The Weather Report

Everybody talks about the weather. These people asked it questions.

301. Is it cold enough to wear shorts yet?

Somewhere, a man is wearing shorts in a snowstorm. He has never once asked this question. It's not a temperature; it's a lifestyle. Every Canadian city has at least one Shorts Guy, who wears cargo shorts from April to March, paired with a parka and winter boots. Scientists have studied him and discovered his legs have adapted to the cold like a seal's flippers. For everyone else, the official shorts threshold is 15 °C in spring, 20 °C in summer and "the first sunny day after winter, regardless of temperature," when all of Alberta collectively loses its mind.

302. Who exactly is doing the feeling in the "feels like"

temperature?

Your face. The thermometer gives facts; the wind chill gives feelings. When the weather says "−20, feels like −35," it means your nose, ears and cheeks have formed a committee and voted that it's much worse than reported. The "feels like" number is calculated using wind speed, temperature and how much you regret not wearing a toque. In summer, there's a "humidex" version, which measures how much it feels like you're wearing a wet wool sweater inside a dryer. Either way, the feelings are real. Dress accordingly.

303. At what temperature are Celsius and Fahrenheit the

same?

Minus 40. It's the one temperature everyone agrees on, and nobody wants to be there for it. At −40, Celsius and Fahrenheit finally shake hands and stop arguing. Unfortunately, they immediately freeze together, along with everything else: car batteries, eyelashes, nose hairs and any confidence you had about going outside. Boiling water thrown in the air turns into a cloud of snow. Your car makes a noise like a sad dinosaur. In parts of Canada, this happens most winters, and locals call it "a bit nippy." Visitors call it "the end of the world."

304. Can I sue the weather forecaster for being wrong?

You can, but they'll tell you there was a 30% chance you'd win. Weather forecasters work in probabilities, which means they're never technically wrong. They're just sometimes very surprised along with the rest of us. Forecasting the weather is like predicting what a toddler will do next: you can make educated guesses, but there's always a chance it'll throw a snowstorm at your picnic. Forecasters do a remarkably good job overall. They just get yelled at whenever the sky does something weird, which in Alberta is most days.

305. What does a 50% chance of rain mean?

It'll rain on exactly half of you. Pick a side. Left-handed people should stand on the left side of the street; right-handed people on the right. The actual meaning is that there's a 50% chance of rain somewhere in the forecast area during the forecast period, which is the meteorological version of "maybe." Practically, it means you'll bring an umbrella and it won't rain, or you'll leave it at home and get soaked. The rain decides which only after it sees your choice. See question 326. The umbrella is in on it.

306. Does snow have a flavour?

Fresh snow tastes like cold nothing. Yellow snow is a different book. Snow from the first snowfall of the year has a slightly dusty, metallic flavour, like a cold penny. By February, snow tastes like road salt, exhaust and disappointment. Mountain snow is said to taste crisp and clean, like a mint without the mint. Kids have been eating snow since the dawn of time and will continue to do so no matter what their parents say. Grey snow by the side of the road is not a snack. It's a historical record of every car that passed by.

307. If lightning never strikes twice, why do doorknobs keep zapping me?

Lightning absolutely strikes twice; tall buildings get hit many times a year. The doorknob is a separate, personal grudge. Static shocks happen when you build up electric charge by shuffling across carpet in socks, then touch metal, which releases it with a tiny snap. In dry winter months, every doorknob, car door and pet becomes a potential enemy. You'll start opening doors with your elbow, your sleeve or a set of keys. Some people get zapped every single day and suspect they're slowly turning into a superhero. They're not. They just need a humidifier.

308. Can a rainbow be caught?

A rainbow moves as you move, so you can never reach the end. The pot-of-gold legend is the longest-running prank in history. People have chased rainbows across fields, highways and entire provinces, only to watch them fade away when the sun goes behind a cloud. A rainbow is just sunlight bouncing around inside raindrops, so every person sees their own personal rainbow from a slightly different spot. You can catch a small one with a garden hose on a sunny afternoon. That rainbow is yours. No gold, but your lawn will look great.

