August 5, 2002

I remember the Great Drought of Twenty Ought-Two because it was followed almost immediately by the Great Rain of Twenty Ought-Two or, as it's sometimes known, The Grieving. Having been so long clear and blue, easily earning its nickname of Big Sky, the heaven above Alberta has now turned grim and implaccable and very, very wet.

I don't wish any farmers ill, but since the drought conditions of June and most of July pretty much nixed any hope for this year's crop, I really don't see a need for all this water. Actually, farmers must feel as if they shat in the wrong person's breakfast cereal since now, having had crops wasted by lack of rain, what few stragglers remain alive find themselves now threatened by frost at night. Yes, frost. They have issued frost warnings. In early August.

If this isn't the result of global warning I suggest someone get off their ass and figure out what it is the result of because, frankly, it's fucked. And we're fucked along with it.

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