The whole there’s some rain this bus will now be a sauna thing is always uncomfortable and unnecessary. Classic Vancouver.
This rainforest I call home
I live in a rainforest, which is pretty fantastic. You can cut down all the trees, which sadly we did, but it's still a rainforest.
Confederation Creek gets all floody June 2007
I have been involved with the people in Calgary who think paving over the Highland Valley is a terrible idea. For me it was as simple as looking at the plans and seeing that they want to build in the valley where a creek that overflows its banks every spring runs. I grew up looking forward to the spring rains. After the long winter the rain would come and everything would be green. That's probably why rain makes me feel happy and optimistic, it promises better things ahead.
Usually the overflow is pretty tame but it's just what a creek running through a park does. There was one spring, in 2007, when the flooding was way more dramatic than normal. It filled up a lot of the park and tore up asphalt. I have some pictures of it that I dug up that I put on Twitter. They're not great but they're a useful historic resource so I'm putting them here too.
Sixteen months
They like to say that there are sixteen months in Copenhagen: January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November, November, November, November, November, and December. The night in question was a prime example of why they say this. It was raining and grey. The northern latitude meant that sunlight was a rare treat, gone far too early most of the time. It was raining a steady but not torrential kind of downpour.
I had been invited for drinks on the other side of the city, effectively a 45 minute bike ride each way. I set off knowing that I would be soaked through almost right away. Riding in the rain can be almost pleasant once you get a rhythm going — unlike riding in a blizzard, which is generally cold and slow. The worst part is being damp and cold once you arrive at your destination.
I peddled along, thankful for my standard issue fenders, rain dripping from my helmet (how deeply unDanish) onto my face. I felt extremely hardcore and almost as Danish as can be this. This was as Danish as eating rye bread while sipping Carlsberg. Some of my friends hadn’t even purchased bicycles and here I was slogging along.
When I finally got there I decided to order a latte to warm myself up instead of a beer. My friends were late as usual so I got a book out to amuse myself. Before I finished the first paragraph someone was asking me how I liked the book, which quickly led to where I was from and what I was doing in Denmark. Two Danish boys and I struck up a conversation and before long they had invited me to join in their board games. The only problem was that the game was entirely in Danish. It was far beyond the eight or so words I had collected. They tried to prod me into participating, missing the futility of such an attempt. Ultimately they seemed to enjoy their private world of Danish and who was I to stop them?
Rain, rain
I love the days of rain, the gentle pitter patter of raindrops against window, the general deluge of moisture that is taking over our city.
It seems like the perfect excuse to sit at home with a cup of tea and a good book. Or better yet to brave the outdoors and stand huddled under a black and white polka dot umbrella with friends.
The stream in the park near my house is swelling it’s banks (this happens every year). It’s higher than usual after several days of heavy rainfall.
You’d think I would get over it, get bored with it, but I haven’t. Some of my friends balk on plans saying it’s too gray but I disagree. It’s too nice out not to feel at peace. This is the quiet contentment of the arrival of spring. For a month it seems that this dry prairie town is full of life.
Rainy day
It is a rainy day here in D.C.—the snowquester seems to be more of a rainquester since it is solidly above freezing. I slept in so I had to go buy lunch, which was interesting partially because I was pelted with mushy snow/rain, but also because the city was pretty much deserted. Anyone who could avoid leaving their workplaces did, and if they had to they were more sensible than me in how far they were willing to walk. I ate lunch in a place that is normally packed but that had all of three customers, and it reminded me of June in Calgary and the summer I spent working at a bike store.
Bike stores in pedestrian areas are highly weather dependent and rain was pretty much guaranteed to scare off any potential customers. June is the time of showers in Calgary, we get a full years worth of rain over the course of one month. Downpours would be sudden and we would look at the windows watching people hiding from or trying to cope with the onslaught. Some were determined and others would hide in stores—including ours where they spent far more time than it was possible to justify in good weather. When there was no one around we simply watched the water come down. The puddles built up in the back alley and eventually formed a small quickly flowing stream. There was something peaceful and meditative about it. Standing there completely dry watching the rain come down for ten or fifteen minutes at a time. Listening to the sound of rain drops hitting the ground.
Today feels like spring. It is a day to stare out the window while tucked away in a cafe or office.
Rain rain
Fall in Calgary makes up the two most beautiful weeks of the year. It is extremely fleeting. The weather is perfect and mild, and the leaves are changing. It is quite simply beautiful.
