The Sound of Silence

May 3, 2014May 3, 2014 / Juliana Lightle / Leave a comment

For years I puzzled over what this phrase means. This evening I discovered the answer. Unlike the first part of the week, today was sunny, little wind, high 70s, what most consider a perfect day weather wise. I ran home from work, gave Rosie, my horse, some food, let Isabella, my dog out for a bit, and then ran back to town to see my grandson perform. He attends Wolflin Elementary School. The physical education teacher selected a group of students called the SWAT Team who perform at different functions. The last time I saw them, they performed at a local high school’s basketball tournament. Today they executed four routines at their school’s annual gala, a fund raiser with games, food, a silent auction, dunking in the water, that sort of thing. It really astonished me. I have no idea how much they practiced, but these routines were not short and everything was perfectly choreographed. First, the boys performed using basketballs to do various tricks and movements in unison to music. Then the girls did this complicated sort of dance over these long bamboo poles that other students clicked together. The only other place where I have seen anything like this is in Thailand at the Rose Garden near Bangkok. The third routine included both boys and girls and they used this giant circle of multicolored cloth to dance around, in and out, make the cloth into a sort of yurt like shape. I have no idea how they kept it up like a giant circular tent one minute and flat the next. Finally, they competed with hoola hoops to see who could keep going the longest.

After I returned home, I hosed off the front entryway, planted some flowers in pots, and watered other flowers, all in preparation for a fund raiser tomorrow night at my house–to raise money for a local senior citizens center. Rosie is shedding her winter coat and seemed miserable itching so I brushed her. Now tufts of pale rose colored hair lay everywhere in her corral. Finally, a bit after eight I came inside for a late dinner. Then I noticed. No sounds, no wind, no appliances humming, no coyotes howling, no birds singing, no dogs barking, no sounds at all. Nothing. The patio doors are open; I walked outside a few minutes ago. Nothing. I sit here before the computer and hear the sounds the keys make when I hit them. When I stop, nothing.

Rosie

Isabella on the patio in winter.

They started blooming today.

Gratitude and Dust

April 30, 2014April 30, 2014 / Juliana Lightle / 2 Comments

Initially, I planned to continue my Apocalyptic Planet series, but today’s events caused me to choose otherwise. As I sit here writing this, I can see the endless blowing dust through the spotted window. Sometime today, while I was at work, it sprinkled while the dust blew. Now every window on the east and north side of my house appears as if someone had thrown handfuls of nearly dry mud at it. My black car looks the same. The wind whistles in the flue of the wood burning stove in my bedroom. This storm blows harder and longer than the one we experienced last week. Tomorrow they forecast more of the same.

Saturday I stopped by two greenhouses to purchase some hanging baskets and native flowers. The mesquite trees kept telling me, “Wait, wait. Cold will come again. Wait!” Normally, I obey what the mesquite trees tell me. They never come out until they know without a doubt the cold is over and they feel safe. I bought the flowers anyway. This coming Saturday, Hilltop Senior Citizen Center in Amarillo has their Gala at my house to raise money–complete with a silent auction, food, and drink to raise some much needed money. I want everything to look springlike and pretty. I heard the weather forecast on the radio coming home from work. I just looked again on the Internet. Frost predicted tonight and even colder tomorrow night. After I fed Rosie, placing the alfalfa as much out of the wind as I could, I brought the hanging baskets inside and poured a bunch of water on the other new plants. The native plants, tough, worry be little. The others will not survive 33 degree weather. Later, I will go out and cover them with old towels, hoping the wind relents and does not blow them off.

Everyone here posts photos of the dust on the Internet and gripes about this horrid weather. Although I certainly dislike it, I refuse to complain. This, too, is tornado country. I listened to the news this morning and again coming home from work. Thirty four dead, whole towns destroyed, a new school flattened. Here I see no devastation, only the endless, depressing, annoying dust and wind. My friends, family, and I are alive, our houses intact. Rosie huddles behind the barn, still healthy, neighs when she hears me coming. Gratitude engulfs me.

Rosie

The iris I was hoping for.

Volunteering at Palo Duro Canyon

April 29, 2014April 29, 2014 / Juliana Lightle / Leave a comment

In front of the Visitor’s Center with Eduardo and Gaston, exchange students who lived with me several years ago.

