The Way You Do Anything...

NOTE: This is the second half of my story presented at the Center Salon on April 13, 2018. The first half can be read here. Both stories are true and appear in slightly different form in my book, A Sideways Look at Clouds.

It didn’t take long for the euphoria of my hallway epiphany to wear off. I knew nothing about clouds and assumed I could learn what I needed to know by watching them, by reading books on clouds and weather and atmospheric. 

The clouds proved to be overwhelming—in the sky and on the page. There were so many of them—and they were hard to identify. They were constantly changing shape, by the minute, by the hour, and over the course of the day. Their Latin names were difficult to keep straight. Understanding the clouds required a specialized vocabulary, a firm grasp of chemistry and physics, and more math than an English major like me could ever hope to learn. 

My Muse may have sparked the idea for my book, but apparently she wasn’t going help me understand the clouds or figure out how write about them.

I could not find my way into the clouds. I was lost.  I was frustrated. I was ready to give up. Until l remembered what happened 10 years earlier when I had lost my way—literally.

I was trying out a new yoga studio I had driven past many times. It was on the ground floor of a two-story office building that wrapped around a downtown corner. The yoga studio had big storefront windows on both sides of the block. Signs and banners with the studio’s name doubled as privacy shades from the street.

I walked toward the door thatI assumed was the entrance. It was locked. I walked around the corner to a similar door on the other side of the studio. It too was locked. I continued further down the block to another door. It opened and  so I stepped off the sidewalk and into a vestibule. I looked around for signs to the studio. There were none. 

I walked down a dim corridor lined with closed doors of various small businesses, none offering yoga classes. At the end of the hall I found an elevator. I pushed the button to call it. The elevator arrived, I got on. I pushed the button for the second floor. Why not? I stepped out into another hallway with more office doors. It led to another dead end. I started giggling. I walked back toward the elevator, but took the stairs and found myself in the interior lobby of the building, facing the wide open doors to the yoga studio. 

I walked toward a small desk where a woman (the teacher I presumed) sat in her yoga togs and in an aura of calm. 

“Hi!” I blurted out. “I’m glad I found my way in! The entrance from the street wasn’t exactly obvious so I….” 

I recounted my story of the locked doors, the elevator, the hallways, the stairway. She listened patiently but didn’t smile or acknowledge that the entrance was perhaps a problem.  

Instead, she handed me a pen, gestured toward the sign-in sheet, and said matter-of-factly, “The way you do anything is the way you do everything.”

How rude! How dare she? How wise! She was totally right. This, this, this total stranger, this yogini knew me better than I knew myself. 

The way we do anything—and therefore everything—is the result of who we are: our age, our childhood experiences, our families, our education, our friendships, the condition of our physical bodies, the acuity of our senses, our mental and emotional state. Our habits. Our quirks. All of it. 

We each have a unique and idiosyncratic way of being in the world, of looking at the world the lies before us, and of sharing our understanding of the world with each other. 

And so, I year into my study of the clouds, I embraced the truthful words of the condescending-but-insightful yogini. To find my way into the clouds, I would wander and get lost. I would take the scenic route, follow my curiosity, try all the doors, make wrong turns, giggle a lot, go down rabbit holes, hit dead ends, get derailed, find some truth, make some discoveries along the way.

It wasn’t necessarily the best---nor certainly the most efficient way---to write a book but it was my way forward—or sideways—into the clouds. 

Sideways Plus #6 +Droplets+

Here is installment number 5 for A Sideways Look at Clouds--an excerpt and supplemental content for each chapter of my book you to enjoy. Click these links to  the first five: Prologue /Cloud /Visible / Mass / Water

Each chapter of my book covers one term in the definition of a cloud: a visible mass of water droplets or ice crystals suspended in the atmosphere above the earth. This fourth posting covers the chapter on Water.

"First things first: cloud droplets are not teardrop-shaped. They are tiny, spherical balls or globes. Raindrops are not teardrop-shaped either. Small raindrops are spherical and large ones are shaped like hamburger buns--flat on the bottom and slightly convex on the top. Even human tears are not teardrop-shaped. When they appear (in our eyes and on our cheeks) they are shaped like puddles and rivers. The only time water droplets naturally assume the teardrop shape is wen, as a collection of many droplets, they drip from a leaky faucet."

Understanding the shape of water is no easy task. The most difficult chapter of my book to write and the one that required the deepest plunge into atmospheric science and physics, was the chapter on droplets. What made the droplets of water in clouds different from other water in the atmosphere? Was it a matter of droplet size? Was it something in the droplet?  What was the difference between the water in the cloud and the water next to the cloud in the blue sky?

