The snow at our house is finally all gone because this past week’s screaming high winds blew it all away. Meanwhile, a daughter in Colorado sent photos of the 3 feet of snow she shoveled off her sidewalk and driveway — all fallen within 24 hours. Another daughter in Idaho sent balmy videos of her kids jumping on the trampoline in their back yard. In shorts.

We all live at the mercy of the weather. It seems we cannot control it. We cannot choose it. We cannot avoid it. All we can do is figure out how to live with it.

Weather occasionally delights in bashing us about. One Fourth of July afternoon, we watched nervously as an unexpected storm brewed up on the mountains west of us, then slid down the slopes and marched across the valley toward us. Its aggressive approach prompted us to grab the kids and our picnic lunch and scurry into the house. My husband and I ran back outside to secure the table and chairs. So we were exposed when that storm hit.

The wind came like a train. I watched, stunned, as it began to peel some lattice we’d carefully nailed up around our carport. I foolishly grabbed onto it, thinking I could thwart the storm’s power. The lattice peeled away and dragged me across the patio. I finally had the sense to (as Disney would put it) let it go. I watched that 4-by-8-foot piece cartwheel across the ground, splintering as it went, then go airborne until its tattered remnants were gone from sight.

After the storm blew past, we took stock. Two chairs were missing — we never recovered them. Multiple tree branches were tossed everywhere. And the watermelon we’d neglected to take inside was sandblasted to a pocked green and white mess. Mother Nature was in fine, furious form that day.

Weather happens while we live our lives. We adapt — take the umbrella, wear the boots, shovel the sidewalk — and make no attempt to intervene because the truth is, we believe we can’t. But once in a while …

My youngest daughter always dreamed of an outdoor wedding reception. No rented hall or church gymnasium for her. Her wedding day was scheduled for the middle of July to ensure good weather for her longed-for backyard event. Unfortunately, the chosen day was forecast for “intermittent” everything — clouds, sunshine, rain and wind.

We prepared in every way we could, then waited. We watched clouds boiling overhead, felt the gusty breezes, held out our hands for random raindrops and wondered. And then I took a walk. I headed down the garden path running along one side of the house, festooned with living flowers carefully cultivated for this day when guests would enjoy that walk to the backyard. I talked with heaven about the situation we faced. I asked a favor — for good weather for just a few hours, on behalf of this young woman. I walked, talked and listened. And then I returned to the house where my daughter and family waited and said, “Let’s do this.” We whipped into action, arranging strings of lights, tables, chairs, candles, decorations, refreshments — the works.

We finished just in time to pull on our fancy clothes before guests began to arrive. They came from all directions, and they came with strange stories of how they wondered how this reception could be held since they’d driven through rainstorms and windstorms to get to our home. They were pleasantly surprised to congratulate the couple, visit with family and friends, eat the refreshments and enjoy nice weather before they left.

Two hours later, the reception wrapped up. The newlyweds ducked the rice, peeled the streamers off their truck, waved good-bye and were gone. As they drove out of sight, the winds hit. We ran to the backyard, peeled the lights off the thrashing trees and bushes, chased paper cups and plates skittering across the lawn, dragged the remainder of the cake into the house, and grabbed tables and chairs just as the rain clouds broke overhead, soaking us.

That might have been a coincidence. But it sure didn’t seem like it.

Maybe once in a while we do get to choose.

Weather or not we believe we can.

D. Louise Brown lives in Layton. She writes a biweekly column for the Standard-Examiner.

Newsletter