Occasionally, I volunteer in the gift shop at Palo Duro Canyon, the second largest canyon in the United States. If individuals drove through Amarillo on I-40 through the endless flat prairie land and never ventured far, they would not even be able to dream up this canyon only twenty miles away. To get there, you have to drive through more flat land, covered in wheat pasture, corn, milo, and the few remaining pastures of native grass. You can see for miles; you can even see the taller buildings in Amarillo which are not all that tall. Then, unexpectedly the land opens up, cliffs appear. The first time you see it, you feel astonishment. Nothing you see on the way there prepares you. Years ago Battelle Memorial Institute sent me on a business trip to Amarillo. People told me I should go see the big canyon. I laughed to myself, thinking they must be just talking about a large arroyo. When I finally did drive down, my mouth gaped in shock. How could this be?

Palo Duro Canyon is still being created by water erosion. The Prairie Dog Town Fork of the Red River (no I did not make this name up) runs through it. Barely a running stream now with the drought, when a big summer thunderstorm blasts it fury, this river can rise ten feet almost immediately. When it does this, campers remain stranded inside the park until the river calms down because to get into the park, depending how far in you go, you have to literally cross the river repeatedly. Because of this, they have decided to build bridges across the five water crossings. Some of us who love driving through the water find this innovation unacceptable.

Today, I volunteered from 1-5. People came in from Indiana, Minnesota, Ecuador, south Florida–on a trip to Californian and back, Ohio, Germany–a young woman working as a nanny here. Usually, I meet even more people from other countries, especially European countries. When I ask the Germans in particular how they know about this place, they tell me Palo Duro Canyon and its history is featured on the Internet there. Here come all these people from far away and I have students who live a mere 25 miles away and have never seen it. The family from Indiana came because their daughter wants to attend West Texas A & M University in Canyon, Texas–named after the canyon of course. She told me she wants to bring her horse and WT is one of the few universities in the country where you can major in agriculture and participate in an extensive horse program. She exuded excitement and enthusiasm.

In the midst of chatting with all these visitors, I noticed the unusual behavior of one woman in particular. She had medium grey hair pulled back in a ponytail with hair a lighter shade of grey framing her face. All her clothes were dark grey. She walked to the book area–we sell a lot of books, and started flipping slowly through several of them. She picked them up as if they were delicate flowers or fragile glass. She held them as if she thought they might break if she held them tight. When she put one up to look at another, it appeared as if she barely touched them. She never smiled, just looked and looked and looked. She did not buy a book.

Water, Water, Where?

April 28, 2014April 28, 2014 / Juliana Lightle / 2 Comments

Today, I drove about fifty miles to watch a play especially produced by my friend, King Hill, for the Gem Theatre in Claude. I almost did not go because of high winds and blowing dust. Between 8 and 10 this morning visibility was so low it was impossible to see the horizon. High wind and blowing dust warnings started yesterday. Now, as I write this, these warnings have continued for more than 24 hours. Red flag warnings flash across the TV screen. Thankfully, not quite the dust bowl extremes, not yet anyway.

Originally, a green sea of grass covered all the land where I live in the Panhandle of Texas, the Llano Estacado. Immense herds of buffalo roamed free. This prairie grass protected the land from erosion. Rivers and an occasional canyon interrupted this endless sea, including the Canadian River, Palo Duro Canyon and the network of canyons running into it. Once the Spanish brought horses, Kiowa and Comanche ruled this sea for more than a hundred years. Under a full moon, the Comanche reigned by night raids from Nebraska to Mexico.

What happened? Plows brought by people from the East dug up the grass. These people planted the crops they knew, wheat, corn. They settled in towns and homesteaded the country. They brought cattle and in some areas developed gigantic ranches. Hunters killed all the buffalo except a few the famous rancher Charlie Goodnight and his wife managed to save. Remnants of this southern herd now live at Caprock Canyons State Park near the tiny town of Quitaque, Texas. Those who farmed dry land farmed. In a normal year crops grew, the people prospered. In dry years dust blew because there was no grass to hold the dirt.

Today, giant pumps pull water from the aquifers, the Ogallala, the Santa Rosa. My well is 400 feet deep, some are nearly 900. More and more people move here from other parts of the United States. They want lawns like the ones they had where it rains forty inches a year. It does not rain much here, twenty in a good year, ten in a bad year. These aquifers lose much more water to irrigation in a year than are replenished by rain. Farmers grow corn,wheat, cotton, and milo, all irrigated. In some places where the water became to saline for crops, the pumps sit abandoned.