Water water everywhere...These small clouds (cumulus humilis) are composed of liquid water droplets. The blue sky around the clouds contains anywhere from zero to four percent (by volume) of invisible water vapor--molecules of water too small to be considered droplets, too small to scatter sunlight toward our eyes so we see a watery whiteness that is a cloud.

A droplet is a collection of enough water molecules to scatter sunlight and become visible to the naked eye. "Enough" is billions of water molecules (H20), which adds up to between 2 and 200 micrometers (one micrometer is 1/50th the diameter of a human hair). This is significantly larger than the wavelengths of visible sunlight hitting those droplets. Those wavelengths are between 0.4 and 0.7 micrometers.

These numbers did not help me understand the magic of the cloud droplet so I spent an afternoon at the Atmospheric Science Department's outreach office at the University of Washington in Seattle. Here, with the help of a very patient grad student, I plunged deeper and deeper into the vastly tiny world of the droplet...down into to the molecule...down into the hydrogen atom...the oxygen atom...the subatomic particles...and lots of squirmy lines and dashes that represent energy moving through the atmosphere. 

Understanding what a "droplet" was led me to The University of Washington where I reached a deep understanding of how much I didn't not understand. 

The human brain isn't very good at imagining the very huge or the very small. So holding the idea of a cloud and the subatomic world of the water droplets in that cloud simultaneously  in my mind's eye was stupefying. It was as if my brain simply shut down (perhaps to prevent it from exploding). Over the years, I have kept at it. I watch the clouds and try to grasp the fact that some are stretching across the landscape for several thousand of square miles or are reaching heights of 47,000 feet. And then I try to imagine the unimaginable quantity of droplets--all the little tiny spheres of water--in those clouds. 

This is much easier to do when you are walking in the fog, which I hope you do. Though you may not get a sense of the size of the mass of fog you are walking in, you will be able to see the liquid water droplets floating in the air around you. Notice there is space between them--that's the water vapor, the invisible form of water. 

In each of the ten chapters of A Sideways Look at Clouds, I discuss one of the ten official cloud types. Altostratus appears in the "Droplets" chapter. Though this mid-level layer cloud is considered "boring," it is fascinating in its own right. This cloud is composed primarily of frozen water--ice crystals and snowflakes--and may even have liquid-droplet clouds embedded within it. This cloud is typically more than 6,500 feet thick and spread over several thousands of square miles. It is not a precipitating cloud (that's the lower Nimbostratus) and is very useful 

This is an Altostratus translucidus (translucent enough to reveal the position of the sun, but thick enough to block it from creating shadows). The patches and shreds of lower gray clouds (possibly stratus fractus, or scud) would be white if the Altostratus weren't present. 

Though this mid-level layer cloud is considered "boring," it is fascinating in its own right. This cloud is composed primarily of frozen water--ice crystals and snowflakes--and may even have liquid-droplet clouds embedded within it. This cloud is typically more than 6,500 feet thick and spread over several thousands of square miles. It is not a precipitating cloud (that's the lower Nimbostratus) and is very useful for improving your photography. These clouds are thick enough to prevent the sun from casting shadows and so create a soft, filtered kind of light that is ideal for avoiding squinty selfies, capturing detail and texture of small things in nature (flowers, insects, leaf veins), and waterfalls. 

Don't wait for a sunny day to get out in nature with your camera. Altostratus clouds allow for great upclose photos. Here, our native Osoberry blossoms shelter a tiny spider as an umbrella. Doesn't it know that Altostratus don't rain?

Sideways Plus #5 +WATER+

Here is installment number 5 for A Sideways Look at Clouds--an excerpt and supplemental content for each chapter of my book you to enjoy. Click these links to  the first four: Prologue /Cloud /Visible / Mass

Each chapter of my book covers one term in the definition of a cloud: a visible mass of water droplets or ice crystals suspended in the atmosphere above the earth. This fourth posting covers the chapter on Water.

"Each of our ten cloud types contains two or three forms of water simultaneously--vapor, water droplets, and ice crystals. The combination varies between the cloud types and changes over the lifetime of an individual cloud....water molecules are moving fluidly between vapor, liquid, and solid phases. Change is occurring at he largest and smallest scales--from the overall mass of the cloud to atoms within it. Even clouds that seem stationary or slow-moving are in perpetual molecular turmoil. A cloud is a visible mass of zinging, bouncing, jiggling, and darting. A cloud is a moon bounce, a pinball machine, a beehive, a mosh pit of water."