Fall in Copenhagen seems to mostly consist of rain — though there are rumblings that it will warm up later in the week.
People usually don’t take me seriously when I tell them that I love rain. I love it the way I love otters, or the colour baby blue. It is something simple that fills me with joy. They usually tell me to move somewhere rainy and see how long it takes me to get over it, how long it takes for it to become annoying.
The last few days in Copenhagen have been rainy. Yes, this does make it a pain to go outside and riding a bike in the rain can be a trying and cold experience — though I will take rain over wind if given the choice, but usually they are partners in crime. At times it makes you want to stay in and do the bare minimum possible. It makes things muddy, messy and grey. Those are just the superficial sides of rain.
Then there is the real side of rain, the simple pleasure of watching the rain fall down outside from a balcony, common room, or back door. Listening to it hitting the ground, steadily coming down. The look of the outline of rain on a balcony, coming close to the door but not quite. There is the joy of bundling up, sucking it up, and families wandering around with colourful umbrellas. There is something peaceful and serene about rain. Last night I went out on my balcony and just watched the rain come down. I thought it may be a bit of a pain, but isn’t it wonderful.
Seasonal floods
There is one name that comes to mind when people ask why I decided to write: George Orwell. I loved reading and spent most of grade eight reading political non-fiction — on American politics (why George Bush is evil) in particular — as well as political philosophy — yes I spent most of the summer break between grade eight and nine reading Machiavelli and Rousseau. My mother was worried that I wasn’t reading real books, by which she meant classic novels and literature — what does that word even mean anyways — over time I’ve created my own personal classics list that diverges significantly from the BBC list.
Everyone kept telling me that I should read George Orwell and near the end of grade nine I tracked down a copy of Animal Farm. It was okay, yes just okay. My problem was I knew what was going to happen. I hate reading books when I know what is going to happen and it was so obvious. I moved on and read Homage to Catalonia and Down and out in Paris and London. I was in love and awe of his writing and his life. I wanted to go on adventures and see the world.
Then I picked up Shooting an elephant a collection of Orwell’s essays, when he is truly at his best. In there is an essay titled Some thoughts on the common toad. In my opinion this is Orwell’s best writing, and potentially the best writing in the English language. As I read I was blown away and caught up. This was it. I wanted to make someone feel the way I had just felt. I wanted to express what Orwell had just expressed. I wanted to be a writer. That was the moment. That is the best thing that I’ve ever read. Ever.
A story about a toad becomes about the coming of spring and the beauty of nature. Orwell used this simple creature and told a much broader story with it.
For whatever reason I don’t write a lot of essays in the way that Orwell does. I suppose that if I was reading some of his collected works I would likely take on some of his tone in my writing, as often happens with the best writers. Nowadays I identify more with his travel writing and memoir, even though I still count 1984 among my all time favourite books. Homage to Catalonia and Down and out in Paris and London are more similar to my current favourite writers like Karl Taro Greenfeld and Peter Hessler.
•••
Now for the challenge bit: I will try and write an Orwell inspired take on my favourite element of spring.
•••
June announces its arrival in Calgary in the usual way. The snow begins to melt, and for one month, and one month only it is going to rain. The snow pack in the mountains begins to thaw, and rivers and creeks swell.
The bow ceases to be covered with a thin layer of ice. The water creeps up along the banks rising to the layers of gravel left behind after the last spring and submerging the more courageous trees that grow in the flood plain.
Then there is the rain. Rain becomes the usual weather. Rain coats are donned and wellies extracted. Umbrellas are brought to work and forgotten on buses.
Occasionally there is the excitement of a heavier than normal rainfall. The creek in the park near my house swells approaching its banks. It becomes marshy and one must be careful where to walk.
Then there is a true flood. The rain pours down and the melt off is fiercer than usual. You can stand and watch as it fills up fields and becomes more of a river. Sometimes ripping up the concrete path along the way. The water is so powerful, visibly powerful.
Then there is average rain. There is the joy of looking out the window at work and watching people flee the rain or just watching it pour down into the back alley way.
Spring brings change with it and this is mostly in terms of weather. In Calgary it marks the time between the melting of snow (a season that is sometimes synonymous with winter) and the heat of the summer. For me it is the rain. The rain that Calgary never gets except for one magical month a year when the snow is gone and plants are starting to bloom.
It is a time of change and possibility. Classes are over and the summer is just beginning. It is a time of summer jobs and having money for a change. The long months of winter are over, and coats can be put away. They are no longer needed. Spring is here.