Today, I drove by miles and miles of dry, thirsty grass, perfect fuel for the wind driven wildfires which sometimes start this time of year. In other places irrigation pivots rained water on immense emerald fields of wheat. I could not help but wonder how much of this water evaporated in the sixty mile an hour wind. As I finish writing this with the TV on weather watching, I see Fire Weather Watch, High Wind Warning, Red Flag Warning flash across the screen. I hear the wind roar and heavy outdoor furniture slide across the patio. I’ve seen wildfires, had a half mile of cedar post fence burned down. All it takes is a tiny piece of cigarette thrown from a truck or car, a flash of dry lightning. They predict three more days of this.

I love the space, the vermillion sunsets, the intense blue of the sky. I watch my neighbors water, water, water their new houses in the country. I think about those pivots irrigating in the wind, and I wonder what will happen when all the water’s gone.

Myanmar Then and Now-Part One

April 25, 2014April 25, 2014 / Juliana Lightle / Leave a comment

More than twenty years ago, I went to Myanmar when it was still called Burma. I flew there from Katmandu. Compared to the cool, crystalline mountain air of Nepal, the hot, moist, Burmese air felt stifling, thick. Day one, we left the Inya Lake Hotel and traveled to downtown Yangon to purchase tickets to Pagan. We never left Yangon because the first of many revolts against the military government started. Everyone strongly opposed going there by the night train and the last plane headed that way had been shot down. Personally, I was willing to take the risk but could find no one else willing to go with me. Everyone was under a 6 pm to 6 am curfew. Unexpectedly, hundreds of hotel guests were confined to the hotel and its grounds, thankfully rather expansive. This unusual circumstances provided unexpected opportunities. To accommodate feeding everyone dinner, the hotel staff asked guests to share tables. I shared a table with a man from South Korea there to build a sport shoe factory, two women from Germany headed to a medication retreat, and a gentleman with an English accent. We shared life stories except the “Englishman”. His sharing seemed a little “off”. Later, when the rest of us chatted and put together what little he shared, we decided perhaps he was an arms dealer. One evening guests experienced the privilege of watching the guests for an elaborate Burmese wedding, complete with traditional wedding clothing.

Although clean and orderly, this “one of the best hotels in Burma” looked more like photos of Russian army barracks than the hotels to which most of the guests were accustomed and absolutely nothing like anything else near Yangon. Few cars roamed the streets. The most common vehicles were small pickup trucks in which the bed had been transformed into an open air van complete with seats and a cloth roof. The populace exuded an air of dejection. Those who bothered to save money saw it devalued to nearly nothing. The once elegant, ornate buildings showed signs of disrepair and decay. A country which was once the world’s largest exporter of rice was rationing it as well as gasoline.

Unless you sleep twelve hours a day, curfews present challenges. What do you do with yourself for all those evening hours after 6 pm hits besides eat a leisurely dinner. I walked the glorious hotel gardens repeatedly and became acquainted with the hotel gardener who spoke perfect English and whose father had attended Columbia University. His roses were as tall as I am. He asked me repeatedly, ” How does my garden measure up to modern standards?” When I offered tp send him horticulture magazines, he told me they would be confiscated as evil, foreign influences. Paddle boats lined the lake’s edges. Guests could use them free but guests were told not to go far out because we might get shot at. The luxurious villas of the ruling military elite lay readily visible on the distant opposite shoreline.

During the day, everyone rushed out to make the most possible out of the 12 free hours. Mainly, I recall an overwhelming sense of gold, glitter, and glass tiles reflecting the tropical light. At first, it induced a feeling of slight nausea, so much sensory input I felt slightly sick. But I adjusted. As if scattered, glittery golden temples were not enough, there rose the Shwedagon Pagoda, 99 meters covered in gold, real gold. I spent an entire day there, wandering its environs and still missed some of it. Saffron clad monks, vendors selling “sacred” items and snacks, nearly a city within itself, old, originally built in 1372 and 344 feet high, repeatedly rebuilt after earthquakes and foreign raids. Impressive is an understatement.

If Burmese history and culture interest you, I recommend three fascinating novels:

–To Save Fish From Drowning by Amy Tan

–The Piano Tuner by Daniel Mason

–The Glass Palace by Amitov Ghosh

All three focus on one or more of the ethnic groups that inhabit Myanmar and on their relationships with each other. The latter two are historical novels and in particular Ghosh’s book provides a fascinating history of that part of Asia.

