“You’re making that up!” I accused my Uncle Clark.
“I’ll swear on my…” he began.
I quickly cut him off, not wishing him to swear on anything; some relation’s grave or eyes or any of the myriad things to which he would resort when challenged. I felt his soul was in jeopardy enough. I knew mine was.
“Just explain this ‘scientific’ piece of information once more” I requested. He did.
“You just count the number of cardinals. Has to be redbirds. Bluejays and finch just cannot be trusted. If, and when, the number of males—that’s the bright red ones—outnumber the females—the muted grey-looking ones; it’s going to snow. Sure as…”
I held up a hand. “Just continue…” I encouraged, trying to let him know his integrity was not in question.
“And all you have to do is count the number of both and subtract. Light-brownish greys from bright reds. Females from males. And that number is the number of days until the snow begins. Exact. Scientific. Learned this from an old lady when I was a kid. She was part Cherokee.”
He had recounted all this with a humble look of superiority. I had seen that look before. Even tried to master it; to no avail. Not a shallow smugness. More like a professor trying to explain something to some confused student that should probably have never been admitted to his class in the first place.
Not “intellectually ready” the uncle would say. He said this often. About news media. About politicians and other public servants. About relatives; including this particular nephew.
“Try it!” he encouraged. He had urged me to do so before. And I have tried. Never with success.
“You got to be quicker” he had always admonished. Faulting my inability to see the more subtly-colored females as they flitted and flew through nearby shrubs and trees. I admit their constant movement a challenge. Even the more blazingly-tinted males were not always to accurately assess.
Still, I never had correctly predicted a snow event. The closest I ever have come to date was subtracting an estimated inventory of a dozen females from eighteen males and eight days later we had some sleet. Within a margin of two days. Uncle Clark insisted I had miscounted.
We are facing a weather event of some stature. From my end, I write almost two weeks in advance of publication of this column. You, the reader, will be entertained by this after the meteorological episode is mostly passed. Even after, as Uncle Clark would decry, “a scurvy hole-dwelling varmint” has been used to “scientifically” predict the coming of spring.
I write this column especially early in the anticipation of possible electrical and internet outages. Instances that will prevent its timely filing later. Will send it soon as there are more urgent matters to which to attend.
Making sure that my tractor has the front-end loader attached and the fuel has been treated for the extreme cold. Locating my tire-chains, worst case scenario. Not only ice; but my need to get out and travel. Food stores updated; though we usually have several months supply of essentials.
Propane heaters just in case. Always have several fish-cookers available and ready. Paper products. Several good books to read and battery-lanterns by which to read them. Inverters to produce our own electricity. Chain-saw ready in case trees fall and impede our travels.
And, for the songbirds. Feed for those birds that my uncle insists I should be counting. And their friends. Just in case. Thanks for joining us!