309. Why is the wind invisible but so loud about it?

It's insecure about being invisible, so it makes noise to remind you it's there. It howls through chimneys, whistles through windows and slams doors you thought were closed. It also takes things: hats, umbrellas, homework, and the lid of your recycling bin, which it delivers to a neighbour three blocks away. In some places, wind gets so loud it earns its own name, like the chinook in Alberta (see question 325) or the mistral in France. Named winds are the celebrities of air. Unnamed winds just mess up your hair.

310. Is fog just a cloud that gave up?

Fog is a cloud that came down to visit. Very low energy, very low altitude. It drifts into towns at night, hangs around the streetlights and leaves by mid-morning without saying goodbye. Fog is technically the same stuff as a cloud, just touching the ground, which means when you walk through fog, you're walking inside a cloud. That sounds magical, but mostly it just means your hair gets frizzy and you can't see the car in front of you. Fog horns exist because ships also can't see anything, and they need to yell "I'M HERE" in a low voice.

311. If I stand in the rain, am I a plant?

Only if you also stand in the sun for six hours and refuse to move. That's a commitment. You'd also need to photosynthesize, which humans can't do, no matter how green their shirt is. On the plus side, standing in the rain is free, refreshing and dramatic, especially if there's sad music playing nearby. Many movie characters have done it after a breakup. After 20 minutes, though, you won't become a plant; you'll become a soggy human with wrinkly fingers who needs a hot shower and a cup of tea. Plants have it easier. They don't catch colds.

312. Why does it always rain right after I wash my car?

Clouds love a clean target. It's a sport to them. They watch from above as you scrub, rinse and wax for two hours, and the moment you put away the hose, they gather overhead and say "now." Some clouds even follow you to the car wash. Birds are also part of the conspiracy: they coordinate with clouds and add their own special decorations within 10 minutes of a wash. Farmers in drought-stricken areas have been known to wash their cars on purpose as a rain dance. It works about 60% of the time, which is better than most rain dances.

313. Is hail just angry rain?

Exactly. Hail is rain that got swept up into a storm cloud, froze, got bounced around and came back down with an attitude. Some hailstones go up and down inside the storm several times, gaining a new layer of ice each trip, like a jawbreaker made by the sky. Alberta has some of the most intense hailstorms in Canada, with hailstones the size of golf balls, eggs or, in extreme cases, small grapefruits. Car dealerships in Calgary have special hail sales afterward. Hail doesn't care about your car, your garden or your feelings. Hail just wants to make an entrance.

314. Can two snowflakes be identical?

For complicated snowflakes, it's wildly unlikely. They're all unique individuals, and they all end up as slush. Each snowflake forms as it falls through the cloud, collecting water and freezing into intricate patterns based on temperature and humidity, so no two take the same path. That means every snowflake is special and has a story. Unfortunately, every special snowflake eventually ends up in a pile by the side of the road, mixed with gravel and covered in slush from passing buses. That's life. Even the most unique among us end up in a snowbank.

315. What do clouds do on a clear day?

They take the day off. Even clouds need vacation. On clear days, clouds head to their favourite resort spots: over the ocean, on top of mountains or above particularly nice farms. They float, they relax, they make shapes for kids to point at. One cloud likes to look like a bunny, another like a pirate ship. On weekends, they gather for a big get-together called "a storm," which is mostly just catching up and arguing about who gets to rain on the picnic. See question 312 for their favourite hobby.

316. Can I put a jacket on my car in winter?

They make car covers. Your car will look like it's in a giant sleeping bag, and it'll be grateful. Canadians also plug their cars in during winter with block heaters, which is like giving your car an electric blanket overnight. Visitors are baffled by the cords sticking out of the front of every car in the parking lot, like the cars are all on life support. Some people even put little cozies on their side mirrors. A car that's been well cared for in winter starts on the first try. A car that hasn't will make a sound like a cat in a blender, then nothing.

317. Why is it always coldest right when I have to leave the house?

The coldest part of the day really is around sunrise. The air waits all night for your alarm. It's personal. All night long, the ground loses heat to the sky, and just as you're stepping outside with wet hair and a coffee, the temperature hits rock bottom. Then the sun comes out, warms everything up, and by the time you're at your desk, it's lovely. On your way home, it's cold again, because evening has also checked your schedule. The weather has your calendar. It has your number. It's been doing this for a long time.