Trivia

April 22, 2014April 22, 2014 / Juliana Lightle / Leave a comment

This marks week one of my commitment to write for at least twenty minutes every day. A good way to “force” myself to do this is to blog daily. In this past week I have heard from new people and received more comments than usual. I had something already written out and then decided against posting it. Because I am at least one hour behind on what I planned to do when I arrived home from work, this blog may be a bunch of trivia, depending on what you consider trivia.

I had not planned on cleaning my barn in preparation for fifty 100 pound bales of hay, but when they told me they would deliver Wednesday instead of Friday, it changed this evening’s plans dramatically. I had to move the remaining hay from last November’s delivery to a different spot because I do not want “old” and “new” hay mixed. 100 pound bales do not weigh all that much less than I do so moving them is not all that easy. Once moved, I sweep the loose hay up, lay down pallets, and sweep up everything. I do not like hay to lay directly on the cement floor of the barn. All that took over an hour. Then it dawned on me that I should probably eat something. Time mandated simplicity so I made a salad. Suddenly it reminded me of salads Gaston used to make. Gaston lived with me for six months–a handsome exchange student from Argentina, who rode horses, played the piano while I cooked dinner, and then when I gave the word, made beautiful salads, kaleidoscopes of color, orange, red, green, yellow, purple. Tonight, in a rush, I finally managed to make a salad as beautiful as Gaston’s. In addition to his other assets, Gaston’s name is a song for the ears and the heart: Gaston Luis Zulaica del Sueldo. I love his name so much that it is the title of one of the poems in my new book of poetry, “On the Rim of Wonder”. His counselor at school here loved it so much that she insisted on practicing it over and over and over to get it right when she announced it at graduation.

Salad eaten, once this post is complete, I must finish the baby blanket I promised today to deliver tomorrow. More than eight years ago, I taught freshmen English. One of my students, who has since gone to college, graduated, and now works for the school district where I work will soon be a father. His wife, through her work as a neonatal ICU nurse, became a good friend of my daughter’s. Their baby is due in a week or so. I am running out of time. I MUST finish this tonight. Since I have to get up at 5:30 to get to work on time–I work 25 miles from where I live–it would seem that since it is now 7:49, I had better quit writing this and get to work. Tomorrow I promise more exciting material.

Apocalyptic Planet-Part Five: Civilizations Fall

April 20, 2014April 20, 2014 / Juliana Lightle / Leave a comment

Whether it is my innate ambition, something my parents instilled in me, or something else unknown, I try to learn something new every day. Craig Childs starts this chapter of his book by talking about a Phoenix landmark. Back when I travelled to Phoenix regularly, I knew this place as Squaw Peak. Now its name Is Piestewa Peak. The name change is probably a good thing. I never knew before reading this how dreadfully pejorative the word squaw is. Basically, it means Indian bitch as well as other things related to the privates of women. All languages seem to possess an accumulation of dreadful words geared to putting women down one way or another. Slang words for the private parts of a man rarely mean anything pejorative, at least not that I know of. The new name, a Hopi name, a blessing word, is a word that calls water to this place. Not a bad idea in Phoenix or most of the Southwest for that matter.

The name Phoenix fits. Underneath modern day Phoenix, an ancient city lays buried, a quite sophisticated city with ball courts, temples, irrigation canals. This city existed at least a thousand years ago. Its inhabitants grew corn, cotton, beans, and agave. Farmers, hunters, carvers, all sorts of artisans and merchants apparently lived there. Now they are called Hohokam taken from an O’odham word meaning “ancestors”, the “ones who have gone”. We find forgotten cities all over the world, Palmyra, Machu Picchu, Angkor Wat. What causes these sophisticated civilizations to fall? If you read a bit, look further, you find common themes: environmental decay, resource depletion, conflict, disease, social problems. Angkor Wat fell because it could not maintain its complex irrigation network. Ur in Iraq fell because a drought caused its port to dry up. Usually, the demise of particular civilizations occur over time, e.g.Rome.

