vascular, ductless organ that
stores blood, destroys worn-out red blood cells, forms lymphocytes, and so
on. "A spleen," I was reminded, "is a useful organ that has bodily
functions. It has nothing to do with predicting the weather."
I found myself defending this form of weather prophesying, even though I
know it's folklore. I too have farming in my blood, so I went to the one
person I knew would have the answer—my father. "I recall," Dad said, going
back to his upbringing on a farm near Goodeve, Saskatchewan, "that our
Polish neighbors also looked at the spleen of a pig to forecast the weather.
And I know it's something the Ukrainian families did as well."
Aha, I thought to myself. It's not just Gus and Joe—it's in many cultures,
probably more than I'll ever know. Those who believe in pig spleen weather
prognosticating have seen it work, and that's just the way it is.
(Not only do you get accurate weather forecasts, but you get pork chops,
bacon and… What do you get when a weather satellite dies?)
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