318. Do tornadoes get dizzy?

The strongest ones spin at over 300 km/h, so if anything gets dizzy, it's them. They never stop long enough to find out. Tornadoes are the toddlers of the weather world: spinning wildly, knocking things over and changing direction for no reason at all. They form in big thunderstorms when winds at different heights blow in different directions. Alberta has more tornadoes than you'd think. Storm chasers follow them across the prairies with cameras and snacks. If a tornado ever slowed down and looked around, it would probably sit down and say "whoa, I need a minute."

319. Is a heat wave just summer saying hello?

It's summer saying hello from far too close. Give it some space and drink water. A heat wave is like a relative who hugs too long, breathes on your neck and won't leave for a week. During a heat wave, chocolate melts in your pocket, steering wheels become branding irons and people sit in front of open freezers pretending to look for something. Stay in the shade, check on elderly neighbours and pets and remember the golden rule: never sit on a black car seat in shorts. Your thighs will remember that for a long time.

320. What's the difference between weather and climate?

Weather is today's mood. Climate is the personality. If Edmonton has a snowstorm in May, that's weather, a bad mood. If Edmonton has long, cold winters every year for centuries, that's climate, a deep-seated personality trait. Weather changes hour by hour. Climate changes over decades, slowly, like a person gradually becoming their parents. You can't judge a place's climate by one rainy day, just like you can't judge a friend by one grumpy morning. You have to spend a few years with them. Then you'll know if they're the type to ruin a picnic.

321. Can I bottle a sunny day for later?

The closest thing is a jar of honey or a photo album. Not the same, but close. Some people try to bottle sunshine with solar panels, which store sunlight as electricity, but it's hard to feel the warmth of July by plugging in a toaster. Others keep a summer playlist they play in February, or a jar of beach sand on their desk. A man in Yellowknife tried to save a sunny day in a mason jar. In winter he opened it and it was just a jar. But he smiled, so it worked, sort of.

322. Why does the weather app show a little sun behind a

cloud?

That's the app's way of saying "who knows." The partly-cloudy icon is a shrug. It covers almost any weather: a little sun, a little cloud, maybe a drizzle, maybe a heat wave. It's the most-used icon in the app because it's never wrong. Other icons are more confident: a full sun means "wear sunscreen," a grey cloud with lines means "wear boots" and a lightning bolt means "maybe stay inside and watch a movie." There is no icon for "Alberta in April," because that would require all of them, flashing in random order.

323. Do penguins complain about the cold?

Never. They huddle together and take turns in the warm middle. Complaining wastes heat. Emperor penguins survive Antarctic winters with temperatures far below −40 by standing in giant penguin crowds, slowly rotating so everyone gets a turn on the inside and on the outside. It's the most fair-minded system in nature. Humans waiting for the bus at −30 do the opposite: they stand three metres apart, avoid eye contact and complain the whole time. We should learn from penguins. Next winter, huddle at the bus stop. See what happens.

324. If I shovel snow, does it come back angrier?

No, that's the snowplow refilling the end of your driveway. The snow is innocent. The plow is not. You shovel for 40 minutes, sweat through three layers, step back and admire your clean driveway, and then you hear it: a low rumbling in the distance. The plow passes by at exactly the right moment and deposits a heavy, icy wall of snow across your driveway. The plow driver waves. You wave back, through gritted teeth. This happens all across Canada every winter. It's a national tradition, like hockey and apologizing.

325. What's a chinook, and can I keep one?

A chinook is a warm, dry wind that can lift temperatures by 20 degrees in a few hours. You can't keep one, but you can enjoy the one day you wear a T-shirt in January. Chinooks roll down the eastern slopes of the Rockies, melting snow, confusing trees and causing Calgarians to fire up the barbecue in mid-winter. A chinook arch, a long band of blue sky between clouds, shows up over the mountains like a giant smile. Some people get headaches from the pressure change. Others get so excited they start planning a garden. Then winter comes back the next day and destroys everyone emotionally.