Childs notes that human patterns often follow animal patterns, or at least mammalian patterns. For example, when over population occurs, behavior changes. Parental care and cooperation become replaced with aggression, violence, competition for resources, dominant behaviors. These types of behaviors are particularly detrimental to females and the young without whom the society (or animal population) cannot replace itself. Generally, in animal populations, when this occurs, reproduction slows for several generations and the imbalance corrects itself. For humans, it is not so simple. Hohokam bones indicate mass starvation and malnutrition. Other civilizations, e.g. the Anasazi, seem to have disappeared without a trace.

Today, most of the world’s largest cities have immense infrastructures that keep them going, miles of underground sewage tunnels, water mains, etc. Here in the US in our oldest cities, much of what we take for granted is very old and deteriorating. New York City and Chicago have water main systems that some experts claim are near collapse or at the very best badly in need of repair. Doubtless such conditions exist in old cities throughout the world, most of which are much older and larger than the majority of cities in the US. Yet, they continue to prosper. Have we passed a point when civilization cannot fall?

Childs completes this discussion by describing his visit with his wife to Guatemala. They visited all the best known Mayan sites, visited with natives. His wife managed to get invited to a Mayan fire ceremony, a renewal ceremony. History books tell us the Mayan civilization is dead, ended. But it is not. The Mayan culture still exists. At least six million still live in the Central America. What would have happened to Mayan cities if the Europeans had not brought epidemic diseases and better fire power? We will never know, of course, but no matter how many civilizations rise and fall, change continues and humans continue to inhabit the earth.

The new question is this: can this planet we live on sustain the ever increasing numbers of humans who inhabit it??

Apocalyptic Planet-Part Four: Seas Rise

April 19, 2014April 19, 2014 / Juliana Lightle / 1 Comment

As I write this title, it seems a bit counter intuitive that one of the first things I saw this morning was a newspaper discussing many small cities around the Texas Panhandle which are running out of water. And on the TV news as I write this, the city of Amarillo announces measures being taken to curtail water use, followed by a detailed discussion, explaining how one of these smaller towns plans to address the lack of water. Drought expands while ice melts and seas rise.

Childs explains sea behavior by comparing it to pouring water back and forth among a bunch of pans. Ocean behavior varies from place to place. Louisiana has been losing seacoast at the rate of twelve meters per year and large parts of the Nigerian coastline has lost as much as thirty meters per year, one of the fastest losses on earth–erosion. The moon causes tides twice a day changing sea levels on the average of two meters each time. Historically most sea level changes are long term changes. A major cause of sea level change is temperature. Half the current sea level rise can be attributed to thermal expansion. Water warms and spreads out. Not only does heat expand near the sea surface, but now also expands into depths not previously affected. Findings by two oceanographers, Purkey and Johnson, indicate an increase in ocean heat 16 per cent greater than previously thought. Oceans are the largest reservoirs of heat on earth. Once heated, their size makes them slow to cool.

Purkey also notes that even in the depths of the seas, waves transfer heat. However, because of the size of the Pacific, an event that occurred forty years ago in the southern Pacific will not reach the northern Pacific for approximately those forty years. Thus, the warming and subsequent ice melt we see in the north Pacific started in the south Pacific forty years ago. Another scientist, Carl Wunsch, notes that earth changes remarkably without human intervention. Nevertheless, he recommends humans do something to reduce carbon dioxide emissions as a precautionary measure in addition to discouraging people from settling in low lying areas. Unfortunately, rising seas do not bode well for much of the earth’s population who live in exactly these low lying areas: all of Bangladesh, Venice, Shanghai, New Orleans, Bangkok, the Marshall Islands, and many US coastal cities to name just a few places.

St. Lawrence Island north of the Aleutians provides a perfect example of what is happening. Sea ice breaks up too early, fish species they used to see are gone replaced by new ones they never saw before, and the population of seals and sea lions has altered. Cancer rates in the villages there have risen dramatically caused in part by the toxic poisons concentrated in the meat of the seals, whales, and salmon they harvest from our polluted oceans. In 2008, they brought a lawsuit against Exxon, Chevron, and Mobil, claiming that these companies are the world’s major contributors to global warming. They want these companies to pay for moving their villages to higher ground. Sea rise necessitates the move. They lost in District Court, but the case is under appeal. The court cited that the chain of events causing their predicament is too long to lay blame in one place. Childs notes that we really need such places to endure, places where people know how to lead minimalist lives, places where people know how to survive.

