ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1995, Roanoke Times
DATE: Saturday, December 2, 1995 TAG: 9512040064
SECTION: CURRENT PAGE: NRV-1 EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY
SOURCE: ROBERT FREIS AND CLAYTON BRADDOCK STAFF WRITERS
FOLKS IN THE COUNTRY don't need radar to tell which way the cold wind's blowing.
SURE, the National Weather Service has a newfangled, $5 million forecasting station near Blacksburg with as many radar dishes as a West Virginia trailer court.
The only thing that predicts rain better is washing your car.
But country people and true believers who really want to know the weather don't need that kind of psychic hot line. They just step outside and holler Sooiieee!
If, in response, ol' porky waddles up wearing more fuzz than a cheap sweater, then you'd be well advised to lay in an extra cord of wood or two.
"When the hog gets real hairy, that's the sign of a bad winter," says Edward E. Mullins of Montgomery County.
Over in Giles County they gather around potbelly stoves to discuss the woolly worm's annual environmental impact statement.
"Last October my mother told me she had watched the woolly worm and said we'd have snow in early November," said Bill Shawver, who runs a Pembroke hardware store.
"Naw, mama," he replied. "We don't have snow in early November."
Naturally, it snowed a few weeks ago. Lightly in the New River Valley, nearly a foot deep at Mrs. Shawver's farther back in the mountains.
These days Shawver listens to his mother.
Reba Dudding's mother predicted the number of winter snowfalls simply by counting the number of foggy mornings in August, the Pembroke store clerk recalled.
A host of other folk forecasting traditions have been endowed from generation to generation. Country people vow the old ways can prophesy better than The Weather Channel. You just have to pay attention to the bees, birds, owls, clouds, blackberries, spiders and acorns - which, of course, is the antithesis of watching television.
Years ago, when people spent more time outside and lived closer to the land, intimate and natural signs were all they had to predict weather. That's why they observed things so keenly.
One meaningful glance at a winter cloud was all long-time Blacksburg teacher Mae Kipps needed to prognosticate a snowfall.
"She always said when there's a low ceiling with low, fluffy clouds that look like sheep's wool or fish scales, there's going to be a winter storm with deep snow," said former pupil Jimmie Lee Price.
"Also, if the snow's blowing in from the east with fine flakes, she'd say, 'Pull you chimney in if you want to find it the next morning.'" Price said.
In Pulaski County, the old folks say that hornets who build nests close to the ground presage a mild winter, and low-flying birds mean it's going to snow.
Scientists dismiss most of these whimsical theories as harmlessly superstitious. But they'll concede a few points of intuition.
For years, country people have contended that impending storms make animals restless. Henry Price of Montgomery County says his grandfather told him that hooting owls in winter were a sign of "falling weather."
Likewise, two years ago, before a hard winter of ice storm after ice storm, Price said woolly worms were "crossing the road everywhere you'd go."
It's true, the experts say, that storms are preceded by a drop in atmospheric pressure. Humans sense it when their bones ache, so it's not farfetched to assume animals also react by scurrying about.
Science does ally with folk wisdom when it comes to the old saying about chimney smoke going to the ground. That's a sign of falling weather in the country and the low pressure of an impending storm.
But the professionals won't endorse another traditional source of weather forecasting, namely, almanacs - regarded for credibility second only to the Holy Scriptures in some households.
Ramon's Brownie Calendars, distributed to customers by country stores, were esteemed in Floyd County for their insight when it came to weather. Pixie-like jesters diurnally advised calendar-gazers of the weather, in addition to the astrologically correct times to plant a garden or go fishing.
Brownie Calendars, published for more than a century, remain particularly popular in the mountain South, according to their publisher, David Grayson of Le Roy, New York.
"I think there's just a lot more old-world farming down South," Grayson said.
Local country stores still stock the two competing journals, the Old Farmer's Almanac and the Farmer's Almanac, that foretell the weather on faith.
For the record, the Old Farmer's Almanac says we'll have a variably wet winter with lots of snow in the mountains. It correctly called this November as cold early, warmer later on.
The Farmer's Almanac was fairly accurate for November, too, but predicts a mild winter with no significant snow until mid-February.
Both publications speak in sweeping generalities about weather, so it's difficult for them to be all wrong or entirely right. Your average television meteorologist doesn't have the luxury of such a wide margin of error.
Perhaps there's something comforting about humans claiming the ability to predict something as unpredictable and uncontrollable as the forces of nature.
At any rate, they're still debating woolly worm winters. Nancy Sasser of Newport always heard that the blacker the worm, the harder the winter.
"I don't believe in it, but I grew up with it," she said.
Sam Linkous, a student at Radford University, contributed some information for this report.
LENGTH: Long : 101 lines ILLUSTRATION: GRAPHIC: George Wills. color.by CNB