326. Why do I always forget my umbrella on the day it rains?

Umbrellas know. They hide when rain is coming. They like to see you suffer a little. On sunny days, your umbrella is everywhere: by the door, in the car, in your bag, getting in the way. The moment dark clouds appear, it vanishes, possibly to a secret umbrella lounge where they drink tea and watch you get soaked. Umbrellas also have a strong tendency to be left on buses, in restaurants and at friends' houses, which is how they move to new homes. The average umbrella changes owners seven times. None of them are ever returned.

327. Is thunder the sky's stomach growling?

Thunder is air expanding with a boom after lightning heats it in an instant. So yes, the sky's stomach growling, but scientifically. Lightning heats the air to temperatures hotter than the surface of the sun, and the air explodes outward, making a sound that rolls across the sky like furniture being dragged across a giant floor upstairs. Count the seconds between flash and boom and divide by three to get the distance in kilometres. Dogs do not find this comforting. Dogs think the sky is angry and personally after them. Give them a blanket and a cuddle.

328. Can I outrun a cloud?

On a calm day, easily. On a windy day, clouds can outpace cars on a highway. Pick your battles. If you're trying to outrun a rain cloud on a bike, you'll be fine on a still afternoon. If it's a prairie thunderstorm, it'll catch you in the middle of a field and drench you so thoroughly your socks will have socks. The fastest clouds are high up, pushed by jet streams moving at hundreds of kilometres per hour. Those clouds are untouchable. They're the Olympic sprinters of the sky.

329. If a snowman melts, where does he go?

Back into the water cycle. He returns next winter as a brand-new snowman. It's beautiful, really. First he melts into a puddle, leaving behind a carrot, two coal eyes and a scarf, like a crime scene. Then he evaporates into the sky, floats around as a cloud, maybe rains on a farm in Saskatchewan, joins a river, visits the ocean, gets sucked up again and finally falls as snow on another kid's lawn, ready to be rolled into a ball. Every snowman you ever built is still out there. Some of them are in your tap water. Say hi.

330. Why does it feel hotter when it's humid?

Your sweat can't evaporate, so you can't cool down. You're basically stewing in your own juice. Gross, but true. On a dry day, sweat evaporates and pulls heat off your skin, like a built-in air conditioner. On a humid day, the air is already full of water, so your sweat just sits there, refusing to leave, like a guest after a party. You get sticky, your hair grows to twice its size and your shirt becomes a second skin. This is why people from humid places think Alberta summers are easy, and people from Alberta think humid places are a hot soup with buildings in it.

331. Do the seasons change, or does the Earth just get bored?

The Earth is tilted about 23.4 degrees, and that tilt makes the seasons. It's not bored. It's leaning. As the Earth orbits the sun, different halves lean toward it for part of the year, getting more direct sunlight and longer days. That's summer. The other half is leaning away, getting colder and darker. That's winter. The Earth has been leaning for billions of years like someone at a bus stop, and it's never once stood up straight. If it did, there would be no seasons, which means no pumpkin spice, no spring cleaning and no complaining about winter. Unthinkable.

332. Can I get a sunburn on a cloudy day?

Yes. Clouds let plenty of UV through. They're a screen door for sunlight. You'll spend a grey day at the beach thinking you're safe, and you'll come home looking like a cooked lobster with white sunglasses marks. The cloud-burn is one of nature's sneakiest tricks, along with snow-burn, which happens when sunlight reflects off snow and gets you from below. Skiers get it on their chins. Wear sunscreen on cloudy days, sunny days and snowy days. Basically, wear sunscreen unless you're in a cave, and even then, ask the bats.

333. Is "partly sunny" the same as "partly cloudy"?

Same day, described by an optimist and a pessimist. The optimist sees the sun peeking through and says "partly sunny!" The pessimist sees the cloud blocking it and says "partly cloudy." Meteorologists have tried to define the difference officially, with complicated rules about percentages of sky coverage, but nobody remembers them. In practice, forecasters use "partly sunny" when they want you to go outside and "partly cloudy" when they feel like warning you. The realist just says "it's fine" and brings a jacket.