Apocalyptic Planet-Part Two: Hadley Cells, Weather and Drought

April 16, 2014April 16, 2014 / Juliana Lightle / 2 Comments

Hadley cells, the wind systems in each hemisphere , form patterns of atmospheric circulation in which warm air rises near the equator, cools as it travels poleward at high altitudes, sinks as cold air, and then warms as it travels back to the equator. They are named after George Hadley, an English scientific writer. Tropical regions receive more heat from solar radiation than they radiate back to space and such areas have constant temperatures. More simply, warm air rises (heat rises) and then flows poleward at high altitudes, cools, drops, and flows back toward the equator at lower altitudes. Then the process repeats itself. When the air rises and leaves these tropical areas, it loses moisture as it heads to subtropical areas. The majority of the worlds large deserts lay in these subtropical areas.

Hadley cells are expanding. Precipitation has declined in tropical areas since 1970. As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, Southern Asia, the Sahel, Southern Africa, the Mediterranean, and the US Southwest are getting drier and drier. Even wetter areas now experience long dry spells between extreme events of rain and snow. Examples in the US include the cold and snowfalls in the Midwest and Eastern Seaboard this past winter. Texas and New Mexico continue to experience a prolonged drought. In the next thirty years scientists predict a 30 per cent decline in water resources.

In some places both governments and individuals create innovative and sometimes simple measures to counteract desertification. In India near the Thar Desert, the government mandated the dispersal of grass seed to hold the ground. Studies indicate that the grass seed grew better when planted by hand than when dispersed from airplanes. Also in India orans, small sacred groves, have helped preserve shrubs and grasses and even trees, a genetic bank that would otherwise have been lost. Childs describes how his friends who live on the outskirts of Tuscon have coaxed their water table fifteen feet higher, using ordinary shovels and hard work. They built contour traps and “massaged” the ground. Hardly worth noticing except when it rained, the rain sank into underground catches. Their properties now look like small areas of refuge in the vast desert. In some areas of the Sahel people have been able to plant and nurture trees in such a way that areas of green exist where they had disappeared.

Archeologists and geologists know that periods of drought occurred repeatedly for millions of years. For humans and the animals we know, drought has never been easy. Large areas of civilization cannot exist without water. We can affect our future in positive ways and prepare ourselves if we choose.

Apocalyptic Planet–Part One

April 16, 2014April 16, 2014 / Juliana Lightle / 3 Comments

Usually I read only one book at a time. Lately, I am reading several, one of which is Apocalyptic Planet: Field Guide to the Future of the Earth by Craig Childs. Childs is a sort of combined explorer/adventurer/scientist. He goes to places few go to see what occurs there, the wind, the flora and fauna, the weather, the climate. The next couple of days I intend to share some of his most pithy observations and ruminations. We will start with the desert. He and a friend literally wandered around the most arid and hostile portion of the Sonoran Desert in northwestern Mexico. This desert has enlarged and become more arid due to an extended drought.

Deserts come and go. If you live in a lovely lush green landscape, wait long enough and it, too, may become a desert. Six thousand years ago lakes, marshes, and grassland lay where the Sahara is today. A slight orbital change in earth’s relation to the sun caused nearby oceans to heat up, changing atmospheric conditions. Humans living there had no choice but to move. Forty per cent of the earth’s population lives in semiarid regions. Even a small drought changes survival chances for the people who live there. The Sahara, the Gobi, and the Taklimakan are growing, arable farmland decreasing. Vulnerable areas include southern Spain, Greece, Bolivia, Australia, central Asia, and our own West. The entire American High Plains (I live in the southern part) sits on top a giant desert. Without pivot irrigation, only grass grows here. In the last decade many irrigation wells have dried up or gone too saline. The giant bulges you see in places like the sand hills of Nebraska are really a sand dune sea covered with grass. Take away a little rain and here comes the desert.

Childs and his friend carried water with them and buried them with markers in the sand so they could find them later. As the desert grows in parts of India, women carry water farther and farther, an average of six miles a day, four gallons at a time. In the Sahel just south of the Sahara a difference in rainfall of just an inch or two can mean the difference between survival and starvation. Without water, there is no civilization.

What causes these changes? Human behavior and the increase in greenhouse gases are part of the reason. Humans are creating enough changes that we are moving toward more deserts, not fewer. One climate expert, Jonathan Overpeck, thinks we are seriously underestimating the severity of drought we will face in the not so distant future. Forget five and seven year droughts and think fifty years. Hadley cells also affect climate change. Tomorrow I will explain Hadley cells and how they affect our weather.