Koelemay's Kosmos

Doug Koelemay

Here Comes the Sun

The sun finally shined on Virginia this week, and lots of new mothers may be naming their baby boys Ray.

It is almost impossible now to remember the drought conditions in Virginia a year ago. Creeks and rivers dried up, reservoirs shrank, dust and sun scorch were everywhere. Mouths got so dry that tongues stuck in cheeks. One thing Virginians learned for sure in sun-dried 2002 was the simple truth that the heat, not the humidity, was responsible for their misery.

But that was before six months of wet, wet cold, wet cool, just plain wet. Something happened in the autumn season last year that shoved the sun and the dry days into the shadows. It rained and snowed, rained and stormed, rained and drizzled so many times that Virginians started counting their animals by twos. How bad was it? Some Dads stopped calling their boys “Son.” How bad? Cheerleaders lead crowds with shouts of “Ra, Ra.”

By the first day of June 2003, an AOL online “American Pulse” poll had over 1.5 million Internet users responding to a question as to how they would characterize their spring: 59 percent said “soggy,” while only 23 percent answered “sweet.” The 16 percent who answered “sweltering” obviously were from the planet Venus. But the widespread reoccurrence of significant sunshine this week in Virginia, including a glorious illumination of Virginia Beach’s broad, new sandy expanse on the weekend, provides a great opportunity to look back and establish what really happened.

“We can trace the origins of this current drought to 1999, but conditions have gotten significantly worse in the past month,” Gov. Mark R. Warner said back in August 2002. The governor was not talking about the budget for once. “Because short- and long-term weather outlooks do not hold the promise of enough rainfall to reverse the dry trend, we must take additional steps to be prepared for worsening conditions.”

Fortunately for Virginia, and ultimately the nation, one of the additional steps the Governor had in mind was the appointment of the first drought coordinator for the Commonwealth. The drought, to be honest, was doing quite well on its own without any coordination, so Deputy Secretary of Natural Resources David Paylor, a 28-year veteran of water conservation and environmental management, actually took on a drought response task. His team monitored stream flows, ground water levels and the impact of the drought on everything from farms and forestry to recreation and tourism. A large part of the team was assigned to alternate expressions of disappointment at the lack of rain in the forecast (the governor had sought the intervention of all-seeing broadcast meteorologists as early as the July 2002 Drought Summit) with suggestions on how to reduce water consumption.

It was okay, for example, to continue to water children and pets indoors, but increasingly not okay to water cars or lawns outdoors. Public school children and college students still could try to eat the cafeteria food, but cafeteria workers could skip washing dishes by serving it with disposable cups, plates and utensils. Some Virginians could drill new wells without the delay of getting permits approved, but also remain on the hook for water use restrictions because they didn’t own the groundwater they found. Ostensibly, the main task of the “Drought Czar” was to mitigate the worst effects through such measures. In fact, what now must be known as “His Highness of Hydrology” had the secret mission to make it rain.

Now, there are two great difficulties facing any leader placed in such a tenuous position. One difficulty is to fail, in which case Paylor would have joined the rest of the Commonwealth as dust in the wind. But the other difficulty is to succeed beyond one’s wildest dreams, and David Paylor turned out to be a one-man divining rod. Not content to manage diminishing water resources better for a couple of months, he got the clouds to roll in and the rain, snow, sleet, hail and every other form of water to fall in Virginia non-stop for six months.

This is far more than the “40 days and 40 nights” of a former record holder, though purists may insist that an asterix be placed next to Paylor’s name. It only rained most, not all of his almost 200 days, and not continuously. Still, all the fast-flowing streams and rivers, the replenished reservoirs and groundwater tables in Virginia today must rank as the greatest accomplishment of the Warner Administration thus far. Breaking years of drought is right up there with the great tales of ancient history. Claiming the credit due may help the administration in its next great undertaking, a recasting of the “render unto Caesar” system.

But as for June 2003, the first step is to turn David Paylor back to the dry side. After his anti-drought successes, the future can be so bright, he’ll have to wear shades. Put him in charge of the public schools so it can rain quality and learning for at least six months.

Then choose between a couple of classic weather forecasts for the weeks ahead. Nineteenth-century poet James Russell Lowell suggested, “And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days; Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, And over it softly her warm ear lays.” Not bad.

The Beatles captured it more concisely in the 20^th century with “Here comes the sun; it’s alright.” And the Rockfish Restaurant in Virginia Beach has guitars from John, Paul and George and the drumsticks from Ringo on its walls to prove it.

-- June 2, 2003