The time of year has rolled around again when many otherwise logical, rational and sane Americans turn to caterpillars and fruit to gauge what kind of winter lies ahead.
Yep, it’s time again to check out what the woolly worms and persimmons have to say about the approaching cold season, because they (allegedly) possess a wondrous meteorological capability unlike that of most insects and foods.
As a reminder, the wooly worm (or more accurately, the woolly bear caterpillar) has numerous distinct brown and black segments, and the wider the brown sections are or the more of them there are, the milder the coming winter will be. Conversely, the more black there is, the more severe the winter.
Of course, the persimmon’s weather prognostication capacity stems from the shape of its seed, or kernel, when the fruit is cut in half. If the kernel is spoon-shaped, expect plenty of snow; if it’s fork-shaped, plan on a mild winter with light snow, and if it’s knife-shaped, expect frigid winds that “cut like a blade.”
While I’m not sure that the color of a bug’s fuzz or the shape of a fruit’s seed should be a benchmark regarding whether we’re all going to wear thick jackets and gloves more often that lighter clothing during a given winter, I certainly have no intention of criticizing or disrespecting any particular bug or fruit’s competence in weather forecasting. On the contrary, I’d like to point out that there are several other insects, foods and even mammals that have been known to do some wintry projections of their own. Allow me to share some of them.
If an armadillo ends up on its back after being run over on a highway, assume that the coming winter will include more sunny days than cloudy days. If it ends up on its belly, the third week of January will be warmer than the second week of February.
If a 5-foo-2-inch man with long blonde hair eats a BLT sandwich during the first week of October while there’s a full moon, and the tomato is positioned between the bacon and lettuce, January will be sandwiched between a harsh December and February. If the tomato is on either side of the other two ingredients, December and February will be much colder than January.
If a flying beetle slams into the driver’s side of a vehicle’s windshield while it’s traveling east at twilight, December will feature an unusually large amount of snowfall. If the beetle crashes into the middle of the windshield, January will be extra snowy, and if it gets squished on the passenger’s side, February will be the month with lots of snow.
If a black walnut falls out of a tree and lands on a Rhode Island Red chicken’s head while it’s facing south, winter will be mild, but wet. If the bird is facing north, winter will be cold and dry.
If more babies born in October are given names that begin with any of the first 13 letters of the English alphabet, winter will be wet and dreary and their diapers will have to be changed 11-percent more often than average. If more are assigned names beginning with the last 13 letters, winter will be drier and mostly clear, and the babies’ diapers will need changing 8-percent less often.
If a donkey’s ears stand upright after you say “Trump” to it, then the winter will be great again. If they turn to the side or lie back on the donkey’s neck, there will be “huuuuuge” temperature swings throughout the season.
And those are only a handful.
Anyway, I’m neither promoting nor condoning using bugs, fruits, rodents, nuts, shoes, power tools, vehicles or anything other than the good old weathermen and women to be anyone’s source of what conditions will be like at any given time of year. Heck, we all know those people have a hard enough time with it (and get it wrong about as often as right), and they’re educated about what they do (allegedly), so why should we expect a lower life form or inanimate object to do any better?
Then again, maybe that’s the point: They may well provide information every bit as accurate as what we’re used to getting from meteorologists.
Just sayin’.
Doug Davison is a writer, photographer and newsroom assistant for the Houston Herald.
Email: ddavison@houstonherald.com.