334. If it's raining cats and dogs, should I bring a leash?

Bring an umbrella and a very big net. Then call the shelter. Raining cats and dogs is the most chaotic weather event imaginable. Cats would land on their feet (see question 780) and immediately walk away, annoyed. Dogs would land on their backs, wagging, delighted, asking you to throw something. Your yard would be full of animals within minutes. The phrase actually just means heavy rain, and its origins are a mystery. Many theories exist, and none of them are as fun as picturing a golden retriever falling gently out of a cloud.

335. Why does the weather always change on the day of my

outdoor event?

The weather reads your calendar. It's always watching for picnics. Garden parties, outdoor weddings, barbecues and kids' soccer tournaments are top of its list. The forecast will say "sunny" all week, and then, the morning of your event, the sky will darken like a villain entering the room. Experienced planners book a tent, buy umbrellas and keep a backup indoor venue. The weather can sense fear, and it respects preparation. If you rent a giant tent, it will be a beautiful sunny day and you'll have paid $2,000 for shade.

336. Is a puddle just a lake that's still in school?

It's a lake in training. Most puddles don't make it past one sunny afternoon. They dream of becoming a pond, then a lake, then maybe even a great inland sea. But life is hard for a puddle. Kids jump in them, cars splash them, dogs drink them and the sun dries them up before they even get a chance. A few rare puddles survive long enough to get their own ducks. Those puddles go on to become small ponds, where geese like Linda vacation. Every lake you've ever seen started as a puddle with ambition.

337. Can I sleep through winter like a bear?

Only if you have no job, no bills and a cave full of snacks. So, no. Bears eat huge amounts in the fall, build up fat and sleep through the winter in dens, barely moving. Their heart rate slows, and they don't eat, drink or go to the bathroom for months, which is a feat no human can match without medical intervention. Humans try a version of this every December: we eat everything, wrap ourselves in blankets and refuse to leave the couch until spring. Unfortunately, we still have to go to work. The bear does not have a boss.

338. Why does it sometimes snow in spring?

Winter forgot something and came back to get it. It always leaves again, embarrassed. You've already switched your tires, put away your winter boots and planted tulips. Then, one morning in late April, you wake up to 15 centimetres of fresh snow. Winter shuffles around the house, looking for its keys, apologizing awkwardly, and then leaves a few days later, slamming the door. In Alberta, this can happen in May, sometimes June. Locals know never to fully trust spring until about July. Even then, keep a scraper in the car. Just in case.

339. Do sunsets happen everywhere at the same time?

No. Somewhere on Earth the sun is always setting. It's a show that runs around the clock. As the planet turns, sunset sweeps across the globe like a slow-moving wave, painting the sky orange in Edmonton, then Vancouver, then Hawaii and so on. If you could fly west fast enough, you could watch a sunset for hours, which pilots sometimes do. Sunsets are nature's most famous daily performance, and they've never once been cancelled. Some sunsets are better than others. The best ones happen right when your phone battery dies.

340. What colour is the wind?

Clear, but it takes on the colour of whatever it steals: leaves, hats and your favourite grocery bag. In fall, wind is red and gold. In winter, it's white and blowing sideways into your face. In spring, it's brown with dust and green with pollen. In summer, it's the colour of a beach ball flying away from a family at the lake. Wind is basically an invisible thief with excellent taste. If you ever find a pile of hats, umbrellas and sunglasses somewhere, you've found the wind's hideout. Leave quietly.

341. Is it weird to hug a radiator?

In January, it's self-care. Canadians have a deep emotional relationship with their heating sources: the radiator, the furnace vent, the heated car seat and the dryer, fresh from a cycle, which people have been known to hug like a family member. Cats agree with this approach completely. They lie on heating vents for hours, absorbing warmth like solar panels. If you hug your radiator, just be careful; older radiators get very hot. Don't press your face to it. Lean gently. Whisper "thank you." It's earned it.