One of the most difficult things to realize is that water vapor in our atmosphere is invisible the naked eye and that the water we can see in the form of a cloud is liquid water or solid water (ice). It is easy to think vapor is the same as steam, but it isn't. Steam is liquid water droplets. Thanks to the Geostationary Operational Satellite System (GOES), you can see otherwise invisible water vapor imagery  here. A fine example of water vapor over the continental U.S. can be seen here via mp.4. 

Another challenge in trying to visualize all that water in clouds is the shape of the water droplets. Liquid water droplets are spherical. In the form of raindrops they may be spherical or even hamburger-bun shaped. Ice crystals appear in many beautiful iterations of the hexagonal structure of interlocking water molecules. 

Water droplets are never never never shaped like "Mr. Drippy"

Nor are water molecules ever shaped like Mickey Mouse. 

Clouds are made of water and dirt. This came a surprise to me because the clouds do not look dirty. Our atmosphere is full of microscopic particles (too many to list here), some which form the perfect surface for water vapor molecules to condense on (the way it does on a blade of grass on a dewy morning for on the side of a cold soda can on a hot and humid summer day). These particles are known as "condensation nuclei" and are at the heart of every cloud droplet. After a rain, these particles are "washed" out of the atmosphere and leave the air feeling fresh and clean. 

One of the most spectacular forms of the altocumulus cloud is this species known as altocumulus lenticularis. Here (below) there are several of these "lenticulars" or "lennies" as they are known by the cloud cognoscenti. These are hovering over Mt. Rainier where they are commonly seen (though not always as spectacularly as this example). This is a type of mid-level cloud (mid is between 6,500 and 23,000 feet) that forms in the lee of a prominent mountain or mountain range; warm, moist water vapor is forced to rise over a mountain barrier and, as it does so, it cools and condenses--becoming a visible, lens-shaped cloud. As it passes descends on the leeward side, the cloud warms and evaporates. The pattern of ascending and descending air established by the mountain continues downwind, creating a series of pennies.

I have never seen a lennie as dramatic as the one above, but this cap cloud (below) hugging Mt. Rainier one August afternoon provided more beauty, comfort, and solace than any cloud I have ever experienced. 

As did this layer of altocumulus clouds that came to my rescue when it caught a "glory"--an optical phenomenon associated with water droplet clouds. For more images of glories (so you can recognize them from your airplane window seat, check out the photos on EarthSky.

Next up: Sideways #6: +DROPLETS+

What birds? Look at the clouds!

I read with great interest an article in the Skagit Valley Herald that the Economic Development Alliance of Skagit County (EDASC) and Skagit Audubon Society (where I'll be speaking about clouds on February 13) are teaming up to draw as much attention to the wintering flocks of snow geese, swans, eagles as to the county's fields of tulips in springtime.

The Economic Development Alliance is trying to make the most of the downtime in the tourism season--mid-January through the end of February to boost the local economy.  Biirders and tulip-gazers all need to eat, warm up, shop, fuel up, and sleep somewhere, right?

Truly, Skagit County is a fabulous place for birdwatching. And cloud watching. My experience of this million-acre county is mostly from the car en route to and from Bellingham. At freeway speeds, the birds are just dots in the fields in the broad, fertile floodplain of the Skagit River. Oh but the sky and the clouds! This is Big Sky Country and you get horizon-to-horizon views in several directions at once, with the clouds appearing in many forms at once between the Cascades to the east and the San Juan Islands to the west. When the clouds are just right (as they often are in Skagit County), the sunsets are less about looking west than about looking in all directions to see the dazzling, luminous glory surrounding you.

So if you're heading to Skagit County for the birds (and you certainly should) make sure you look at what's behind and above the birds. You don't even need binoculars or a spotting scope to enjoy the clouds.

Thought the Economic Development Alliance of Skagit County hasn't gotten the cloud bug yet or realized the potential of the clouds to lure droves of birdwatchers and tulip gazers to this beautiful part of Washington, I'll be singing the clouds' praises on February 13 at  7 p.m. at the Skagit Audubon Society when I'll be doing a program on my book, A Sideways Look at Clouds.

The program is free and open to the public. 7:00 Social; 7:30 Program. Padilla Bay Interpretive Center, 10441 Bayview-Edison Road, Mt. Vernon, Washington. 

Meanwhile, please check out the Birds of Winter programs in Skagit County. There's one this weekend (January 27-28) in La Conner. You can enjoy programs by fellow Mountaineers Book author and award-winning photographer Paul Bannick and biologist Martha Jordan of the Northwest Swan Conservation Association. 

And always take a moment to look up at the clouds!