342. Can lightning charge my phone?

One bolt holds enough energy for thousands of charges. In practice, your phone would become a tiny charcoal briquette. Lightning is too fast and too wild to catch and store, though scientists have been dreaming about it for a long time. If you hold your phone up to the sky during a thunderstorm hoping to charge it, you won't get 100%; you'll get a front-page story and a lot of questions from your insurance company. Gerald, from question 48, would like you to know he prefers his regular wall charger. He's been through enough.

343. Do meteorologists ever just guess?

They use satellites, radar and supercomputers. Then they guess a little. That's the fun part. Modern forecasts are impressively accurate a few days out, but the atmosphere is chaotic, which means a butterfly flapping in Brazil might technically ruin your barbecue in Red Deer. After analyzing millions of data points, a meteorologist will still sometimes look out the window and go with their gut. Some say the best forecasters have an aching knee that predicts rain. If your local forecaster limps, trust them completely.

344. Why do my glasses fog up when I come inside?

Warm, moist air hits your cold lenses and condenses. That's a tiny cloud on your face. You are the weather now. For about 30 seconds, you'll be blind, stumbling through the doorway, bumping into a coat rack and saying "hello?" to a person who isn't there. People with glasses in Canada spend a total of roughly three weeks per winter waiting for their lenses to clear. Some try wiping them on their scarf, which smears them, or breathing on them, which makes it worse. The only true solution is patience. Or contact lenses.

345. Is frost just the grass wearing a coat?

It's more like the grass getting frosted tips. Very early 2000s. On cold mornings, water vapour freezes onto every blade, turning your lawn into a sparkly boy-band music video. Spiders' webs become crystal necklaces, car windows become abstract art and every surface crunches underfoot. Frost is beautiful for about two hours, then melts away when the sun comes up, leaving the grass looking a little embarrassed about its fashion choice. Frost on your car's windshield, however, is just annoying. Scrape it off and move on.

346. If the sun is a star, why is it so close?

It's about 150 million km away. It's not close; everything else is just extremely far. The next nearest star, Proxima Centauri, is about 40 trillion kilometres away, which is far enough that its light takes over four years to reach us. Compared to that, the sun is basically living in our backyard. It's our neighbour star, the one who keeps the lights on and occasionally sunburns us over the fence. If you drove to the sun at highway speed without stopping, it would take more than 150 years. Bring snacks. And sunscreen. A lot of sunscreen.

347. Can I wish on a snowflake instead of a star?

Snowflakes are more plentiful but melt faster. Your wish has about four seconds to come true. Catch one on your tongue, close your eyes and wish quickly. Snowflake wishes are best for small things: a snow day, a hot chocolate or the bus showing up on time. Star wishes are better for big things: love, success or a puppy (see question 781). Some people wish on a blizzard, which gives you millions of wishes at once, but they all get mixed up and you might end up with a pony and a sore throat.

348. Why is the sky blue and not, say, beige?

Air scatters blue light more than other colours. If it scattered beige, the sky would look like a dentist's waiting room. Sunlight contains every colour, but when it enters the atmosphere, the short blue wavelengths bounce around the most, filling the sky with blue. At sunset, light travels through more air, so the blues get scattered away and the reds and oranges come through. A beige sky would be calming but deeply depressing, like an endless office ceiling. A purple sky would be nice, but our eyes aren't great at seeing that (see question 757).

349. Do icicles grow up or down?

Down, one drip at a time. They're the only things in nature that grow by crying. Icicles form when snow on the roof melts, drips over the edge and freezes again in the cold air, layer by layer, like a slow-motion sword being forged by winter. Some icicles grow longer than a person. Kids snap them off and use them as lightsabres. Adults look at them and think about their roof's insulation. Never stand under a big icicle on a warm day. It will let go at exactly the wrong moment, out of pure drama.

350. What's the forecast for the rest of this book?

Mostly silly, with a 90% chance of geese. Expect scattered dad jokes in the afternoon, heavy confusion overnight and a 40% chance of Marjorie sighing. A ridge of high absurdity is moving in from the west and will linger for the remaining 650 questions. Winds are light but questionable. The UV index is low, but the dumbness index is extreme, so readers are advised to wear protective eyewear and keep a sense of humour handy. There is a small craft advisory for crabs. Brent will be honking at regular intervals.